#it’s fucking Vietnam all over again
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Song of the Day: January 9
"I Heard It Through the Grapevine" by Creedence Clearwater Revival
#song of the day#I'm at my grandfather's house now!#he's more than half deaf (partial hearing in only one ear) and the only thing more substantial than his record collection#is his sound system#CCR loud enough to feel in your bones. take a shower while the music plays and feel the water droplets vibrate as they fall. it's amazing#I missed the fuck out of this old man. had no idea the extent of it. I missed him so bad#old man with his La-Z-Boy perfectly molded to his body and his turntable collection and his novelty soda cozies and his model planes#it stormed like hell all day and none of us could hear each other speak over the wind and thunder and dogs howling and blessed CCR#so we've just been hanging out. played monopoly except again we couldn't hear so it was like monopoly + charades#sensory input through the /roof/ I forgot what it was like here. bliss for my brain#tomorrow if the weather stays calmed down I'm going to ask him what 'who'll stop the rain' is about#get those soothing background 'fuck vietnam' sounds going while I do my reports for work. missed this shouty old man like hell
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𝗘𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗚𝗳 — Ellie x Bimbo!r
𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ Butch/femme dynamics, Ellie has a panic attack, this references joel’s death, anxiety, bile, nausea, and hyper sexual themes, Ellie’s butch, wears a packer/strap. Refers to it as cock, dick etc Reader’s a bimbo and genuinely stupid. Ellie gets really scared.
𝜗𝜚 Ellie Williams ✦ I listened to Vietnam - Crystal Castles it’s tempo mirrors Ellie’s panicked anxiety. I’ve linked to a few seconds before the beat drops, on YouTube for accessibility. Listen with earphones so the music fucks your ears.
𝜗𝜚 If you find yourself uncomfortable with the themes in this fic, maybe try educating yourself on Butch sexuality. Read this to get a sense of Ellie’s headspace.
kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.
Ellie fisted the joystick into neutral and killed the engine. She cracked all 5 knuckles before reaching over to release your seatbelt. The belts cold buckle sprang across your breasts and over your shoulder, turning your nipples visibly hard and full in their wake. Ellie fought off the urge to glance down; to drink them in. She was semi-successful at managing away her inner teenage boy every time it chose to rear its ugly hungry head at inopportune moments.
“So…” she started, her hand massaging the inner dough of your thighs, warmed by the hug of your crossed legs. “We just gettin’ your little sparkly earrings? Or are you gonna get distracted and spend more money than I make in a single paycheck?”
You ran your palms up the sleeves of Ellie’s brown military jacket. Fascinated by the texture of the rough fabric everytime one of its crinkles caught against your acrylic nails. You couldn’t fathom how Ellie walked around in clothes so rough and distressed, all of your outfits were soft cotton or silky satin. And here Ellie wore a deconstructed uniform jacket like it was meant for her body. You blinked away your distracted thoughts, and leaned into nose at her neck. Pressing nose and lips to the source of the most comforting scent in the world to you. Allspice, cigarette smoke, and 2-in-1 body wash. There was still a faint trace of her cologne, you wish she wore it, the traces of it made you go brainless for your butch.
“Earrings only.” Your sweet voice was muffled against her neck. She reached her other hand up to cup the back of your neck. The cold metal of her rings kissed your skin, but you leaned into it.
“I’ll wait for you right here, peach.”
“Okay.” You nodded obediently.
“Don’t spend too long in there, okay?”
“Okay.” You nodded once again.
“If anyone stares at you too long or makes you feel weird for being girly, call me and I’ll meet you wherever. Especially those judgemental ass grandmas.”
You looked up at her, her hair was in her eyes, casting a shadow that turned her gaze into a deep hunter green.
You leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Ellie attempted to chase the kiss, until you slid your hand between the valley of her breasts and urged her to stay. Behave baby boy.
Ellie’s right eyebrow quirked up in response, impressed that you kept her in check. That you knew her so well that you could tell exactly where that kiss could’ve led to if you didn’t tell her to slow down.
“Be right back here in an hour.” Ellie was relishing in how your thumb rubbed across her chest. Your hand rested on her chest like you were her little damsel in distress, looking to her to save you. You made her feel like Clark Kent, and it made her want to puff her chest out.
“Hour-and-a-half, I wanna get ice cream.” You prattled.
“An hour.”
“Ellieeee” You whined.
“If you’re not back here by 2:30 pm, I’m stomping into Icing myself, throwing you over my shoulder and marching right back out.”
“Please as if you could hoist me up over your shoulder.” You leaned over to fish Ellie’s wallet from her back pocket.
Ellie side-eyed you intensely as she tracked the movement. She enclsaped your wrist in an iron grip once your acrylics brushed the back pocket of her jeans. Her thumb pressed down. You couldn’t move.
“You didn’t seem confused about my strength when I lifted you into that full nelson and pounded you in front of the mirror.” She dropped her blue steel face and started grinning like a fox. “Uhnnuhuh Ellie, m’gonna squirt. I’m gonna squirt on you daddy.” She mocked in a high-pitched overly feminine voice. She drew her eyebrows together to school up the appearance of someone deliriously aroused. One that mimicked your cock-drunk face all those days ago.
Ellie dropped the comedic expression for a moment, in favor of replacing it with the one she sported to intimidate customers who started testing her boundaries or her patience. The one that said ‘respect me.’
“Fuck you, asshole. I’m made of steel.” She spat.
You leaned up, and just planted a glossy kiss on her cheek. She blushed until she was cherry tomato red. She always blushed harder when you were affectionate to her, in the middle of her egotistical masculine delusions. Like a mom kissing her son's cheek, after he called himself Spider-Man.
Ellie would tease you for hours. But remind her again you were her adorable little girlfriend who she worshiped, then she’d be back to acting right again. Ready to hump the air just to get a whiff of your hair. Sweet and pliable. Ellie crossed her fingers subtly and hoped you got specks of glitter gloss on her cheek from that kiss. She wore your kisses like merchandise. Those and the smell of your pussy on her mouth and fingers. Some days, the smell was just smeared all over her face.
You blinked at her, slow and pouty in the way that got her real happy and pleased. “Now that you’re done poking and teasing me, can I go inside to get my sparkly earrings?”
Ellie slid her wallet into your palm, her lips parted at the way your acrylics snatched it. The way they sunk into the soft leather. Mmmm.
“An hour.”
You climbed out of her beat up hatchback. The metal groaned as you slammed the door shut. “See you Els, if I get in trouble or get lost I’ll call you okay? I charged my phone this time. Bye-bye.” You sing-songed just before walking away, out of the parking lot and towards the entrance of the mall.
You were the utter definition of hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go. Ellie drank in the very very obvious little characters of your ass. The jiggly flesh, dimpled skin, and the way they smacked each other with each step. The type of visual someone could only see if the person walking in front of them was naked. Which you practically were considering how your pink cotton leggings looked painted on. The silhouette was way too intimate with how well it showed the character of your ass. She could’ve forced you to change, but you two had such a good morning today.
Ellie didn’t want to—no—she hated picking fights with you. Ellie being mad at you? That was just another Tuesday. She had temperament issues, trauma, death of a loved one blah blah blah. But you being mad at Ellie? She’d kill herself. She shuddered in the car at the thought of it, and swallowed her jealousy. Everyone sees your little dimpled ass? Fine. She’s the only person that’s seen it twerking for her during backshots. And anyway, you’d get jealous if she wore gray sweatpants to work, so she kinda understood the sentiment. Especially because she packed everywhere, and the bulge was glaring.
Ellie wrapped her knuckles on the steering wheel. Trying to distract herself from the slow and lonely weight of the parking lot. Joy Division’s “disorder” played in her head. She considered pulling out a Marlboro to smoke, but thought against it. She remembered how you squealed whenever she kissed you with cigarette breath, telling her how it made your kisses taste so bitter.
Truth be told, she was just as clingy with you, as you were to her. You just initiated it more often. When someone follows her around like a little puppy trying to catch up to its much larger owner all day, it’s hard not to notice their missing presence.
Ellie played with her rings as the mounting anxiety gnawed at her tummy. She turned her wrist over to check her watch. Ten. Only ten minutes had gone by? Fucking christ.
She puffed out her cheeks. Yeah she was being ridiculous. Knowing you, you probably had only just arrived at the store, and that meant making a cute pikachu face at every new piece of merchandise they shipped into the shop floor that week. So it’d be a while before you were back. She could’ve gone in with you, but Ellie knew her presence there would’ve weirdly encouraged you to take a full day tour of the mall. She was your walking wallet apparently. But it’s worse when the wallet can actually give in.
It was better this way, you kept her card in hand, but Ellie wasn’t physically there to actually convince of anything. So you couldn’t use it to buy anything more than earrings. Plus, she couldn’t stand another trip to Victoria’s Secret. As much as she loved the way you modeled a show for her whenever you tried stuff on, and as much as the jokes she cracked with the other boyfriends waiting for their girlfriends to be done made for good conversation, Victoria’s Secret just served to make her feel incredibly out of place. Mostly due to its overtly sexual displays of femininity. Something she still struggled to place how she felt about. All Ellie knew was that she didn’t want it.
Matter of fact she had repelled femininity so much, it even reflected in her dating preferences. You were by far the most feminine girl Ellie had ever dated. That was a considerably large shift from the tomboys she typically had crushes on in highschool.
But she couldn’t help but be turned on by the way your acrylics stroked her bulge, by the way you blinked up at her with those dolly lashes like you needed her approval more than you needed oxygen, by the way she got both wet and enraged seeing men’s gazes linger on you as she walked behind you. Lingering in a way that they never did for any of her exes. It ignited a possessiveness in her she had convinced herself she didn’t have the ability to feel. Made her walk out the house with her shoulders drawn up to her ears, scowling. As if to say to all the men, ‘fuck off, get your own cocksleeve. This one’s claimed.’
You were the cutest cocksleeve too. The human embodiment of a little bow for her dick.
Just the thought prompted her to squeeze her bulge through her jeans, feeling phantom erections.
God it’d been how long now? Ellie checked her watch, reading the watch face to make sure she’d read that right. Twenty minutes? Only?
Her palms started perspiring, and she started grinding her teeth. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. She’ll be back any minute. Be cool, you freak.
Ellie reached to grab her phone, but the way the time flashed at the top bar of the screen made her stomach knot up anxiously. She chucked her phone into the passenger seat, and rolled down the window to get some fresh air. It felt beautiful for a moment, her rough short hair curling around the wind and blowing in her eyes. But then she felt like she couldn’t breathe again. Like her throat was squeezing in on itself. So Ellie unbuttoned the top button of her navy plaid button down. She yanked the collar away from her neck, and took deep breaths. Nice and deep slow breaths. The demonic little shadows and whispers of panic ebbed away, leaving only room for peace and the sunlight of the early afternoon. Ellie smiled, she’d be fine.
She played with her rings, recounting all the places and dates she’d thrifted them from. Then she started fidgeting with them as her leg bounced in the car, working off some of that returning nervous energy. The little shadows were starting to creep back in her mind again. Ellie white-knuckled the steering wheel. “No, no, no please. Not now, please not now.” She sucked in a deep breath as unshed tears lined her waterline. She flipped her wrist watch face up quickly, you’d been gone for thirty-five minutes by this point. And Ellie felt her skin run cold. thirty-five minutes left twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five more minutes for the ebb and flow of panic to infect her brain and trigger her adrenaline response. Twenty-five more minutes of letting her own mind attack itself. Ellie couldn’t stomach the thought. She started gasping as she fidgeted to remove the car keys from the ignition. The dark whispering shadow only urged her to look at one thought in her mind: Alone. You’re alone again, Ellie.
She nearly keeled over from the sheer nausea that thought brought about. Ellie tripped out of her car, slammed the door and stumbled towards the mall as her heartbeat thundered louder than her thoughts. And her thoughts were very loud. Her face felt tight and itchy, as she ran. And due to the combination of wind and glossy eyes, her vision warped until it became disfigured. Which only set off to make her blood run icier. Like she was being deprived of all her necessary senses as she yanked the mall door open and stumbled around trying to wade her way through until she got to the side where women’s jewelry and clothing was huddled. Her vision was disjointed, Ellie felt as if she was looking through a fish-eye lens. It caused bile to rise in her throat. Ellie was spiraling, she knew it. And if she didn’t find you—fuck where were you?—it was only going to get uglier for her. She despised being reduced to ugly. She hated herself when she was ugly.
Snot mixed in with tears as she scaled the walls of the mall trying to use the brightness of pink and white signs to guide her to the right store. You promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing. She hummed the mantra in corners of her brain.
She gurgled “better fucking be at Icing otherwise I’m gonna kill he—my heart christ—fuck fuck fuck baby please be at icing.” The palpitations rolled in, causing her heart to beat erratically. Two beats instead of one, a skipped beat, or an extra hard beat. Every bastardized combination instead of the reliable, glub-glub of a healthy heart. Ellie gripped her own shirt, and tried to feel any lingering warmth from your hand when you placed it there nearly an hour ago. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and she was still blind with a disjointed vision no matter how much she rubbed her jacket across her eyes to soak up tears. Ellie stumbled until she saw a store with the familiar lettering, and she yanked and tugged at her shirt to ground herself as she made her way to the checkout lane. “Hi.” Her voice came out so small and strained. She hated herself for it.
“Have you seen a girl, she’s—seems about yay-high and she’s wearing pink leggings and a tight pink top. Oh—she’s pretty—long nails. My girlfriend, do you know where my girlfriend is?” Ellie choked, her sanity was slipping. Her bloodshot eyes were crazed as she stared down at the cashier like the woman held the answer to curing Ellie’s mental suffering.
“N-no. Sorry I didn’t see a girl with pink leggings.”
“No?” Ellie’s voice grew fainter, weaker. She sobbed “are you sure?” but her voice crackled with that sentence, and the cashier just stared at her with a puzzled expression, unsure of what to say to diffuse the situation.
Ellie stumbled out of the store, flinching at the expressions of customers who were looking around the store to see if they were the only one witnessing the girl's mounting panic attack. She ran to an empty hallway in the mall. The one where they kept those gumball machines that hadn’t been replaced since 1998. She fell to her knees and curled in on herself. Her nails scratched her scalp until it broke skin, trying to draw out the thoughts of being alone, being alone, being alone, being, alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, out of her head.
Ellie tugged at her hair now, using the self-inflicted pain to distract from that hungry giggling fear, the one that wrapped itself around her eyes and throat and told her to describe what she saw: loneliness. Pitch black, devoid of warmth, pure unadulterated isolation.
She needed you, needed you so bad as she cried to herself on her knees. She should’ve never let you go alone, she should’ve never let you walk away from her, she should’ve never let you have an hour to leave her, she should’ve never let you take her wallet and not take her, she should’ve never ever ever ever ignored the signs, the raised hairs and the feeling of dread that pooled in her stomach the past week. Just waiting to be triggered by something insignificant. Now it was triggered, and in an incredibly public place too. Ellie beat her chest, coughing just to bring herself down from the dissociative hell her mind was flinching in. “Baby where are you? I’m hurting…it’s hurting me again. Pleasepleasepleaseplease, peach.”
Nails bluntly tickled her nape, sending a shiver down her spine just as the smell of sweet jasmine and vanilla perfume engulfed her. Ellie broke from her kneeling fetal position to draw you into her lap. She didn’t even need to look at you, she knew you like the back of her hand. Ellie knew the feeling of those acrylic nails because of how deeply they’d scratched down her back in bed. She knew the smell of your perfume from how often she’d buried her face into your waiting body after work for comfort. Her grip was painful, likely breaking capillaries from its tightness. She mewled for you like a kitten finding its mother. “Babygirl.”
“Ellie—Ellie I’m sorry did I take too long? I set an alarm, I don’t think it went off, I’m sorry Ellie I didn’t mean too I promise.” Ellie let out a wet laugh from where her face was crooned in your neck. She just shook her head. It absolutely was not your fault. But God weren’t you just the cutest fucking thing in the world for thinking you’d made another little mistake? How sweet, that even in the face of Ellie’s utter mental crack and breakdown, you found a way to give your baby the benefit of the doubt. Ellie dragged her face up your neck, inhaling deeply as her nose traced a path up your throat. The scent alone was like Xanax to the nerves, drowning her in a sea of serenity. Letting the anxiety ebb away until it was no more than a dull twinge, the whispers reduced to muted hums. You were her light. Ellie’s grip on you tightened, her medicine.
She pulled her face away, and she could only imagine how distressed she must’ve looked by the way your eyebrows drew up, and by the way your pretty little lips formed a worried pout. Ellie gnawed on her bottom lip. There was nothing to fear, you would understand.
“You didn’t take too long princess, I just had a panic attack.”
Your hands flew to cup Ellie’s reddened blotchy cheeks, massaging her face cutely as her eyelashes fluttered. God, you were a balm. “I should’ve seen it coming, I’ve been feeling so out of it the past week. But then this morning was so fun. We made fluffy pancakes, you sat on my lap and listened to my dumb work drama, helped me trim my bangs, then...” Ellie blew air into her cheeks and looked up. This was going to be hard to say. Felt like a lump stuck in her throat. “Then we got ready and the kiss we had before we got in the car made everything melt away. This morning was so good baby, so good. I tried to ignore it, thinking my brain just wanted to be a little asshole and spook me for no reason. But no—I should’ve known—it doesn’t play tricks, it only gives warnings.”
Ellie leaned into your palms, she kissed them gently. “Can we go home baby?.” She held your gaze through wet eyelashes. You nodded “Mhm. I’m sorry Els I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I missed you.” You were disappointed because you didn’t intuitively know the right words to say, and how to say them. Didn’t know how to articulate that you understood her pain but she also shouldn’t beat herself up. Everything you thought of sounded cliche, you weren’t smarter than her, you weren’t able to come up with reassuring words the way other people could. Not like her uncle Tommy or Maria, or anyone. All you could do was cover her in kisses, tell her you loved her, that next time you’d never ever be separated from her, and cradle her head against your chest.
Ellie rose to her feet, pulling you up with her by your elbows. The kiss that followed was for comfort, for reassurance. For the feeling of squeezing her human emotional support plushie.
Ellie pulled away first, leaving you wanting more. She tasted so good, smelled so good. Made you want to pur and stroke her through her jeans. But it wasn’t the time nor place. Not after recent events.
“Did you get your earrings at least?”
“Yeah, I got a pair for you too!” You shared excitedly.
Ellie was still shaken up, but for now she could break out a small grin. “You got earrings for me?”
“Yes, same color too!”
“Baby, my ears aren’t even pierced...”
“Oh.” Ellie loved that, your characteristic little ‘oh’.
“I knew that. I just got them for when—for when you decided to pierce them, yeah.”
Ellie was hot in your heels as you two made your way out of the mall “Is that right?”
“Mhm.” You refused to meet her eyes.
“Oh yeah? K, then. Thank you so much for getting me a gift using my credit card.”
“You’re very welcome, I love when we match as a couple. Els when we got home, did you want my chicken noodle? Cause it’ll make you feel better.”
Ellie sucked in a breath. Cuteness aggression was real, and she was feeling it so hard right then. Right after her emotions had already been frayed by her anxiety. She knew, if it wasn’t for the way the panic attack had left her feeling utterly exhausted, bone tired like a wet blanket, ready to drop at a moment's notice to recuperate, that she would’ve done something that would’ve pulled a squeal out of you in the car. And she had the package to do so.
“Sure, I’ll eat your damn noodle soup.” She chuckled tiredly.
You put both palms on her chest and leaned in to kiss her, stealing back some of the desire that was ripped away too soon in the mall.
“You’ll feel better in no time.”
Ellie gave you a once-over. Over eager, as usual.
“Somehow I don’t doubt that.”
You littered her face in kisses all the way home, like you always did. Like you thought each press of your lips to her freckled face was going to cure her of her anguish. And believe Ellie, every press of your puffy lips to her cheeks, tip of her nose and forehead did more for her state of mind than two hours of trauma therapy a week did. Or at least that’s what she’d like to believe. Fuck the noddle soup, it’s you. You’re what’s going to make her feel better. As long as you’re there, everyday for her to come home to. All she needed was her pretty princess, her little babydoll, her little bimbo.
#Ellie Williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#Ellie#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#ellie williams x you#the last of us#ellie tlou2#ellie x y/n#ellie x fem reader#the last of us fanfiction#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie x you#tlou smut#the last of us x you#tlou#the last of us x reader#the last of us x y/n#the last of us smut#tlou x y/n#tlou x reader#tlou part 2#tlou2#tlou fanfiction#tlou 2
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I have never played or seen a playthrough of Conker’s Bad Fur Day and I still remember it once being (still being?) the funniest move in gaming history because we were all just dimly aware of Conker as an extremely generic, simple and wholesome platformer series (well, one game?) that was only ever reviewed as just a decent quality game to buy for babies. Then halfway through the development of a new 3-d conker the devs just couldn’t take it anymore and poured all their pent-up rage into making a game where conker is a drunk horny vietnam veteran or whatever it was about, again I didn’t play it but there was a time this was outrageously hilarious news.
Imagine if say kirby wasn’t popular as-is but chugged along for years with mediocre reception until nintendo snapped and made a kirby game in which he fucks and smokes weed, and also imagine this happening while you’re a child and in the 90′s. We lost our damned minds over Conker doing a cuss word.
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This Week in BL - Gangsters Win
Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top. Delayed October reviews included this week! (Still traveling but now in home territory and familiar hotels.)
Nov 2023 Wk 2
Ongoing Series - Thai
My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) 2 of 8 - GIVING ME LIFE. How dare they be this… this... Just. How dare!
Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 1 of 10 - I have been waiting for another truly sports centered BL since HIStory 2: CTL. This is nowhere near as good, but I don’t care. It’s great pulp and Sprite is a fab central character. I've realized that I love the pulps most when they’re ridiculously soapy (identical twins identity trope for sport’s fuck’s sake) but ERNEST about it (not campy). This one is taking itself seriously and it's so cute that it's trying so hard. Good little pulp. Dee mar.
Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 12fin - was it me or did this show kinda flag on you too?
Poor, struggling Sailom is forced to tutor his bully, Kang, and they fall for each other despite circumstances. I loved it for the first 4 eps, liked it for the middle 4, and then kinda lost interest. I think it's because the focus shifted from Sailom to Kang, and I just find a disenfranchised character more interesting than the poor little rich kid archetype. Ultimately the script waffled and failed these actors - the leads and sides were solid, and support cast on point. 8/10 pretty standard 2023 GMMTV fair
Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 6 of 12 - It’s sort of a paradox of emotions not just time. It remains sad and I remain wary.
My Universe (Sun iQIYI) The Camp Fire ep 11 of 24 - Launched with an argument over rude pronouns and mistaken identity. Highlights the joy of camping. Ugh. I don't think this one is for me despite the pair.
Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) ep 10fin - NO SINGING. I can't believe they brought in rando SIDEs just to sing! WHHHHYYYYY? Sigh.
An indifferent pulp with indifferent acting and poor chemistry (despite high heat) based on the reunion romance trope that was just... so... slow... It wasn’t entirely a waste of time but I can’t in good faith recommend it. unless you have a very high tolerance for Thai pulps and ultra tsundere characters. 5/10 ONLY WATCH IF YOU'VE NOTHING BETTER TO DO
Ongoing Series - Not Thai
Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 12 of 13 - I don’t mean to be rude because you know I love the main couple in the show, but they are simply being out acted by the sides. They are so damn good. Ai Di and his dumb oversized sweaters and flappy flappy sleeves is EVERYTHING.
Bump Up Business (Korea Gaga) 5-6 of 8 - More language negotiation, so of course I like it. I also like that they openly let Eden admit to a crush on a boy. I like this whole thing way more than I should. Save me from myself?
You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 9 of 10 - I don’t understand why baby boy is trying to escape so badly. (Except for plot reasons.) Running of the gays! Look at you Taiwan stealing Japan’s favorite trope. This show is fun but it’s a bag of tropes held together with some very thin fraying mesh plot.
If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 5fin - The leads are so painfully cute portraying a softly simple story of teen first love. This was a nice little piece with an early yaoi feel that come off as brief, as if it were meant to be a short story that had been extended into a series. Sweet but ultimately rather forgettable. 7/10
Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 6-7 of ? - yeah I forgot to watch again, I may be dnfing this by accident.
It's Airing But...
I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. It looks good though so I mgiht put some effort into finding it grey.
Look at Japan dropping all the tropes in on scene: rooftop, kabedon, hand hold.
SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 1-7 of 14 - this is a horror BL with ghosts & paranormal elements in a boarding school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools. I'm holding off on this one and if told it's good I'll binge watch.
What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.
One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) - adaptation of Harada’s manga of the same name (which I did not like) about a convenience store clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.
Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office. I did some hunting but only found the manga, so I'm marking it cnf and moving on with life. This will be its last appearance on the weekly update.
I Finished It!
Love in Translation (iQIYI) ep 8 - solid ending, man these two are a great pairing.
A sweet little pulp about a Thai boy with a crush on a Chinese influencer who ends up in a business relationship with her ex-bf. This show had truly great chemistry between the leads, cute found family with good rep, and an exciting (if silly) ending that almost, but didn't quite, make up for how incredibly annoying the main character was in the first half. Gotta say the make-out scene in the convenience store is one of the greatest in Thai BL, tho. 6/10 DEF WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED
I Feel You Linger in the Air (grey) ep 8 of 12 - so that was A THING. I did a seriously extensive deep dive analysis, historical & linguistic extras, and review here.
I truly loved this time travel romance. IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn (but no as much as To Sir With Love and with way less scenery chewing). This is an elegant and classy BL… from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine.
Pity about the ending.
Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t good either. This show should easily have earned a 10 from me except that it fumbled the… erm… balls. Argh. Whatever. 9/10
Only Friends (YT) ep 11-12 - What can I say, this wasn't my thing, it was never gonna be, and I didn't like it. Basically Thailand did the L-Word but with branded BL pairs and the only agenda seemed to be slut shaming and making sure those pairs stayed healthy and sponsor ready. Consequently, the pairs were all executing well and to the best of their ability (of course) but all other characters got shafted, both in the good and the worst possible ways. Unrated but if falls somewhere between 5 (hot mess) and 3 (what am I doing with my life?)
Next Week Looks Like This
11/10 Middleman’s Love (Thai Fri Mandee's YT & iQIYI 1 of 8? - TutorYim (brand pair origin = Cutie Pie) with side couple KingUea (Bed Friends) from Domundi trailer here. This used to be a JimmyTommy vehicle before the pair split (also prev title Middle Love). Adapted from a Y-novel. Jade works as a graphic designer and has always been stuck in the middle - average. His heart is hardened after a life spent being overlooked because he is not as charming or good looking as the rest of his family or friends. When his office gets a hot new intern, Mai, Jade assumes Mai couldn’t possibly be intersted in him. Mai, of course, has other ideas. Warning this is a Cheewin comedy so tonally it could be very OFF, but the cast is solid, and I have liked his stuff on occasion.
11/10 Last Twilight (Thai Fri YouTube) - JimmySea are bakc and maybe it's good this time? I dont' know, GMMTV isn't doing great right now. Burdened with heavy debt, Mork, a mechanic, is forced to take a high paying job as a caretaker for Day, a rich heir who suffers from partial blindness after an accident. Day recruits Mork as he realizes the latter does not see him as a disabled person, but rather as co-equals. As they spend time together, the two begin developing feelings for the other. However with Day just having 180 days until he becomes permanently blind, how will the two weather the trials ahead?Upcoming November BL
11/11 Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) qp 1 of 8 - Looks like House of Stars meets Boyband. I am not excited.
Upcoming in November
11/16 PLAYBOYY (Thurs ????) ?? eps - trailer here, high heat and it's helmed by Cheewin (shudder) with screenplay by Den (Only Friends) under Copy A Bangkok. It's gonna be a shizz show people. It's predicting Thai style "dark" (War of Y) one of my least favorites. Apparently there is a "plot" but when has Cheewin ever bothered with plot? A university kid who was involved with escorts, sex-trade, porn, online hook-ups, drugs, prostitution, blackmail, revenge, and so forth goes missing. His twin (sigh) and two friends look for him.
11/17 Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 14 - high heat teaser here, based on alittlebixth's omegaverse novel #พิษเบ๊บ’ set in the world of car racing (author says show will not be omegaverse). Charlie (fresh face), a young hot nerd, approaches his driver idol (Pavel "my love" 2 Moons 2) to borrow a racing car and win one for the team. Production house is new to BL but behind the Club Friday stuff. Show stars many known actors: Nut (Oxygen), Pop (Ram in La Cuisine), Pon (Phai in Gen Y, we LOVE him), Benz (twins in En of Love: This Is Love Story).
11/19 Bake Me Please (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - trailer here, stars Ohm (of OhmFluke) opposite Guide (bestie from IFYLITA) and possibly also Poom (well known, but not for BL). This looks like an actually gay version of Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). Still, I'm intrigued, it looks HELLA pretty.
11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Weds ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). When you want your old love again, but fate sends you a reaper instead. All he can do for you is kill people. I'll likely give this a pass and wait to binge later. I'm planning to try SHADOW and I can only handle one Thai horror at a time.
11/25 The Sign (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk, but with a suspense and adult characters. Special investigators who loved each other in previous lives reunite with their new bodies, stars Billy Patchanon (BillySeng) & Babe Tanatat (new). Includes other SCOY favorites as a special investigation team. I may give this a try because I like the non-horror bits.
11/26 The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - trailer here. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. Maybe a binge for me.
11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.
11/30 For Him (Thurs ????) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer, I suspect iQIYI will scoop this one up. From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in! Maybe I'll do a trash watch?
VIP Only (Taiwan) - may be delayed/canceled
Wuju Bakery AKA Space Bakery (Korea) - this one may be DOA
A Breeze of Love (Korea) - I know less than nothing about this.
Nov 2023 line up with screen caps here. Not kept updated.
Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).
THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS
Yang's little smile! Argh. (Love in Translation)
This is our mean and grumpy gagster character talking about playing in game support roles. It's fucking adorable. Such a nasty criminal. (My Dear Gangster Oppa)
(Last week)
#this week in bl#bl updates#My Dear Gangster Oppa#remains the greatest thing ever to happen to me#thai bl#Love in Translation#Love in Translation review#bl series review#Dangerous Romance#Dangerous Romance reviewed#PerthChimon#GMMTV#Venus in the Sky#Venus in the Sky review#Kiseki: Dear to Me#Taiwanese BL#Bump Up Business#I Feel You Linger in the Air#I Feel You Linger in the Air review#korean bl#japanese bl
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Tooth and Nail pt2
Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.
This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.
TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).
PT1 PT2 PT3
---
"I kissed Steve."
"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie.
Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.
“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.
“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.
Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.
“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.
“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.
“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.
“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.
Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.
“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”
“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away.
Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.
“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.
“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now.
“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”
Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.
“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”
Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?
“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”
“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.
“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”
Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.
Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location.
“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”
“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.
“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”
Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth.
Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.
Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.
He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.
Why did he kiss Steve?
Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?
Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?
It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years.
“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.
“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.
“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.
Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.
“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.
“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”
Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.
Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.
“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.
“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.
Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.
A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.
“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.
“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”
“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.
“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.
“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”
Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.
“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.
“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”
Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.
“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”
His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.
“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.
“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”
That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.
Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.
“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.
Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.
“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions.
Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.
“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.
Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.
Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.
“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”
Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop.
Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?
“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”
He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.
“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”
The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.
Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.
“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”
Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.
“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.
It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.
“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.
“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”
“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”
Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.
“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.
“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.
“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”
“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”
Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.
“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.
“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.
“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted.
Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.
“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”
Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?
“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face.
“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.
Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.
He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.
Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.
“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.
“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”
PT3
#we stan Wayne Munson in this house#Wayne Munson = best uncle#Eddit is dumb cause he spent all of last fic (the week prior to this)#proclaiming that he loved queer ppl cause they were treated like he is#he thinks queer people are cool but now he's like I CAN'T BE QUEER#that's just cause he's scared of what that means and he has to face so many horrors all the time#doesn't like being hated and sometimes the RSD gets to him#the “being straight” thing is like armor that has just been stripped away and he's been shown he can be hurt here too#he'll learn and grow and eventually love his queer-ness#my_writing#steddie#steve and eddie#eddie munson#steddie fic#my writing#wayne munson#I'm bored so take pt2 early
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don't wanna break up again
Pairing: Leigh Shaw x GN!Reader
Word Count: 3.8k
Genre: Pinch of angst? fluff
Warnings: None unless you hate the names Leigh & Danny in the same sentence quite a bit
A/N: Long time no see! (again) writer's block and just simply getting the inspiration and motivation to write have been fucking dreadful these last few months. I dunno what was going on. Hopefully, all things going well this is my slow return to posting regularly again on here. If not then whoops you'll see me again at some stage. Who would've thought Leigh Shaw and Ariana Granda was gonna be my breakthrough for writing stuff not me that's for sure. This is my very loose interpretation of Ariana Grande's 'don't wanna break up again' I saw someone say it was very Leigh x Danny coded then this transpired. I hope I have done this some justice I imagine my writing abilities are a bit rusty so bear with me and I hope you all enjoy!
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*Please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*
If there was one thing Leigh was certain of since Matt’s death it was how complicated and difficult her life had become, ranging from devastating revelations to do with Matt and his teacher co-worker Nina, living with a Jules who is now a recovering sober alcoholic, dealing with her mother Amy with her previous breakdown she had where she moved to Alaska which subsequently led to her breakthrough of wanting to travel and basically just live somewhere else that wasn’t in Los Angeles, that wasn’t home.
In addition to that after Leigh’s breakdown after choosing to leave with Jules to go to Vietnam, she ultimately decided just to stay living in their family home whilst both Jules and her mother left for however long they decided. Leigh also decided to take over Beautiful Beast for Jules until she was ready to come back…if she ever did but nonetheless she couldn’t let all of Jules’ hard work go to waste. And last but not least the absolute travesty that of her and Danny whatever that thing is, it’s complicated, messy and above all else unhealthy all over for the both of them. Not to delve too much into the ups and downs of their….thing the latest situation ended up with Danny punching a hole in the wall of Leigh’s home, to sum it up in a simple phrase “People don’t slam their fists through walls when things are going well.”
The one positive and healthy yet still slightly complicated thing in Leigh’s life which happened unexpectedly was well… Y/N. Granted one of the only aspects that made it complicated was the fact you were her “student”, you both met due to you attending Leigh’s classes at Beautiful Beast, the friendship, and conversations which ended up evolving into more flirtatious conversations did just happen out of nowhere unexpectedly. The downfall of the whole friendship between you both was when Danny surprised Leigh at the entrance of Beautiful Beast one night to take her home…then you caught Danny kissing her which again took Leigh by surprise. That night and predicament in question had truly shocked Leigh because from what she knew and understood during that time, it was during one of her and Danny’s off moments, their pause a break essentially.
But in good Leigh fashion the second she saw Danny she started overthinking and thought she interpreted something wrong or missed a certain something, whilst simultaneously thinking this was Danny offering an olive branch and showing her they really can make this work, they can be good and healthy for each other….how wrong she was. So understandably from then on you started to distance yourself and pull away from Leigh after that by not talking, hanging out or texting as much. Unbeknownst to Leigh any hope you had of having some sort of relationship with her plummeted very quickly after that.
Leigh knew whatever they had going on wasn’t good for either of them and would never last, it was a cycle they couldn’t break….well she couldn’t break. It was a lifeline for them both, the last small bit of connection they both had to Matt in some way. On one hand, Leigh had this negative and toxic relationship that she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t escape it. Somehow it always kept dragging her back in no matter how many times night and day it had her distraught, crying and attempting to soothe herself. On the other hand, Leigh had this seemingly hopeful, positive and healthy relationship she could have with you.
But before she even tried to give that relationship a chance she had to try to get out of this fucking cycle she couldn’t seem to get out of and no matter how hard she tried. Whenever she asked Jules for advice on the relationship, much to nobody's surprise always went something like this.
“Leigh you need to end this thing with Danny and go no contact with him at least for some time, this is not healthy for either of you. I mean come on Leigh he punched a hole in the wall at our house. Let me remind you when I was living with you Leigh after mom left, just how many times I’d hear quiet sobs from your room, you talking to yourself to make yourself feel better and reassure yourself everything was going to be okay, that everything was gonna be fine. And I couldn’t get in because 1. You’d lock the door, 2. You wouldn’t respond when I asked if you were okay and lastly, when you did, you’d just say you were fine, you were okay. Once one of you starts to feel happier and healthier the other drags the other one down simply just by being around.
I know you don’t want to go through another break-up or heartbreak….but you’re doing it to yourself constantly by staying in this with Danny or maybe…. You keep going back to this thing with Danny because you don’t want to hurt him and his heart completely. And if you do fully disappear from his life because to him you're his last link to Matt and right now you know full well you are leading him on and have him believing you two can have some semblance of a future together no matter how complicated it may be. I know this is a weird way to word it but… I think you know Matt wouldn’t want or like Danny to be experiencing this level of hurt and anguish as much as he is, not even specifically with you just with anyone.
But let’s not forget just how much you did hurt Danny initially when he was staying away from you and you wouldn’t let it happen. You forced your way into his life because you needed him to love you. Who knows maybe some ways down the line in the future when you’re both fully healed or at least somewhat…you two can be friends and have that last link to Matt. But also do remember that doesn’t mean you have to stop contact with Matt’s mother…. You can still have a link to him in some shape and form.”
That’s what she’d deal with, she knew and understood completely what Jules was saying yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it….unfortunately. She wishes Danny would end up being the person to end it but the chances of that happening are slim to none. But with the possibilities that awaited her on the other side of things…she knew what she had to do, end things with Danny then she had to get the friendship with Y/N back to what it was, and she had to show you that you weren't going to be just some rebound, that she saw a future with this relationship she saw it going the distance.
When she thought about the aspects of the relationship she had with Y/N the only way Leigh could describe how she felt…was how she felt when she was with Matt. With you, it finally felt like Leigh had gotten the best and good part of herself back that as Leigh put it Matt had taken with him when he died. It felt like she could finally breathe again and live her life to the fullest. Fortunately for Leigh yet quite sadly when the friendship between you both was at its best Matt left her alone, and Leigh’s recurring what she would consider nightmares of Matt and Nina living out the life she lived with him finally stopped.
Now all she had to do was start the process and uncomplicate her life which starts with talking to Danny.
As Leigh anxiously approaches the door to the apartment she knows so well, she nervously wrings out her hands and fingers. She had texted Danny the night before asking him if would it be okay for her to visit in the morning to talk to him, as Danny eagerly agreed to her calling over she realised at that very moment he was expecting a very different conversation. She hesitantly starts knocking on the door muttering to herself “You can do this, you can do this. You have to do this for yourself, Danny and everyone else in your life but most importantly you and Danny.” After a few seconds, shuffling could be heard behind the door as Leigh took a deep breath in, in an attempt to calm herself down and get all of her feelings under control.
Once the door opened a weak nervous smile spread across her face, Leigh quickly scans Danny trying to figure out how he really is, as she sees him start to step out and lean in to give her a quick kiss but before anything of the sort can happen Leigh quickly steps in and gives him a quick hug as she states “so is it alright for me to come in?” as she smiles quickly at him. Danny’s face scrunches up in confusion as Leigh quickly pats his stomach as she steps past him into his apartment, he lets out an exasperated sigh and throws his head back slightly and he turns around to walk into his apartment closing the door behind him.
When Danny finally turns to face Leigh he can’t help but notice her looking around his apartment and the constant nervous fidgeting with her fingers, her hair and her neck. He sighs to himself “Alright Leigh what is this about you said you wanted to talk.”
Leigh jumps slightly as she spins around to face him “ I- well- yeah you’re right I did, I did.” rubbing her now sweaty palms off of the side of her jeans and slowly sits herself down on Danny's sofa. Taking a deep breath in and bringing her hands up to her mouth “I- I can imagine from the way I’m acting and just how difficult it is for me to start this conversation and say what I actually want to….that you already know what this conversation is about and where it’s heading.” Hearing a quiet sigh beside her Leigh glances quickly out the side of her eye seeing Danny leaning forward slightly with his head down and forearms leaning on his knees. “But Danny this thing has to be stopped, I- we’re both hurting each other continuously whether we realise it or not. I mean need I remind ourselves of the punching a hole in the wall situation.”
That got a small chuckle out of Danny as he shook his head slightly clicking his tongue. “And I mean it wasn’t just you Danny, I forced you to be around me when you didn’t want to, in our own little ways, we were selfish when it came to this situation. Now I know I stated and promised you before that I would never have a life that didn’t have you in it…but whilst we’re both still healing and dealing with our grief that obviously still hasn’t gone anywhere. We do really need to not be in each other's lives anymore, no contact, no talking in any shape or form no stupid lil emoji texts anymore.”
Biting his lip and sitting back Danny exclaims “But Leigh that’s EXACTLY what you’re doing, you’re leaving, you’re having a life without me! You obviously think and believe you don’t need me!”
“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU, I’M NOT HAVING A LIFE WITHOUT YOU”
“LEIGH THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE DOING CAN YOU NOT HEAR WHAT YOU’RE SAYING”
“DANNY!” scoffing to herself and shaking her head as she calmly states ”See this, this here exactly happening right now is why we need to take a step back from each other. We can’t even have a normal conversation without blowing up and ending up yelling at each other. The only time we aren’t killing each other is when we’re having sex and- and even then since we had that conversation in that casino resort we both know Matt is still weirdly on our minds during that. I- I think no matter how much we try or maybe want some sort of actual loving relationship with each other…it’ll never work. The only thing we ever can be to each other is friends.” Leigh shakes her head and licks her lips slightly “Just a friendship. Because we are hurting each other and ourselves from the inside out. We have to heal by ourselves, without the other in our lives and move on. And hopefully at some stage down the line whenever we’re both happy and healthy we can get back in contact with the other.”
Leigh smirks as she sways from side to side “Cause I can’t lie Danny I think we’d be pretty kick-ass friends together don’t ya think.” She grins as she nudges Danny with her shoulder, clearing his throat and nodding “Yeah- yeah I think we would be. And I can’t lie I get what you’re saying I understand hell I see it completely. It- it is just a difficult thing to let go of even if it is just for a little bit.”
Biting her lip and rubbing Danny’s arm “I get it, Danny I do believe me but you still have your mom. You both can get through this together because it was just as difficult for her to… You are all she has left. And I’ll- I'm staying in contact with her or at this stage more like getting in contact with her more considering she still is my mother-in-law or ex-mother-in-law anyways specifics isn’t the important thing here.”
Danny laughs slightly and nods “Yeah, yeah she’d like that.” Both sit back against the sofa in silence basking in the reality of what now has to be undertaken the reality of it hitting them simultaneously. Rubbing her hands anxiously up and down her legs as she slowly drags out “rigghtt I guess- I guess I better go now and leave us both to our journey of healing, growth whatever you wanna call it.” Leigh laughs as she mumbles to herself “god I sound like my mother” She walks to the door with Danny right behind her as Leigh opens the door she turns around and smiles at Danny as they both embrace each other in a hug for the last time till…who knows how long. Both pulling away slowly and giving each other a subtle nod as Leigh steps out through the door as it closes behind her softly. Leigh takes a deep breath in, the grin spreading across her face going unnoticed by her as she starts to descend the steps of the apartment building.
Leigh was never nervous or anxious when it came to teaching her exercise classes though apparently today was the exception, as she anticipated your arrival. Leigh smiles moving back and forth on her feet as she greets all of the students walking in through the door to her class, anxiously waiting to get a glimpse of your bag, shoes or something as you come through the front door. Considering since you distanced yourself from her she’s noticed you haven’t attended classes all that regularly. Leigh’s eyebrows raise in anticipation as she sees the front doors open happily letting out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding as she saw a glimpse of your bag and shoes come into view. Giddily she lets a grin spread across her face and she nervously picks at her nails seeing you approach the entrance “Hey Y/N it’s nice to see you again, I’m glad you decided to attend and come today.”
Taken aback by Leigh's greeting and striking up a proper conversation with you after so long did genuinely take you by surprise but couldn’t stop the smile on your face “Hey Leigh, yeah I can’t lie I missed attending these classes I’m sure I’ll get back on track from now on.” Both smiling at each other as you walk past her into the class much to Leigh’s amazement you turn around and say to her “Leigh if I can just say you look great...you just look happy and healthy. Whatever you’ve done or are doing keep it up it suits you.” With her mouth wide open Leigh messily nods and stutters out “I- I will- I- Thank you very much, I will be sure to keep it up.” Leigh turns around to the door to hide and mutters to herself “Idiot”.
Much to her relief though the class was a success and she didn’t stumble or trip over any more of her words whenever she got closer to you throughout her class as she moved around the room. After the class finished Leigh quickly grabbed her towel off the floor wiping the sweat off of her as she said goodbye to everyone, in her peripheral vision she could see you deliberately taking your sweet ass time packing away all of your stuff. Biting her lip she attempted to suppress the smile taking over her face.
As she said goodbye to one of the last students she sauntered across the room towards you as she started fiddling with the towel around her neck. “Sooo Y/N” you glanced up at her as you were putting on your shoes “What's up Leigh?”
She smiles at you abashedly as she scratches her head “I just wanna say sorry and give you a quick apology for anything I said or did that created that distance and made us pull away from each other. Because- because for that length of time, I really did miss seeing you and your face around here but I’m glad to see you back now.” Nervously scratching the back of your neck “Yeah umm I just-” shaking your head slightly as you let out a breath “I just had some stuff I had to figure out and work on to clear my head a bit and- unfortunately, sadly to do that I kinda had to step away and distance myself from you and well all things relating to you. But I- I think I’ve figured it all out now.”
You can’t help but notice the hopeful glint in Leigh’s eyes and smile “Oh really? A positive figure it out I hope?”
Grinning and nodding confidently “Yeah- yeah it does seem that way.” Both of you stare at each other smiling to your heart's content as both of your eyes scan the other person. You clear your throat as you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks and glance around the room “Anyways I should probably head off and leave you to clean up the place or whatever it is you have left to do around here.” Leigh absentmindedly nods her head but ultimately starts panicking as you pick up your bag and wave goodbye to her, she quickly sprints after you saying between breaths “Or or- or albeit this isn’t a very nice offer for you to ask-” you raise your eyebrow at her “What is it, Leigh?”
“Um, do you wanna hang out here with me and help me out around here if you aren’t busy? I just- I’ve just missed hanging out and talking with you and thought this might be a nice way for us to catch up.”
“Y’know you are right it isn’t the nicest or most glamorous offer I’ve ever heard but I have missed talking to you Leigh so I’ll stick around and help my favourite fitness instructor out.”
Leigh whips her head around to face you and stumbles slightly as she starts moving the spare barres placed around the room “Wha- what do you mean favourite fitness instructor? I’m your only fitness instructor.” Smirking over at Leigh as you roll up the extra yoga mats “That you know of, could’ve tried out other places whilst I was MIA”
“HEY!” Leigh exclaims as she throws a cloth at you
Laughing at her reaction as you catch the cloth “I’m messing, I’m messing you would be correct, you are the only fitness instructor I know and one that I go to.” You hear a quiet yet stern “good” in response as she goes back to cleaning, laughing and shaking your head in the process.
Since then you and Leigh have practically been inseparable, it was as if nothing had ever happened. She had explained to you fully what went and was going on with her and Danny currently..more like what wasn’t going on. Even though you had said to her repeatedly she didn’t have to that it was none of your business. But you reassured her it was for the better, she made the right decision, she’s doing better because of it and you could only hope the same for Danny. Leigh now had you over at her house….for what she told you would be a quiet night in with both of your favourite takeout foods and as many movies and TV shows as you both could handle.
Which now that you were here was not the case at all. Leigh had gotten the bright idea, the brainwave or as she put it a breakthrough. She felt that the whole house needed to be redecorated and refurnished as it reminded her of sad, difficult and complicated times and she couldn’t stand being reminded of those moments any longer. So who were you to say no to helping her out yet again. As you were sat on the floor dismantling all of the old furniture with Leigh, you saw her peak her head out from the other side “Again I’m sorry about this, it seems like none of my hangouts recently are that exciting and it involves you always having to work.” You laugh and shake your head “Leigh honestly it’s okay I really don’t care what I do as long as it’s with you. But hey it’ll be a nice bonding time for both of us, be a little glimpse of what it’s like if we were to ever live with each other I guess.” You scratch your head and hurriedly get back to dismantling the furniture as you realise what you said. “Did you just say living together?”
“Psshhh me say that? No never? Must’ve heard things, Leigh.”
“Mhmm okay sure.” What you didn’t notice was Leigh moving over to you slowly on her knees but jumping slightly as you felt her place her arms on your shoulders in an attempt to get you to raise your head to look at her. Glancing up at her you see the silly little smile on her face “I may not be ready for that yet but I’d like to think we’d end up living together at some stage in the future.”
Staring at her wide-eyed “R-really?” Leigh grins and nods her head as she whispers against your lips “Really.” Grinning at each other as you both lean in to place kisses on each other's lips which quickly turn into little pecks as Leigh slaps your thigh “Alright let’s get back to work this house isn’t gonna refurnish and redecorate itself. And this furniture certainly won’t dismantle itself.”
Chuckling to yourself you playfully salute towards Leigh “Aye, aye captain.”
#therunawaywrites#leigh shaw x reader#leigh shaw x you#leigh shaw x y/n#leigh shaw imagine#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen x you#elizabeth olsen x y/n#sfyl#sorry for your loss#leigh shaw
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First Light
Author’s Note: Hey, y’all! Me again! In this installation of Somethin’ Sweet, we’re back to Sy’s point of view. Grab some tissues and join me in my sad girl era. As always, thanks for stopping by!
Summary: Sy’s up early prepping for deployment and can’t help but relive the events from the night before.
Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC
Warnings: sexual content; nipple play, p-in-v intercourse, descriptions of male and female anatomy, explicit language, and adult themes. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.
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It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky as an early morning fog rolled in through the treeline. Bright, angry streaks of lightning raced across the sky and casted shadows through the room. A loud crash of thunder shook the old tin roof and startled him awake. In his moment of panic, Sy sat up straight and knocked the headboard into the wall behind the bed with a loud crack. It took him a second to recognize his surroundings in the dark, but once he did, he breathed a sigh of relief. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him made his shoulders drop. 4:45am. Sy reached out and turned it off, as not to disturb his lover tucked so sweetly beneath the quilt beside him. That girl could sleep through a hurricane. A little fall of rain wouldn’t bother her much. Leaving over, he kissed the top of her head and lingered there, but only for a moment. Long enough to memorize the way she smelled. Honeysuckle and vanilla. Fuck, he’ll miss her.
Sy moved to plant his feet on the floor and ran a hand down his tired face. The last two weeks have been…a little less than ideal. It was his fault, really. He’d gotten the orders to ship out almost a month ago, but waited a while to tell her about them. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Things were just getting good here. Things were still so fun and new, but as always, Uncle Sam had other plans for him.
The first person he told was his mama. When he did, she barely flinched. Sy made the third generation of Syverson men who’d stormed courageously into war. His daddy served in Vietnam, his papaw in World War II. When duty called, they answered. It wasn’t easy, watching him walk out the door, never knowing if he’ll make it home again, but she’d made peace with it by now. “What good does it do fer me ta’ worry? Either you’ll come back, or ya wont. It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”
Sy trod lightly off to the bathroom to start the shower. The room filled with steam, just enough to fog the mirror as stood beneath the steady stream and let it run over his head. Staring down at his feet, he let the water consume him. Heavy drops clung to his lashes, but he didn’t bother to blink them away. His mind was somewhere else. With someone else.
__
Sy had always been a steak-and-potatoes kinda guy, but he’d barely touched his plate. Every bite felt too heavy in his stomach, like he’d traded out his ribeye for a hunk of lead instead. She’d spent so much time cooking for him, springing for only the best of meat and the freshest produce the grocery store had to offer. The least he could do was clear his plate. Lord knew when he’d get another meal like this again.
Once he’d managed to choke it down, he stood and started grabbing dishes to take to the sink, but she stopped him quickly. She’d barely said a word all night, and her interjection almost startled him. “No, baby,” she whispered, taking the plate from his hands. “Let me get those.”
Merrin kept her back to him as she filled the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water. Steam fogged the window above as she drifted off in thought. She was a million miles away from here, swimming in regret and longing for just a little more time. There was so much to do, so much to say, but the words never came out right. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the tears began to blur her vision. Closing her eyes, she gave in and let them spill down her face. She’d fought so hard to keep her distance. To brace herself for the inevitable. In the end, she’d fallen hard. Harder than she’d ever expected to; head over heels and still tumbling. She braced herself against the sink and let her head hang low, covering her mouth to muffle the sobs that bubbled up from her trembling chest.
When a hand reached out to touch her shoulder, she gasped. Looking up again, Merrin stared into the reflection of his eyes in the pane of glass before them. Calloused fingertips brushed her hair to the side, then traced along the side of her delicate throat. His voice was low and deep, a rumbling baritone pressed against her back as he broke the silence.
“I’m not gone yet. Gimme one more night. Just one more night, alone with you.”
Merrin sniffled softly, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. From there, Sy wasted no time. Most of the dishes made it into the sink, but a broken glass was the last thing on his mind when he placed her onto the countertop. Shoving his way between her open knees, his lips were hot and harsh as they crashed into hers. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was angry with her. In truth, Sy was angry; angry at their situation, angry at the world, but not at her. Never at her.
He grabbed her up, one hand on the back of the neck and the other wrapped around her thigh, squeezing with a force hard enough to leave a bruise. The pain turned into pleasure, the aggression turned to lust, and Merrin returned the favor with shared fervor. She wasn’t scared of him. On the contrary, she relished in his smothering presence, digging perfectly manicured nails into the meat of his shoulder as she drew him in just as close. Her mouth worked with his in a haphazard clash of teeth and tongue. Even in the mess, there was still beauty to be found. She was soft and sweet where he was rough and hungry. A yin to a yang, souls intertwined as one.
His shirt hit the floor first, and her sundress followed soon after. Merrin grabbed him by the belt and yanked until his hips pressed sharply into her own. They worked together to loosen the buckle and pop the button beneath it, ripping it from the loops and tossing it away to clatter to the floor. Rough hands came up to cup her breasts, bare and warm, a perfect fit for each palm. He squeezed gently and smirked against her neck, relishing in her pleads for more.
“Clay,” she whispered, clinging to him as he dropped his head to nuzzle against one hardened nipple, then the other. Always one to please, he licked his lips and welcomed one into his mouth. He took his time, gazing up through thick lashes as he moved from one breast to the other. She looked like an angel, basking in the glow of the sunset that poured in around her. But Merrin was no saint, far from it, and couldn’t stand his temptation for long. She let a hand fall between them to meet the bulge in his jeans and palmed it gently. She could almost feel the ache beneath the distressed denim; a steady, throbbing need that seeked relief that only she could provide. The words came before she could stop them. “Fuck me, Clay.”
Sy mumbled a gruff “Yes ma’am” into the flesh of her breasts and tugged himself free from his boxers. Never one to keep his lady waiting, he hooked a finger into the gusset of her panties and pulled them to the side. The sight of her wet heat made his mouth water. Any other time, he’d drop to his knees right then and there to have his fill, but it wasn’t what they needed the most right now. Right now, he needed to be inside of her, just as much as she needed to feel him there. He held the base of his erection and traced the swollen head through her folds, mouth agape and almost drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in ecstasy.
“Fuck, honey. So wet for me.”
She gasped when the tip of his cock caught at her slick opening. The delicious burn from the stretch she felt as he pushed forward inside of her stole the breath from her lungs. They both watched as he crossed the threshold and buried himself deep inside of her. Breathy moans and whimpers of lust echoed through the room, and Sy took a moment to let her catch her breath again.
“Fuck, baby…”
She met his gaze once more, eyes wide and full of fire as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Sy tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, choosing to indulge her for a while, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. His retreat was nice and slow, but he didn’t pull out all of the way. Tugging her head back roughly, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and relished in the way she tensed around him. Nipping at her throat, he growled against her pulse and smirked. “So tight, honey. I’m not gonna last long.”
She answered with the rake of her nails down his back, leaving tender, pink lines in their wake, then dug them into the flesh of his bare ass. Shoving herself back onto his cock, she groaned loudly.
“Don’t tease me, Clay. I need you.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. With a harsh thrust of his hips, he bottomed out completely. Sy held her down by the waist as he took what he wanted from her. In and out, over and over, he pounded into her with a fervor she’d never seen before. Their lust was wild and sinful as he stood there at the counter and fucked her into a mindless mess. A familiar tightness built somewhere deep in her gut, and before she could warn him, she was coming undone. Her eyes filled with tears, filled with so much emotion, then spilled down her cheeks in hot, furious streams.
It didn’t stop there. He had her again on the couch, and again against the front door, then once more upstairs in their room. The bed creaked under their shifting weight. Sweat poured from his face as he held one of her legs over his shoulder. Merrin clung to the sheets beneath her as he approached another climax. Just when she thought she couldn’t handle any more, he proved her wrong.
“Come on, sugar,” he begged, wiped his brow with the back of his hand and picked up the pace. “Gimme one more. Just one more.”
He’d been saying that for hours, but this time, he was telling the truth. His muscles ached and cramped, his body pleaded with him to give it up, but he was determined to make this a night to remember. He’d be gone for God knows how long; he wanted to make sure she’d had her fill before he left. Sy kept his promise and within seconds, he crashed over the edge of climax right along with her. Chests heaving and voices hoarse, they rode out their highs together and collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs. Sy stared up at the ceiling as he fought to regain composure and felt her curl up against his side. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Merrin held up a hand up and they smacked palms, victorious in their conquest. All qualms were forgotten, at least for a little while.
“High five.”
“Good sex.”
__
Standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, Sy stared at himself in the mirror. He scratched at his chin and turned his head from side to side, then flipped the switch on the side of the clippers. The first pass up the underside of his chin took off most of the length. He dusted a tuft of fuzz from the guards and let it fall into the basin before him. Sy made quick work of taking it all off, then grabbed the shaving cream to smooth over the stubble left behind. He moved with a surgeon's precision, each drag of the razor taking away the foam and leaving baby-smooth skin behind. Once he was finished, he bent down and filled his hands with warm water to wash his face. Just as he reached for the aftershave in the medicine cabinet, two delicate arms wrapped around his middle and squeezed gently. He brought one of them up and pressed her knuckles to his lips, kissing them as he spoke.
“What’re you doin’ up?”
Merrin yawned against his back and nuzzled her face there. Her eyes were heavy with the sleep that she just couldn’t shake. He reached back to run his fingers through her hair, twirling and twisting strands of amber around calloused fingertips as they stood in a shared silence. She raked her nails through the hair on his chest and dug them into hardened flesh, putting up a weak fight to keep him there for just a little while longer. “Couldn’t sleep,” was all she said as another roll of thunder echoed somewhere off in the distance. Sy glanced back at her from over his shoulder and found her staring up at him. She traced his cheekbone and down to the line of his jaw, mesmerized by the clean-shaven stranger who stood before her now.
“Most men grow a beard to hide their faces. You, though…” she pressed her thumb into the dimple on his chin. “You’ve got nothing to hide.”
She left him there with a gentle pat to the chest, then turned to head back into the bedroom. He watched her as she went, wearing nothing but the cheeky little splash of ink that was tatted across the dimples on her lower back and the panties that rested beneath them. A drunken mistake from Spring Breaks of old, left to peak from beneath low-rise jeans as a reminder of wilder days. Sy chuckled to himself and shook his head. He could hardly handle her now; if they’d met back then, he could only imagine the trouble she’d get him into. She’d have eaten him alive.
__
To his dismay, traffic was fairly light on their way to the airport. The skies above were a dusty shade of blue, vast and empty as the rising sun chased away the rain. Fields of wheat and grain blurred past on either side as they left their sleepy little town in the rear view. Sy drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting in her lap. Every now and then he’d hold her thigh, knead and squeeze, then cut his eyes from the road and over to her in silent reassurance. Every radio station from here to Houston seemed to play nothing but love songs, and each one salted the wound just a little bit more. Merrin tried to surf from station to station, genre to genre, but eventually gave up, so they rode in silence instead.
Sy didn’t mind the quiet. It felt more honest than anything he could say now. “It’ll be alright, honey.” “We’ll write every day.” “I’ll be home before you know it.” He couldn’t guarantee anything, and they both knew that.
Once they’d made it past security, Sy found a bench to sit on and dropped his bag at his feet. When he looked over to her, she was staring off somewhere in the distance, a million miles away again. To her, this felt like punishment. Like the universe had nothing better to do than shit on the best relationship she’d ever had. Karma had finally caught up to her, and this was how she was meant to pay for her transgressions.
“This isn’t fair.”
Clayton sighed and took her hand into his. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Life isn’t–” She cut him off.
“Don’t you dare tell me that life isn’t fair. I know life isn’t fair. This is…” Merrin shook her head. “This is cruel.”
He tried to smile, to crack a joke, to lighten the mood, but one look at her shut it all down. She was right. He’d been on the verge of hanging it up, of finally giving in and taking that cushy desk job at base to be closer to his mama, but his pride had gotten in the way. He knew he had at least one more deployment in him. One more, and he’d give it up for good. He just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.
Everything had changed, now that he had Merrin. She was everything that he wasn’t. Gentle, but not easy to mislead; Stubborn, but only when necessary; Kind-hearted to those in need; and so fucking sweet. Now, he fought for her. If this it took to keep her safe, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Now, he had someone worth fighting for.
Wrapping her up tightly, Sy held her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. He pressed a fierce kiss to the top of her head and let his eyes close for a moment. They held each other just like that until his flight was called. Then they walked the Green Mile all the way down to the gate, where he pulled her aside and took her hands into both of his. His eyes searched hers desperately in a last ditch effort to commit them to memory. Shades of blue and green, specks of gold around the iris, as wild as the tide and as vast as the sea. When he kissed her, it was deep and lascivious. He didn’t care who saw. Fuck ‘em. Let them look. Sy broke his kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, dug the end of his crooked nose into her cheek and breathed her in for as long as he could.
“I love you, Merrin Paige. More than you’ll ever know.”
His words stole the breath from her chest. Three little words she never expected to hear him say. Three little words that paralyzed her, right where she stood. He kissed her cheek one last time, grabbed his bags, and headed off to catch his flight. Merrin watched from the window as the plane taxied at the end of the runway. A light drizzle began to sputter outside, just enough to blur her vision as the plane disappeared high into the clouds. Just like that, he was gone.
It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. It never rains in Texas, and today, Merrin hated the rain.
__
Far from home, Sy checked his watch as he waited for the line to ring. Static crackled in his ear as he cradled the phone between his head and his shoulder. 2pm in Baqubah; 10pm in Houston. If he was right, she’d still be up. Probably curled up in bed with a book, one of those dirty little romances she liked so much. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched and moaned. If Texas was hot, then this was hell.
Then, a click. The old desk chair groaned when he sat up straight. He listened for a moment, waiting for someone to answer, then checked the signal to make sure that the call had gone through. Fuck. Don’t let it be the answering machine.
“Sy?” a sweet voice chirped over the static. He sighed, relieved, and smiled widely at the sound of his name.
“Yeah, baby,” he breathed. “It's me. How’s it–”
She cut him off. What she had to say couldn’t wait.
“I love you too.”
__
Taglist: @geralts-yenn @peyton-warren @kingliam2019 @uunotheangel @deandoesthingstome @drewharrisonwriter @foxyjwls007 @melissareadsstuff @totalwool @summersong69 @caramariehurst @niallhorwen @warriormirkwoodkwood @mairablue @omgkatinka @evansabove1981 @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @enchantedbytomandhenry
#henry cavill#captain syverson#henry cavill fanfiction#syverson#captain syverson fanfiction#henry cavill characters#captain syverson smut#captain syverson fic#captain syverson fluff#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill smut#syverson fluff#syverson smut#syverson fanfiction
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Masterlist..
Sakuras Cousin:
Yunjin x Fem!reader.
You're sakuras cousin, you and yunjin both have an interest in each other but a specific member doesn't like that. (sakura) So you part ways, go through multiple different challenges in your relationship, making it rocky and difficult. Feelings get hurt, tears get shed, will you guys make it and last until the end? ... -Ongoing-
1. Not aloud
2. Flirting
3. Instagram
4. Cute
5. Mine
6. Caught by kkura
7. Blondie
8. Dinner date
9. Matching post
10. Chefs
11. My fave streamer
12. Railing
13. I'm sorry.
14. The truth
15. Kim Minju
16. Jealousy over a hoodie
17. Wait, what?
18. Getaway
19. Jealous Jen
20. Get married 👍
21. The world is healing
22. Uh-oh
23. 2Kim
24. Talk it out
25. Make out
26. Good golly
27. "STOP MAKING FUN OF MY SPELLING."
28. You're so horny
29. HWSHSHICEOA
30. Surprise?
31. Your Girl.
32. Posting again??
33. Quotes
34. Pr or no?
35. Babies
36. Damn..
37. In love with you.
38. That's our song.
39. Public.
40. Low blow.
41. Reality check.
42. Not for you.
43. Money, Money, Money.
44. Scandal Saviour
44. Are you insane??
45. Too fine
Fall in love with you.
Sakura x Fem!reader
You've been a fan of sakura for as long as you remember, it's always been a joke that sakura's your girlfriend. You're an influencer but half of your page ends up being sakura. But little did you know, she's a fan of you too. What happens when one day, she reaches out to you.. but she's nothing like you imagined? ... -Ongoing-
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Teenage love.
Eunchae and Y/n experiencing teenage love together for the first time, but one mistake makes their relationship more risky and a lot more effort had to be put in. Can they do it? ... -Ongoing-
Eunchae x Fem!Reader
Dammit.
Run.
Try Again.
Forbiddingly Yours.
In a world where loving someone with a different surname is forbidden, but the two daughters of the most respected and well known families of Taiwan fall in love with each other. Chou Tzuyu and Lu Y/n. Can they keep things hidden? ... - Ongoing -
Tzuyu x Fem!reader
Intro!
[1] First talk
[2] I'm yours
[3] Melting
[4] Uh oh..
[5] Did it hurt?
[6] Seriously?
[7] Cheater!
[8] Lying.
[9] Break up.
[10] Falling.
[11] Explaining.
[12] Try again.
[13] Mine all mine.
[14] My love.
[15] What?
[16] Giving Up.
[17] Screw you.
[18] It's over.
[19] She needs to know.
[20] Korea and Vietnam.
[21] Secret Lu.
[22] Is it mine?
[23] Choices.
[24] Win her back.
[25] Won their love.
[26] Anniversary.
[27] Truly yours.
[28] Twice?
[29] Well..
[30] You didn't tell me??
To be continued...
Have Faith In Me
Kim Minji and Lu Y/n. One new jeans member, One lesserafim member. They get paired up as roommates for the new reality show of living with Nwjs and Lsfm made by their managements. They start off on the wrong foot but slowly get along.. -Ongoing-
Kim Minji x Fem!Reader
(Lsfm profiles) (Lsfm contact names)
1. Dorm arrangement
2. Word on the street
3. Bad first meet!
4. Physical!
5. Bad plans
6. Okay so..
7. Danielle
8. Hotel room
9. Girlfriend
10. Vietnamese Lesson
11. Loser
12. Pochacco war
13. Em yêu chị
A/N: CHANGE OF PLANS. Y/N IS BORN 2002. BUT EUNCHAE DOESNT CALL HER UNNIE HALF OF THE TIME.
One-shots..
A collection of my short stories/one shots 😁
Lesserafim..
Miyawaki Sakura:
All couples fight. [A]
Back the fuck up. [A, S, F]
Change for us, since you ruined me. [A, S, F]
Jealous g!p sakura [S]
Huh Yunjin:
Expect the unexpected [S]
Kim Chaewon:
nothing yet..
Nakamura Kazuha:
None yet...
Hong Eunchae:
Dammit. [F]
Run. [F]
Try Again. [F]
Twice..
Im Nayeon:
Not Over You. [F]
Yoo Jeongyeon
nothing yet..
Hirai Momo:
nothing yet..
Minatozaki Sana:
Falling for you. [F, A]
After Breakup Jealousy [A, F]
Park Jihyo:
nothing yet..
Myoui Mina:
nothing yet..
Kim Dahyun:
nothing yet..
Son Chaeyoung:
nothing yet..
Chou Tzuyu:
Long Distance [A, F]
New Jeans..
Kim Minji:
Campus Crush [A, F, S]
Kang Haerin:
Jealous Y/n [F]
Gf texts [F]
Second masterlist!
#huh yunjin#sakura miyawaki#lesserafim#yunjin#miyawaki sakura#tzuyu#nayeon#jeongyeon#momo#twice sana#park jihyo#mina#dahyun#chaeyoung#chou tzuyu#im nayeon#yoo jeongyeon#hirarimomo#minatozaki sana#myoui mina#kim dahyun#son chaeyoung#sakura miyawaki x reader#kim chaewon#chaewon#le sserafim#eunchae#hong eunchae#kazuha#nakamura kazuha
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TAKE ACTION 2024, WEEK ONE: LET'S GET OVERTON IT
Hey, folks, here we go. I promised information and some organization to get things going. This week, I'm going to say something none of you are going to want to hear. But unfortunately, it's true and you need to come to grips with it now:
We're not going to get what we want in 2024. This is not a reason to jump out of the game. Let me explain.
Republicans will try to sell you that the "modern Republican party" began with Lincoln in 1860. This is not true. The term "Republican Party" began with Lincoln's party, but the modern Republican Party can be traced to Ronald Reagan, in 1980. Before Reagan, the parties were much more malleable; JFK was a Democrat and signed the Civil Rights Act, but George Wallace, the governor of Alabama at the time, was also a Democrat and famously said in his inauguration speech "segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever." In 1974 Gerald Ford, a Republican, provided amnesty for people who'd avoided the Vietnam War draft due to conscientious concerns--but he also pardoned Richard Nixon so the country "could move on" from Watergate.
Reagan is where that all changed. Reagan brought in the explicitly antiqueer platform, the war on drugs aimed squarely at Black people, and while Republicans were known to have favored business over "the little guy" at least since Harry Truman called them out on it in the forties, Reagan went full fuck-you on us. This is why we will not get what we want in 2024: it took the Republicans thirty-eight years to get a guy into office who could pack the Supreme Court and push us toward fascism. Thirty-eight years! Maybe you can see why it's a little unfair to have expected Biden to fix everything in three years.
That, and the Overton Window.
The Overton Window is a political concept that lays out a country's political culture. Basically, anything you can see in the window is considered mainstream and acceptable, getting more extreme as we get to the edges. What's beyond the window altogether is what people won't accept. This window, however, moves. For example: in 1782 when the Constitution was written, basically nobody believed women should be allowed to vote. A woman's place was in the home. She didn't need to worry her little head about world affairs.
But over the next century, things began to change, bit by bit, as women gained small victories like being able to go in public without a chaperone and being able to do some forms of public work. In 1920, it became the law of the land that (white) women could vote. Today, very, very few people think women shouldn't vote, and those who do tend to get laughed at before they can even raise the idea seriously in any kind of lawmaking scenario.
Since Reagan, the Overton Window has shifted severely right. That means we have to start pushing it back left. But if you've ever moved a heavy object and then tried to turn it around, you know it takes more than just really wanting it to turn.
So we're not going to get what we want in 2024, because Overton. And yeah, unless the Dems choose a different candidate (unlikely, because they'd be losing the incumbent advantage), that means four more years of Biden. It also means we need to get a supermajority in the Senate and retake the House, and our goal in doing so is to stop the slide. The good news is, if we pull that off, in 2026 we get to start pushing back to the left. It's going to be slow (people who shit on incrementalists are a psyop).
But.
We have seen it done before and so we know it can be done again.
By 2030, we will be back on the path to sanity. By 2040 we may be able to recover at least most of what we have lost, if we stay the course, if we get organized, if we get loud.
And that starts with you.
Your action item this week is to make yourself a playlist. A playlist that makes you feel like you could fistfight G-d and win.
Label it "Take Action 2024."
I'll see you next Sunday to talk about voting rights.
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strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader
during - part eight
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3
hope is a dangerous thing.
a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!
word count: 4.5k
warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.
✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨
The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.
You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.
“Let me through the gate.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.
She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”
They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”
She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.
Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”
You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”
“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.
“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”
“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”
“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”
“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”
The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”
“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”
“Bat’s not enough for you?”
“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”
Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”
“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”
He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?”
You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”
You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”
“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”
“No. Second.”
“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”
“Have you done this before?”
You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”
“Did he live?”
You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”
He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”
“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.
“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”
“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.
“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”
“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”
“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”
You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”
“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”
“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”
He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”
Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”
“Good.”
You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”
+
They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.
He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.
He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.
But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.
Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.
I’ll find you, baby.
Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.
But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.
Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.
That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.
You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.
He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?
Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.
God, he loved you so goddamned much.
A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.
It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.
He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”
He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.
+
Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.
There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.
The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.
“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”
Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”
The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about; Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.
“Are the kids okay?”
She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”
Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.
“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.
“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”
“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”
You lift a brow. “And?”
He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”
“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”
Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”
“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”
“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”
Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.
“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”
He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”
You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”
McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”
You swallow hard. Shit.
+
The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.
They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.
The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.
Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.
And you’d been eating the same things they had.
The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.
“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.
A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.
And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.
But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.
They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.
You wait for nightfall, and you run.
You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.
Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.
The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.
There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.
You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.
Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”
“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”
You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”
“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”
“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”
His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”
You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.
He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”
You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.
“What is this?”
There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”
“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”
She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”
“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”
“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”
Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”
You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”
There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”
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#my fics#strawberry wine#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#the last of us#the last of us fic#the last of us spoilers
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Slow | Chloe Logarzo x Reader
Words: 1.9k
Summary: despite a rough relationship with your parents, your closeness to your sister brings you Chloe, the only girl for you.
Warning: NOT PROOF READ I have no clue if this is any good and I’m so sorry I think it might be one of my worst ones😭, I know the WBBL started in 2015 but who fucking cares, I changed it – no COVID but Olympics still postponed for some unknown reason :D
Requested by - @charligrantismygirlfriend - not happy with this one at all i'm genuinely so sorry
Sport wasn’t something I was unfamiliar with. In fact, it was my favourite thing. As a kid, my mum and dad put me through many different clubs for different sports, from tennis to AFL. We always landed back at the same lush green cricket pitch in the western suburbs of Sydney on a Saturday morning, surrounded by other girls of all ages who shared my passion.
On Sundays my younger sister would play her soccer games, so we’d spend the weekend in a hotel in the city, then go to each other’s games, pretending to do our homework as we watch.
Not long into Ellie’s soccer journey, our parents decided the move from Cowra to Sydney was necessary for her to develop. The hours long trips to and from training in the depths of Sydney every afternoon proving to be more difficult as she progressed in school.
I no longer lived with them when they made the move, but I resented Ellie for a while. I’d been playing cricket before she could walk, albeit poorly as a 6-year-old, and had moved up through the stages into the best group in the academy by the age of 14. My parents insisted nothing much would come of it, so there was no reason to make such a drastic move and leave the farm and small-town life behind.
-
I started playing professionally for Sydney in the Twenty20 Cup at 17, the same year I got my first call-up for the women’s national cricket team. We, or they, still didn’t live in Sydney, so I dropped out of high school my senior year, and lived with one of the older girls who was also on the national team. I made my national debut a couple months after in a test match against England. My parents didn’t come, Ellie had some important game on that was simply impossible to miss.
-
At 15, when they finally joined me in the city, Ellie joined her first W-league team, and had her first senior team call-up. I made sure to be there for both debuts, avoiding my parents who sat in the crowd nearby. I cried the moment she first touched the pitch in a Matilda’s jersey, and rushed down from the stands to pick her up and hug her when the match was over.
That’s when I first met her… Chloe. My age, a beautiful brunette in the midfield who celebrated with my sister after their 9-0 win against Vietnam. We introduced ourselves and exchanged numbers but nothing much came of it. I can’t deny the many nights I spent awake dreaming of the girl.
The next time I saw Chloe in person was a Sydney Derby. Naturally I’d come to support my sister, but I couldn’t help but cheer whenever the older girl got a touch on the ball. I met up with her and Ellie again after the game, shouting them both dinner. That’s when Chloe asked me out on our first date.
It was somewhat rushed. Her departure for Newcastle was pending and it limited our options, leaving us to grab some shitty take away and dance around in a field down the road from where I lived. The sun was bright, but her smile was brighter. I stumble on my own feet whenever she looked at me, her beauty beyond compare. The beginning of a sunburn kissing my cheeks only provided me so much of an excuse as to why I was so red.
“I’m going to come to every single one of your games.” She whispers in my ear as we lay on the picnic blanket, beneath the over looming gum tree, me playing with her hair as she rests a hand beneath my loose linen shirt.
“You have your own training. And you can’t drive 2+ hours back and forth once a week. Also we have away games you can’t possibly make...” Despite my desperate want for her to be there every game, I begin to list all the reasons it wasn’t logical.
“I’ll find a way. And if not all, most home games.” She gives me a satisfied smile, one that tells me she knows she’s won whatever little argument we had.
-
Chloe keeps her promise, and I join her in my own. We both attend each other’s home games as often as possible, and very rarely, we managed to catch an away game. It usually happened when we were both playing a game in the same city, but we took whatever we were given.
Things went down hill when she moved to Sweden.
She hadn’t been the one to tell me. Ellie was spending a week with me after returning from the Olympics, which I had managed to attend most of, and asked me how I felt about the move. Chloe and I had been dating for a year, so the shock that she hadn’t told me was bigger than the shock at the news.
“What do you mean? She would tell me if she was moving to Sweden.” The pity in my little sister’s eyes is enough to break me. She pats and rubs my back as I sob into her shoulder. My whole body shakes as I moan and weep, and by the time I stop my eyes burn and there isn’t a dry spot on her shirt.
-
“So this is it? You’re breaking up with me because I’m moving?” Chloe looks at me like I’ve got 2 heads as I stand on her front step.
“No, I’m breaking up with you because I had to find out from my little sister, by accident, that you’re moving. Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I just going to have to find out when The Jets removed your name from the squad list?”
“I’m going to come back for the A-League season anyway! It’s not like I’m never coming back, I’ll barely be gone 8 months. And I was going to tell you!”
“When? Once your plane touched down in Stockholm or wherever you’re going? In 5 months when I called you so you can explain why you didn’t come to my game? When were you going to tell me Chlo?” I’m met with silence.
“That’s what I thought.” I turn and walk away, never expecting to see her again.
I can hear her shouting something at me as I continue to walk down the road, droplets of rain beginning to fall on the pavement in front of me. Nothing really registers until I’m standing in front of my sister’s apartment door, clothes heavy with rain and a face void of any other emotion except heartbreak.
-
I don’t see Chloe for years to come following the tragic end of our relationship. Despite her coming back during the summer to play for Sydney, I had no reason to watch her games, Ellie having moved to Portland to develop her career.
Then Ellie moved to Lyon, and I decided to move with her, putting a pause to my cricketing career. Further away from Chloe and closer to Ellie seemed like the perfect deal.
So I helped Ellie move and meet her new teammates. Every morning I’d make her breakfast and then walk around the city, usually finding myself in a café or museum and writing a book. Something I never planned on doing anything with, but found a solace in.
That’s how I found myself in the same café I go to every Saturday, typing in the same document I have been typing in for 5 months. Desperately pressing the backspace as I sip the now cold coffee, I don’t notice someone sliding into the seat across from me.
“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash at the speed in which my head snapped up to look at the girl across from me.
She looks different. Not really, just… older. And her hair is bleached, skin just a fraction more tan, eyes still that shimmering blue. Still beautiful
“Chloe- what the fuck are you doing here?” the words nearly get caught in my throat as I try to process what’s going on.
“Well, I’m playing for Bristol now, in case you didn’t know. Only spent 2 seasons in Sweden then went back to Sydney, went on loan to Washington for a season, back to Sydney, now I’m in England. We have a small break so I thought I’d come see Ellie. Planned everything around you, knew you wouldn’t want to see me. I didn’t take into account you might still like coffee as much as you used to.”
“How’d you even know I’m with Ellie?” it’s a dumb question but I ask it none the less.
“You think I stopped tracking your career because we broke up? I have to say, when I read the “renowned cricketer Y/N Carpenter taking a break for an unforeseen amount of time to help her little sister, Matildas star Ellie Carpenter, settle into the big leagues at Olympique Lyonnais.” headlines, I was shocked.” I finally managed to meet her eyes, the crow’s feet that crack at the corners making her ever the more pretty. It’s aggravating.
“Thought it’d help me get away from Sydney.”
“Sydney? Or me?” I almost want to grab her by the shoulders and scream at her how much I miss her, but I stay sat and silent. A satisfied hum escapes her lips and a smile graces her face.
“I miss you.” She says what I’m thinking, and I begin to think how much of a coward I am. It was so easy for her, why am I struggling?
She doesn’t let me reply, getting up and walking out. I get up to follow her but she’s vanished in the crowd, so I sit, letting my coffee grow colder, thinking about her.
~~~~~
“Ellie this is a bad idea.”
“Common. Meeks is bringing Harley and Kirstey. You love Harley. You can babysit!” my little sister is determined, although my fighting is useless as we drag our suitcases through the airport.
“Chloe is going to be there El.”
“Chloe is going to be here.” I nearly bump into her as she stops in front of us.
“And she’ll be your plane buddy.” The cheeky grin I was once so familiar with graces her face and I can feel the corner of my own lips twitching as my heart clenches. Fuck.
“Oh goody.” I try to ignore the sweat that begins to prick through my skin as Ellie stalks away from us to meet Emily Gielnik.
-
“Real talk.” Chloe’s face is serious as soon as we take our seats on the plane.
“I miss you, and I want to try this again. I get you may not want to but you can’t tell me you don’t still feel even the tiniest bit of love for me still.” Her finger waggles back and forth between as to indicate exactly what she’s talking about and I sigh.
“I miss you too…” I meet her eyes and I can see the hope that grows behind them.
“But if we try this out again, we have to take it slow. Like go out on a few dates to start with.”
“I can do that.” She eagerly nods her head in agreement.
“I’d really like that.” I smile back at her, and that seems to end the conversation.
As the engine rumbles and we begin moving along the tarmac, I rest my arm on the armrest. I gently slide my hand into Chloe’s and rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes. Maybe slow wasn’t necessary, I love her too much.
#woso x reader#woso#womens soccer#woso fanfics#wsl#olympique lyonnais#the matildas#chloe logarzo#chloe logarzo x reader#the matildas x reader#2020 olympics#olympics 2020
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Here's a silly ask. I'm in my 30s now but I was once young dumb and full of cum like any other teen boy. I got tall and bearded early looked old as fuck tbh thought it was great then but less great when I go in to buy cigarettes nowadays and some guy says thank you for serving in Vietnam and I have to say bro. Bro. I was born in 1992 and went bald at 21. Anyway that's not the point. So I'm this 15 year old former fat boy with the rage of being bullied for being fat stuck suddenly in a 6'2 body. Wrestling and free weights were all I cared about. I'd been in so many street and school fights and won all of them. Because I was kicking the shit out of bullies teachers kinda turned a blind eye. Also because I was undefeated in wrestling and got my school gold in nationals I knew I can handle my shit. So there was a door greeter at Walmart who at the time I thought was old as balls cuz I was fifteen right but the dude was probably like. Forty. Some short Mexican guy. And he caught me shoplifting and I said wtf you getting mad at bro you ain't gonna touch me door greets can't do shit. And he says boy I ever see you steal shit again I'll teach you manners when I see you off the clock. Guy also worked at the bar and thought I was older than 21 cuz I looked older. Like full ass Brigham Young beard and a receeding hairline, couldn't even drive yet, so he never ID me. Bold as hell I steal shit in front of him again. I knew I could take his old ass, I was in my prime. So I see him at the bar later that night and he meets me outside both of us sober. He says you really gonna get your ass beat over a Snickers? in front of the bar crowd and I go someone's about to and charged him. To say he beat my ass would be a lie. He didn't beat it. He obliterated my ego and body and soul there in front of everybody I fucking knew. Had me spinning around his 5'2 head like one of bruce lee's bo staffs and bapping me against the walls and sidewalk. My dumb ass kept standing up and he kept going you sure son? and I was like shit yeah. Well eventually I just kept my ass on the ground and he helps me up, asks what my name is, says he'll take me home since I walked there. Goes why did you walk? I say oh I'm not sixteen yet. And that's how I got permanently 86'd from every bar in my hometown.
This is top tier, excellent pacing and character development. The drama of a Wal Mart greeter who cares way too much about his job vs the kid who definitely needed to be taken down a peg (I mean. You did. Sorry. <3). A+.
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𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟑
☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧)
☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Another day in the sun. You meet someone new.
☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.5k
☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲
☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬
☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞
𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀
𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖
Rooster is lying in a sun chair, his swim-trunks still damp from his dip earlier. He’s holding a sweaty glass with half a Tom Collins left and his face tilted towards the sun, shades over his eyes. It’s warm--there’s a sheen of sweat covering his skin, sitting atop the oil he covered himself in.
There are birds calling in the palm trees and cars rumbling down the residential street before his house. He has a sound system set up on the bar and Do It Again by Steely Dan is playing right now. Below the music, he can hear the soft sounds of you splashing as you take languid laps around the pool.
You’re naked--partly because you don’t have a swimsuit and partly because you just like to be naked--and you were slathered in oil before you got into the pool, but now you’re thoroughly soaked in water. Your skin is already growing darker, soaking up all that precious sun. This will be your first time not having swimsuit lines in your life and your first time getting tan in a pool in California instead of a pond in western Nebraska.
Pulling yourself up to the side of the pool, you grab your sweaty glass and take a long, long drink. A few beads dribble down your throat and onto your chest. This is your third Harvey Wallbanger and Rooster makes them just the way you like; strong. Your fingertips feel fuzzy and your belly is warm.
You keep yourself propped up as you gaze at Rooster’s resting form, kicking your legs to stay afloat. Your head is fuzzy and your skin is warm and the water feels fucking perfect right now. If this hasn’t been the way you’ve been living your life the past three days, you would consider this your perfect day. You feel like perfect days are supposed to only happen once.
“So, why didn’t you go to Vietnam?”
Rooster sputters out a shocked laugh, face snapping to yours in an instant.
You’re staring at him, smiling softly, still nursing your drink.
“Jesus Christ, Cherry,” Rooster mutters, shaking his head. “Can’t just ask a guy why he didn’t go to war.”
“Sure I can.” You shrug, furrowing your brows. “I just did. Duh!”
Rooster laughs again, sitting up on his elbows.
“How do you know I didn’t?”
You eye him like there’s a physical marker on his body that gives it away. You noticed the other day that he has some faded scars littering his face and throat, little lines that stretch a few inches. They’re white--old. But you’ve seen boys come back home from Vietnam; their scars are deeper and pink still.
“I can just tell,” you simply answer. “You weren’t a college student, right? Since you started in the industry so young. So, how’d you get around it?”
Rooster bites his lip, watching water drip from your hair and onto your shoulders and chest, your skin pinkening.
“Take a guess,” Rooster says, grinning.
A pang of guilt spreads across his chest: he’s grinning while talking about the atrocity of war. But he feels like it’s impossible not to grin at you, no matter the conversational topic. For a moment, he thinks of Jake and the guilt multiplies and starts to make his stomach ache. But then you start to hum, tapping your chin.
“Did you tell them you were gay?”
Rooster shakes his head.
“Conciencense objector?” You ask, tilting your head.
“I don’t agree with it,” he breathes, “but it doesn’t say that on paper, no.”
You nod again. You take another long drink and continue humming, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“I know you didn’t fail your physical. You don’t seem like a dodger either,” you tease. He laughs, nodding. It’s true--he didn’t fail his physical. And he’s definitely not a dodger, either. “Fine. I’ll bite. Why did the almighty Rooster Bradshaw get excused from the war?”
Rooster takes a breath, propping himself up further in the chair. He hasn’t talked about this in a long time--honestly, no one’s asked him in a long time. No one wants to talk about the war, especially now that it’s been almost four years since it ended. But you’re young--the notion of war must seem so abstract to you, so far removed from your reality.
“My old man was in the Navy,” Rooster starts, watching you chew an ice cube. “Croaked during a hop. Technically during active duty.”
He doesn’t like to think about his life before very much--it’s hard, simply put. His dad died before Rooster was old enough to tie his own shoes. He got seventeen good years with his mom before the cancer started eating her; then he got two bad years with her before she let go and he became an orphan.
Something catches in your chest--something that clogs your throat and slows your breathing. Jesus Christ, he’s saying it so casually. And he’s watching you now as you digest it, as you realize what he’s saying to you. His dad is dead--and from what you’ve gathered here and there, so is his mom. He spends Christmases alone, which is probably why he was so willing to share his special caviar and wine with you that first night.
“So, you were exempt from service,” you say softly. “When did that law pass? ‘64? ‘65?”
Rooster takes another drink.
“‘64,” he answers.
“How old were you in ‘64?”
God--it seems like a million years ago.
“I was seventeen,” Rooster answers, sucking in a deep breath.
Your eyes are wide, your breath finally escaping your parted lips.
“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shaking your head. “Just missed it, then, didn’t you?”
He nods.
“Do you know anyone that went to ‘Nam?” He asks.
You nod, too.
“A few boys back home,” you answer. You still remember their hollow gazes and scraggly hair, the way they carried themselves around town so precariously. “Came back all freaky deaky. Poor chumps. You?”
Rooster considers lying to you--Jake doesn’t like telling people about his time in Vietnam. But everyone knows and soon enough, you’re going to know everyone. It’s going to come out.
“Yeah,” Rooster answers. He rakes a hand through his damp locks, tutting. “My man, Jake. You’ll meet him on Sunday, he’s an actor for Goldman Homevideos. Don’t bring it up with him, though--he tries to forget it. You dig?”
As audacious and rambunctious as you are, Rooster understands how deeply you understand him when you nod. Your eyes are big and earnest and your lips are flat and unsmiling. You get it. You won’t ask.
You’re having a hard time imagining some veteran being good at porn. All the boys back home were so scrawny and sad--who would want to watch scrawny, sad boys fuck on camera? You can’t imagine fucking one.
“How old were you in ‘64?” Rooster asks, content in his decision to change the direction of the conversation.
You grin something fierce at him.
He knows it’s gonna feel like a blow to the chest.
“Six for most of the year,” you answer, sticking your tongue out at him.
He grimaces.
“Christ, Cherry,” Rooster mutters, swiping a hand over his eyes as your melodic laughter echoes off the concrete. “I need another fucking drink. You down?”
You shake your empty glass at him with a tight smile.
As he fixes the two of you another drink, you rest your cheek against the warm concrete and cut through the cool water very carefully. All your limbs are loose and flowing freely beneath the surface, skin skimming the slippery red tiles.
“So, where’d you grow up?”
“Am I on The Dating Game right now or something?”
“You wish,” you tease.
He peers at you over his shoulder, glasses low on his nose. You blow him a kiss and a wink and it makes him sigh deeply. You really are going to be the death of him.
“Virginia,” he answers finally, pouring a couple ounces of gin in his cocktail shaker. “Small town near a Naval base.”
“What was it like?” You ask.
He chuckles, dropping a few ice cubes into the shaker and screwing the lid on tight.
“Boring,” he answers. “Moved out to California right before my eighteenth birthday.”
“Why?” You ask.
You have a way of making him feel like all you want to do in the world right now is listen to him. When you ask him questions about his life, he feels like he’s doing you a favor by giving you the skinny.
“Well,” he starts, shaking his cocktail and chewing his bottom lip, “my ma was sick. Wasn’t much they could do for her in Small Town, Virginia. So we came out here and I just never…left.”
It makes your chest feel hollow to think about losing your mother so young--even if she isn’t being a good mama to you now, even if you’re not sure if she loves you anymore. You imagine that there is little worse than losing your mother.
“You look like you grew here,” you tell him with a sigh. He glances at you and you grin. “Like you just sprouted out of the dirt. Got pulled up ‘stache first.”
“Ever heard the phrase don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Cherry?” He asks. You laugh again. He starts on your drink, pouring a few ounces of vodka and orange juice in another shaker. “Funny, though. I think you look like you aren’t from here.”
Ouch. You frown at him, scoffing.
“I’m gonna freak if you tell me that I look like I’m from a fucking chicken farm,” you threaten, pointing at him with that cherry-red nail.
“No,” Rooster quickly corrects. “You just look…tougher than the broads brought up here, you dig?”
“Tougher than you?”
He gives you an exaggerated nod.
“Most definitely,” he says. “Didn’t you prove that last night?”
He’s referring to when you rode him last night after a few glasses of nice brandy, when you held tight to his wrists and pushed them against the flimsy water bed. You and Rooster have had little else to do but peruse his liquor collection and fuck--both of which you two have been doing frequently.
“You’ve got such a good memory for an old man,” you say gingerly. “You probably eat, like, all your muesli, don’t you?”
Rooster laughs again. He’s already used to you calling him an old man--he’s used to everyone calling him an old man, really. He’s the oldest among his friends by a substantial margin.
“You clearly don’t have an issue fucking old men,” he says, shaking your cocktail now as you smile at him. “So, in turn, I don’t mind being called an old man.”
“Hey, grandpa’s need love, too!” You exclaim, watching him strain your drink into a frosted glass. “And I’ve got a lot to give!”
“Thought you tried to keep love and sex separate?” Rooster asks, crossing the concrete and settling your drink in front of you before sitting down to dip his feet in the water. “Ms. Arsan.”
You take a long drink and then nod.
“Ever heard of a euphemism?” You ask. Rooster nods, spreading his legs when you move in the water to settle between them. You let your elbows prop on his knees and stare up at him, skin gleaming in the sun. “Love is a euphemism for sex sometimes. Wise guy.”
He grins.
You two like to keep each other on your toes.
“Isn’t that the antithesis of everything you stand for?”
You cough out a laugh, pinching his thighs softly. He can see every inch of your naked body from his spot above you, especially with your arms spread out the way they are right now. He’s nearly gotten used to you in this state--prancing around the house in little more than one of his shirts and nothing else most of the day. He’s had you everyday, multiple times a day since you met, but he is still learning your body. He likes this part of sexual relationships; tweaking here, rubbing there, curling, thrusting, pulsing, pushing.
Honestly, you want him again. Right now. You’ve never had sex on tap like this before--it was always a bit difficult back in Nebraska. Sneaking off the farm, finding a suitor, convincing the suitor, finding somewhere to actually fuck. But living here with Rooster, who seems to have an identical sex drive and mutual want, has been heavenly. Anytime you want that itch scratched, anytime you want that hill climbed, anytime you want to be cast into the choppy seas of an orgasm--Rooster’s here.
This is your version of Utopia, really.
“Well, let me rephrase my sentence, then,” you say, sighing. You clear your throat. “Grandpa’s need to get fucked, too! And I’ve got muff to give!”
At that, Rooster clinks his glass against yours and the both of you take a few gulps of your respective cocktails.
“So, you don’t mind fucking older men?”
You purse your lips.
“You don’t mind fucking younger girls?”
He purses his lips.
The two of you clink glasses again and take a few more gulps.
“How many people have you fucked?” You ask.
He takes your glass and with your free hands, you gently knead his thighs. It’s something you do absently--your daddy worked long, long hours on the farm. Whenever he would come inside late in the evening, you would help him take his boots off and rub his calves like this. It’s just something you do.
“Haven’t kept count,” he tells you, tucking a few strands of wet hair behind your ears. He likes the way your fingers are digging into his skin--he hadn’t even realized his legs were sore until you started to massage them. “But if I had to guess? God, I’m not sure I could even do that.”
“We talking Jagger numbers here?” You ask.
His throat is warm.
“We are,” he says. And that’s all the answer you need. “What about you, Cherry? Keeping score?”
You are.
“Seventeen,” you answer proudly, squaring your shoulders. “You make seventeen, actually.”
For some reason, it makes Rooster feel bad that you know precisely what number he is and he couldn’t take a shot in the dark for you.
“That’s my lucky number,” Rooster tells you.
You blink up at him in surprise, eyebrows raised.
“You jiving me?” You ask suspiciously.
“No! Swear it,” Rooster says. “Seventeen’s my lucky number.”
It is now.
You just nod, sighing. Strange.
“Your turn,” you tell him. “Ask away.”
He only has to think for a moment.
“How old were you when you cashed in your v-card?”
It’s a good question--relevant. But it makes your chest feel a bit tight. You haven’t ever told anyone this before--not whatever few girl friends would stick around, not any family, not any other boys. This has been sitting alone in your chest for a long time.
“I was thirteen,” you tell him. Your voice is thin and your cheeks are warm. “He was fifteen. He mucked the stalls on my family’s farm. Seasonal help or whatever. It was just once. I think his name was Grover.”
You’re not telling the entire truth. You know his name was Grover. He’s come back to your family’s farm every single summer to shovel chicken shit. He’s never looked your way again, though.
Rooster studies your flaxen face and the way you maintain his gaze like you’re afraid to show him a weak spot, like a dog lying on its belly.
“Where was it?” He asks.
“In the barn,” you answer. “Smelled downright funky in there.”
Rooster grimaces.
“Gnarly,” he laughs.
You just shrug.
“It was the first time I ever wanted to jump someone’s bones. I was just…watching him. Like, not in a creeper kind of way. I was just--I was just, like, noticing him for the first time, I guess? The muscles on his arm and back, his thighs. His hands.” You exhale wistfully, remembering the way the muscles curved elegantly beneath his smooth, dark skin. The way sweat gathered on his hairline and clung to his curls so deliciously. Even now, at twenty-one, it arouses you to think about it. “I just had to have him. And he took me. It was good--only lasted a few minutes. But it still is probably, like, the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
Rooster lays a hand over his heart, frowning.
“Ouch,” he says softly, grinning when you roll your eyes. “Why only twice?”
You shrug.
“The first time was random. The second time, I told him to come to my room that afternoon and he did. I think he was kinda scared of me or something, because he didn’t stay long. It was barely sex the second time. I didn’t ask him again and he didn’t try anything.”
Rooster nods again.
Again, he tries to imagine you in some ineffective farmhouse, asking the workers to come into your bedroom and cum inside you. It’s strange--he can’t picture it at all. Even with you here before him, totally nude, he can’t picture it.
“Your turn,” you tell him, squeezing his thighs.
Rooster sighs, leaning back on his palms. You scoot forward and settle yourself higher up between his legs letting your elbows rest on his upper thighs.
“I was sixteen. It was with Lisa-Anne Monterey at the drive-in. We were seeing The Great Escape and she cried on the way home because her pantyhose snagged.”
You laugh loudly, wrinkling your nose.
“What a casanova,” you tease, pinching his taut belly. “Snagging pantyhose and making girls cry since ‘63!”
He knows you’re joking--he does. Of course you are. But he doesn’t like the sound of that suddenly--being known for making girls cry. He doesn’t want to be known for that at all. And he can’t help it when an image suddenly flashes through the forefront of his mind, one of you crying before him, mascara running down your cheeks. You don’t seem like the crying type, though--he wonders what would push you that far.
“Your turn,” Rooster says, squeezing you between his legs.
You’re pleased that he’s playing along now.
“You ever been in looove?” You ask, grinning up at him.
Rooster immediately wrinkles his nose at the question. For a moment, you think maybe you shouldn’t have asked him--but then he shakes his head, humming.
“Not that I know of,” Rooster says.
He’s telling the truth. He hasn’t had the time for any of that junk.
“Heavy,” you sigh, frowning. “Me neither.”
“Does that make us unlovable?”
“Probably,” you answer, a smile biting at your lips. “What makes you unlovable? For me, it’s that I’m too foxy. It’s been a real issue in the past.”
Rooster grins at you. As if to agree with you, he reaches forward and pinches your cheek softly. He does think you’re foxy--real foxy. But even just like this, naked in his pool, bare-faced and soaking wet--you’re beautiful. It’s a different form of foxy, one that isn’t as easy to come across.
“It shows,” Rooster teases. “I guess for me, it’s probably that I’ve got too much money, you know? People hate that. And my house is, like, way too big.”
“How’s that Fleetwood song go? Rulers make bad lovers, better put your kingdoms up for sale, right?”
You’re giggling, shaking your head softly. He can see every one of your teeth when you smile that big toothy smile at him. God, he already feels like he’s getting used to it--that big, toothy grin and those freckles sprinkling across your cheeks.
“Bradshaw!”
The voice echoes out across the backyard, vibrating across the pool and skimming the calm waters you’re still submerged in.
You’re surprised, but you don’t move to cover yourself--it seems pointless. And even if you felt the need to protect your modesty, you wouldn’t have much to cover yourself with other than Rooster. And even Rooster doesn’t have much clothing on--just some little swim trunks that sit high up on his thighs.
Rooster whips around, straightening his spine, pushing his glasses up in his hair. And there, walking across the threshold of the backdoor is Hangman. He’s grinning at Rooster beneath his bushy mustache, his hair tucked behind his ears and his cheeks pale pink.
“What it is, brother! I’ve been trying to hit your line like crazy!” Hangman says, swaggering over towards Rooster. “Where the Hell you been, Rooster--?”
It isn’t until he’s close enough to smell all the tanning oil Rooster is donning that he catches his first glimpse of you: you’re completely naked, standing shamelessly between Rooster’s legs, grinning up at Jake from your spot in the red pool.
Hangman’s cockwalk stutters and then falters entirely, his grin spreading as he lets his eyes rake over you. A naked woman in Rooster’s pool isn’t an uncommon sight--honestly, a clothed woman is more of a rare sighting in this backyard--but you’re a stranger. He’s never seen you around before--anywhere.
“Thanks for knocking,” Rooster says, frowning at Hangman.
Hangman barely glances at Rooster before he utters, “I was knocking for like five minutes, dipshit.”
Hangman is handsome--like the Ken-doll type of undeniably handsome. He’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a Western-style button down with a bolo tie loosely secured around his neck like some sort of California cowboy. He’s drinking you in, you can tell, and there’s not an ounce of shame in all of that hunk of that blonde, tan muscle.
“Who’s this?” Hangman asks, settling his hands on his hips.
“This is Cherry,” you answer, mirroring his stance. “Cherry Arsan. Who’re you, cowboy?”
He licks his lips, glancing at Rooster, who is watching you with a fondness secured over all his soft features.
“Hangman,” Jake says.
You bite your lip and then shrug.
“I like Cowboy better, I think.”
Hangman swallows hard. His eyes are lingering on your bare chest, which is slightly obscured by the water. Fucking Christ--there isn’t an ounce of shame in your body.
“Right on,” Hangman says. “You can call me whatever you want, baby. I’m no square.”
Rooster smiles at you with tight lips, then turns to Hangman again.
“Cherry here just signed a twelve-movie deal with Goldman Homevideos,” Rooster explains to Hangman. “She’s crashing here until she gets her dough.”
Hangman’s mouth is ajar. You’re the girl Dennis is buzzing about--God, Dennis wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you whenever Hangman went into his office for a meeting the other day. You should see the way she sucks cock, Jake, it’s out of this fucking world! She ain’t even acting, the kid just likes to fuck! On and on he’d gone about you, talking about all the films he wanted you to be in and who he was going to let go so you could replace them. She’s gonna be the next big thing, my man.
“I’ve heard a thing or two about you,” Hangman coolly says.
“Radical,” you tell him. “I haven’t heard anything about you.”
You don’t know that this is the Jake that Rooster mentioned earlier--the one who was in Vietnam. But even if you did know, you wouldn’t tell Hangman that you and Rooster had been talking about it. Not just because you’re a trustworthy person, but because you feel indebted to Rooster now--you feel that the two of you have formed some kind of alliance the past few days.
“I’ve been at my pad all week, man,” Rooster tells Hangman, squinting up at him. “Haven’t gotten any phone calls from you. Right, Cherry?”
“Uh huh,” you confirm. “We’ve been hunkered down. I don’t own any shoes.”
Hangman quirks a brow at you. You’re sinking lower into the water, your hips bending and your arms moving peacefully below the surface. Your chin just barely grazes the surface.
“You don’t own any shoes, baby? Rooster, what are you doing to the girl? Holding her hostage?” Hangman grins.
Before Rooster can answer, Hangman grabs one of the lounge chairs and drags it over to the side of the pool, plopping down with a sigh. You’re in between the two men now, not touching the side of the pool. You’re just watching them watch you.
“We just haven’t left the house,” Rooster explains. He knows for a fact that Jake hasn’t tried calling the house--he would’ve picked up. But he doesn’t say anything; not yet, at least. “Shoes are on the docket before Sunday.”
“What kinda shoes you like?”
You raise your brows. Hangman’s grinning at you, holding his chin in his palm.
“Pretty ones,” you tell him. “Expensive ones.”
You’ve never owned expensive shoes in your life. You owned a whopping three pairs of shoes back home: rain boots, leather Mary Jane’s for school, and tennis shoes for gym glass. You didn’t take very good care of them, especially when you started to outgrow them after you graduated; they were all three falling apart.
“Solid,” Hangman grins. “Dennis paying you the big bucks?”
You nod.
Rooster pats Jake on the shoulder amiably.
“You want a drink, man?” He asks.
Hangman nods, barely dragging his eyes away from you.
“Aperol spritz,” Hangman answers, patting Rooster’s shoulder in gratitude. “You nervous, Cherry?”
“Right now?” You ask, shaking your head.
Hangman laughs a big laugh.
“Nah, baby. About being in the business,” he answers. “You know--erotica. Spank movies. Triple-X. Porn.”
Biting your lip, you shake your head.
“No,” you answer. “I like sex. I’m just getting paid for it now.”
He nods, smoothing his hand over his mustache. He likes that answer. It’s how he felt, too.
“This is gonna be like living a different life, baby,” Hangman tells you, crossing his arms. “You won’t even remember what life was like before once you really get into the thick of it.”
That sounds good to you. That sounds very, very good to you.
“Groovy,” you answer. “Not much life to remember before, anyway.”
He thinks he remembers Dennis saying something about you being from some desolate, nowhere state. God, he thinks he can remember Dennis saying something about a farm, too, but maybe he just made that up. No way you’re from a farm--they don’t make girls like you there.
Rooster is mulling over to the bar, keeping his ears perked to listen in on your conversation with Jake. Jake is like a brother to Rooster--Rooster took him under his wing a handful of years ago when Jake was just breaking into the scene. And because Hangman is like a brother to Rooster, Rooster knows that Jake has a bit of an issue with nose candy. It’s a rather new thing that Rooster’s noticed, only in the past couple months or so, but it’s definitely something that’s happened. Rooster knows all about nose candy--which is why he is so vehemently against doing it himself again.
“What brings you around, Hangman?” Rooster calls, popping open a bottle of Aperol. “Not that I’m not jazzed.”
Hangman, legs spread and fists resting on his thighs, leans back in his lounger and glances at Rooster.
“Wanted to talk about the party,” Hangman calls back. “See who’s coming.”
Hangman also wanted to talk about this new broad Dennis has been going on and on about, but you’re standing right in front of him.
“The usual,” Rooster answers, slicing an orange. “Anyone can come. Same as always.”
Hangman nods. His fingers are starting to tingle, his nose is starting to burn. You’re just watching the two of them, letting your chin submerge in the water so you just breathe through your nose.
After shrugging on his paisley pool-robe, Rooster crosses the concrete again and hands Hangman his drink. Then he sits back down on the edge of the pool and nods for you to retrieve the orange he carried over for you.
“You’re gonna prune, kid,” he says to you, eyebrows raised.
You’re swimming towards him, grinning. You take the orange from his hand and press a chaste kiss to his mouth before burrowing your thumb through the soft skin of the orange.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Hangman excuses, jumping out of his seat and wandering inside the house.
Rooster knows what he’s going to do in there--you don’t, not yet. For now, you’re oblivious, just eating your orange in the pool and tossing the discarded skin on the hot concrete beside Rooster.
“That’s Jake,” Rooster says to you, fingering a piece of orange skin. He watches the realization dawn on you, orange juice dripping from out mouth and onto your chest and into the water around you. “You picking up what I’m laying down?”
“I get you,” you answer softly.
You’re perplexed. Hangman seems fine. He seems chipper, even. You can absolutely imagine fucking Jake--he doesn’t seem like the boys you saw back home, the ones who didn’t care much to be alive anymore.
When Jake skips out of the house a few minutes later, there’s a new energy about him. He’s grinning something fierce, practically vibrating with excitement. He feels good--his heart is racing the way he likes it to, his ears have that slight ring, and he just feels fucking good.
“Room in that pool for two, Cherry-berry?”
Cherry-berry. It tickles you.
You chew the rest of your orange carefully, nodding with a smile. The juice is sweet and tangy on your tongue; it makes your belly warm.
“Fab,” Hangman answers. He starts stripping just beside Rooster, letting all his clothes fall in a heap on the concrete. “Get in with us, Rooster!”
Rooster can see the white powder dusted across Jake’s mustache. Jake is moving with a rapidity that can only stem from taking a bump--even if Rooster already knew that’s what he was doing, it’s good to have confirmation. Jake hasn’t really been trying to hide it these days, not that anyone really does. Rooster did whenever he did it--but that was a long time ago.
“Hangman,” Rooster says quietly.
Jake’s gaze lands on Rooster’s easily--his pupils are blown and he’s naked now. Rooster just subtly swipes a finger across his own mustache and nods at Jake. But Jake gets the memo immediately, carefully dusting his stache off and swiping his finger across his gums.
You watch the interaction curiously, tilting your head.
But then you go back to admiring Hangman’s naked body. He looks like California the same way Rooster does--carved out of marble, his form broad and serious. He’s flaccid right now--it’s not a sight you’re used to. But even in its softness, you find a certain beauty in the natural state of being.
Then Hangman grins at you.
“I feel like me and you are gonna get along just fine, Cherry,” he tells you, pointing to you. He’s suddenly much more energetic than he was before, his smile impossibly wider and brighter. “Fuck swimming. Wanna fuck instead?”
Rooster glances at you, a frown tugging at his lips. He loves Jake--really, he does. He’s the closest thing to family that Rooster has. He always brings good wine to parties and fought in a pointless war because it was a duty placed upon him by the big guys.
But for some reason, he really wish Hangman wasn’t here right now. Things have been blissful between you and Rooster the past few days: in between fucking, the two of you have talked politics and literature and art. You’ve ate dinner together and watched whatever spaghetti Western’s have been playing on the television. You’ve watched the television sign off every night together, which Rooster hasn’t done since he was young. Strangely, he just wants to preserve that. Not that it’s going to be possible in your line of work. He knows he’s being stupid. He knows it. So, he says nothing.
You bite your lip, raking your eyes across Hangman’s body again.
“Sure,” you answer. “Practice makes perfect.”
It isn’t uncommon for Rooster’s friends to talk about this so openly in front of him, even if they’re at his house. Especially Jake--he’s shameless. Rooster’s grown comfortable with sex surrounding him on all fronts, especially when Jake shows up.
Rooster stays sitting on the edge of the pool, sipping on another Tom Collins, as you take Jake through the house and lead him into your bedroom. He fiddles with the orange peels you left behind and thinks about you between his legs, asking him if he’s ever been in love.
Jake doesn’t waste any time when you get into the spare room across from Rooster’s, the one you’ve been sleeping in. The room is the nicest you’ve ever had--big windows that you keep open to let the evening breeze float through, a gargantuan waterbed that curves around your body, dark walnut furniture that you have precisely no use for, and a big fluffy rug that feels like feathers on your perpetually-bare toes. Your room back home was little more than an antique mattress and magazine cutouts on the wall; and you were sleeping on the pullout portion of Jenny’s trundle bed when you were staying with your aunt.
He holds your naked body close to his, your skin still slick with chlorinated water. He kisses you ferociously, all tongue and teeth and spit. And you’re kissing him right back, already keening at the hardening of his cock against your belly.
“Nice to meet you,” Hangman mumbles against your lips. He leaves a sloppy trail of kisses across your jaw and down your throat as you reach down and begin to pump him in your hand. He groans against your skin. “Where you from again? Mississippi?”
“Nebraska,” you breathe out. He cups your breasts and pinches your nipples hard enough for you to gasp out--it arouses you that he’s being so precise and rough. “Where are you from?”
“Texas,” he mutters, sucking softly on your collarbone.
“I can spot a cowboy from a mile away,” you breathe, thumbing the pearl of precum that’s dripping from the head of Jake’s cock. He’s big like Rooster, too--maybe a bit thinner and longer, but still sizable. Your mouth is watering. “You ever go by Tex?”
“Not after Manson,” he answers, leaning down to capture your pert nipple between his lips. He suckles harshly, bucking his hips up to meet yours. “Jesus.”
“Forgot about that,” you mumble.
Jake reaches down, everything moving in hyperspeed for him, and dips his fingers between your legs. You’re aroused already, aroused enough that the pads of his fingers slip easily around your clit. You bite into his shoulder, intense flames of pleasure licking your heels instantly.
This is the kind of sex that you’re used to. This is the type of sex you would have back home, except much less exciting. But this is how quickly the men and boys used to move back home--spitting in their cupped hands and smearing it over your cunt and rutting into you before their wives could come out of the grocery store or before their lunch break ended.
Rooster is sitting at the bar now, making himself another Tom Collins. He still has a little piece of your orange peel in his grip, pressing it between his fingers. He’s changed the record--now, It’s Your Thing by the Isley Brothers is playing. It’s louder now, too. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest--something that feels similar to envy. But he knows he’s being stupid; he’s had you all to himself since you were discovered.
And you are not his. You are thoroughly not his.
Jake sits down on the edge of the bed, gripping your hips and guiding you to him. He presses into you easily, securing your back against his chest and sighing deeply when your warmth surrounds him.
You feel good--you feel very good. He knows he’s high right now, he knows every one of his senses is heightened, but this feels like fucking magic. You’re warm and soft everywhere, letting your wet hair fall over his shoulder as you tip your head back. He feels good, too--he’s quicker, rougher than Rooster but it isn’t something you necessarily mind at all. He’s holding onto you tightly, already thrusting rapidly.
“Feel so good,” Jake mutters to you, kissing your exposed throat feverishly. “So fucking tight, baby. Been giving this to Rooster all week, huh? Holding out on me.”
You’re grinning--not just because he’s making you smile but because you love this. You love that you just met this man and that you were naked and no one cared and now you’re fucking. And after you’re done fucking, once that itch has been scratched, you’re gonna get back in the pool and have a few more drinks.
“Jealous, Cowboy? I just met you,” you moan out, hooking your legs over his so you’re spread.
His hand wanders down and lands on your clit easily, his strokes rapid and inexact, but you don’t care. Sex has never been about cumming for you.
“Maybe we’ve known each other all along,” Jake mutters, pressing himself deeply inside of you. You keen, squeeze around him and he bites into your shoulder to lessen his groan. “Like some sort of hippie-dippie shit.”
“You’re just saying that cause you like fucking me.”
“Mind your potatoes,” Jake grunts.
This definitely isn’t Jake’s first time having sex with someone within minutes of meeting them, especially not in his business. And this isn’t his first time fucking this high or even fucking in this bedroom. You can tell all of this somehow the same way he can tell that you’re no novice. No chance in Hell with the way you’re grinding yourself against him and keeping up with his pace.
“How long have you been in the industry?” You ask.
He chuckles dryly, settling his sweaty forehead against your neck. His nose is running, but he doesn’t care--he won’t let anything interrupt the pace he’s set.
The two of you seem to be in some sort of unspoken stand-off, asking each other questions and seeing who can fuck and answer at the same time.
“Since ‘73,” he mutters, digging his fingers into your hips when you clench particularly hard around him. He’s still circling your clit and you’re still moving your hips against his expertly. “After I got back.”
You know what he’s talking about. But you don’t know if he should know that.
“How’d you get started?”
His thrusts are starting to falter, stuttering. He’s close.
“Red, let’s talk about this later,” he groans. He moves to hold onto the crease of your hips and starts to guide your body down onto his cock over and over again as he pants against your skin. “Fuck, where should I cum?”
“Inside,” you pant.
He’s touching a spot deep inside of you, one that was opened up by your legs spreading, one that you always want to be caressed and pressed against. You’re moaning out, letting him guide your hips up and down against his rapidly.
You don’t have to tell Jake twice. He spills into you after a few lazy thrusts, holding down harshly on your body before letting your body relax against his. You’re both panting, your chests flushed.
“Trying to trap me or something?” Jake asks, playfully biting the slope of your shoulder.
Laughing, you shake your head.
Your hair is still dripping down both of your bodies. It smells like chlorine and cum in here now.
“Can’t make babies,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “Doctor said I’m twisted up in there.”
Jake lets his flat palm press against your chest.
“Here?” He asks. He’s teasing you of course.
You bite your lip. Your throat feels thick for a moment.
“Yeah,” you answer.
He laughs, then. Sometimes he’s accidentally cruel when he’s this high--all semblance of the Southern gentleman he really is fades and is replaced with someone with blown pupils and a bloody nose.
“Right on, Cherry.”
Jake stays for a long time.
The three of you swim around until the sun sets low in the hills, the sky painted an obscene shade of orange. You drink your Harvey Wallbangers, Hangman drinks his Aperol spritzes, and Rooster drinks his Tom Collins. Rooster picks a Fleetwood Mac record and dances with you on the concrete, both of you bare-naked while Hangman takes a couple more bumps in the privacy of the spare bathroom. Rooster makes everyone steak as you and Hangman scour the record collection and sip on brandy--which Rooster considers to be an evening drink.
By the end of the night, when the red waters in the pool glow beneath the pristine light of the moon, all of you are drunk. Hangman is high and drunk, but that doesn’t put a damper on his mood. Everyone’s lazing on the couch, half-dressed, telling stories about porn stars before and after them.
All day, you’ve had that warm feeling in your chest. It’s the feeling you get whenever you now that you’re somewhere you belong. And you know, with your entire heart, that this is where you belong.
“You ever been in love, Hangman?” You ask, combing your fingers through Rooster’s hair. He’s sitting on the floor before you, his limbs strewn about like spilled liquid. He’s very drunk--drunker than he’s been in a while. And he’s drinking in your touch and attention, absently rubbing circles on your bare foot as he lets his cheek rest against your knee. “I asked the old man earlier. Your turn.”
Hangman is laying across from you on his back, a tall glass of brandy balanced on the flat of his chest. Everything is fuzzy around him and he’s heavy and warm. No way he’s gonna be able to get up--let alone drive home. He’s gonna crash here tonight, he already knows it.
“You first,” Hangman declares, his head lulling as he glances at you.
He’s struck by how easily you and Rooster have seemed to click. There is some sort of immediate connection between the two of you, which Hangman doesn’t often see with Rooster. Rooster is like everyone’s dad, really--and he’s guarded about who he’ll spend his time with. But here Rooster is, drunker than a skunk, holding onto your calf and leaning against you as you play with his hair.
“No,” you answer. You point to your chest and shrug. All twisted up in there. “No from Rooster too, right, big guy?”
Rooster nods. Your fingers feel too good in his hair--you’ve rendered him silent. He’s so drunk that he doesn’t even comment on your new nickname for him: big guy.
“Once, I think,” Hangman slurs. “His name was Gentry. We were in the same…well, anyway. We never said it to each other. But I think I knew and I think he knew.”
You’re drunk--drunker than you’ve ever been, maybe. But you’re slightly more sober than Rooster and Hangman. You have had a significant amount less brandy than they have. So you see it when Hangman’s eyes get glossy, when his pupils shrink. You see it when the glass of brady starts to rise and fall rapidly.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” You ask.
You wonder if this is what it’s like to be good friends with someone. This feels like what girls at slumber parties talk about--which is something you missed out on entirely. But there is such a warmth in your throat right now, such a sense of admiration for both of these men here. It could be the alcohol--or that hippie-dippie shit Hangman was talking about.
“Oh, he died,” Hangman answers casually, tutting. “Bam! Landmine. All gone, Gentry. Later days, man!”
Hangman starts to laugh, his mouth wide open and his throat flushed.
And even as drunk as you are, as abstract as this all seems, you understand that this is not a normal reaction. You understand that this laughter is not born from humor and that gloss over his eyes isn’t just because of the aperol or the brandy or the coke.
Rooster told you earlier that he doesn’t like talking about it. You don’t know if Hangman is talking to you about it because he’s so out of his mind right now or if it’s because of how the two of you have clicked today.
You detangle yourself from Rooster--he’s almost asleep now, his eyelids heavy and your fingers as good as a wool blanket and warm glass of milk. He comes to a bit more as you crawl across the sofa gracefully, just a t-shirt covering your body. He watches you, his vision bleary, as you move the glass of brandy and lay your body on top of Hangman’s. You’re lying entirely parallel on top of him, holding him close to you. Rooster’s chest is starting to hurt. He misses your fingers in his hair, your skin beneath his thumb.
Hangman is surprised for a moment when you move his glass away and even more surprised when you lay down on top of him. For a moment, he thinks you’re initiating sex and moves to pull your t-shirt up since he’s always game. But then you’re just still, your arms wrapped around him and your cheek against his shoulder. He doesn't know what to do--but he suddenly feels bad for laughing. Gentry. Gentry.
His heart is racing below your ear. Your eyes are growing heavy at the sound, the constant and erratic beating. Hangman isn’t moving and neither are you. You don’t know what you’re doing, but it feels right.
You fall asleep there and so does Hangman, the lights in the room low and the record spinning soundlessly. And Rooster watches.
☿ 𝐚/𝐧: I'm not going to tell you all a story. I grew up in a very religious household--AKA my mom is a bible thumper and my dad is Jewish but my mom decided that all her kids were gonna be Jesus freaks--and I went to church every Sunday. like I was the kid that was like yeah, my mom said you can stay the night tonight but you have to go to church with us in the morning! and then my mom was like baptism time! and on THREE different occasions when they tried to baptize me...something went wrong. TWICE the water boiled. ONCE the pool was drained mysteriously. and the hospital I was born at burned down. why am I telling you this? I think it's bc God knew I was going to write this story and knew better than to grant me entrance.
☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠
☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬
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I never needed such help / This is my SOS
(Content warning: self harm) (If you don't have a problem with that, huge Drillman essay under the read more lol)
When I said that I wanted to draw Drillman some more, this really wasn't what I had in mind.
This week, I've been shopping for music on various second hand sites, which made me realize I don't physically own one of my all time favorite albums: "Squaring The Circle" by Sneaker Pimps. I had to change that immediately. (As well as buying like 15 other CDs and vinyls, lol.) As I was listening to it once again, I realized just how much the song "SOS" reminded me of Drillman and his struggles.
If you don't want to look it up, here are some of the lyrics:
"I look much smaller seen from inside out/Far too small to see myself/Down on reflection, cast in hate and in doubt/Flawed and flaws I add myself"
"Oh mirror mirror hanging on the wall/Please just show me someone else/My hopes were low and I got so much so less/Nothing left to save myself"
Listen, this dude got some major problems with his self esteem. He feels like an embarrassment because he was forced into a life he never wanted by his father. Now he seeks revenge on the company that bought his families business, along with him and apparently his bodily autonomy. Think about that for a minute. How fucked would it be if your parents wanted you to be a doctor, but a requirement for that would be to have your hand surgically removed and replaced with a scalpel. That's the exact situation Drillman found himself in.
Now a lot of people probably think "Well why doesn't he just ask Dr. Light to give him a new pair of hands then, if he's this miserable?" This is where we get to one of Drillmans biggest problems: the refusal to ask for help in any way. And even after the finale of the season, why would he go to the Lights for help in the first place? Wasn't it Aki who thought the best way to help him through his problems was hypnotism? And in the process embarrassing him in front of the whole city, ruining the last bit of reputation he may have had? (For real though, that episode is so hard for me to watch. I just feel so so bad for him, since I really struggle with social anxiety myself.)
As the guys from the Youtube channel "The D-Pad" (who reviewed all of the MMFC episodes) fittingly commented: "This would be like fucking Vietnam for him." And they were right. Obviously, Drillman is horrified that Aki would humiliate him like this and lashes out, solidifying his opinion that asking for help is a bad idea.
In that episode, there's this one moment that really stuck with me. At around the 8 minute mark, while Drillman is having a breakdown over the terrible "music" Aki made him perform, there's this one shot where he takes a moment to look at the drills that replaced his hands in frustration. The camera perspective makes it seem as if we are experiencing this brief scene through his eyes. It's actually quite upsetting. (A link to the moment I'm talking about: youtu.be/OC_jdhoeTrE?si=ZPzAXu…)
This is also a perfect moment for me to gush over the voice acting for this scene. Andrew McNee did such a fantastic job of conveying Drillmans distress and anger through his voice. That reminds me, giving him a British accent was honestly such a good decision.
The reason he doesn't talk at all throughout most of his first appearance is probably because the writers wanted to surprise their audience a little. As in, you see this big, imposing construction robot and think "Oh man, what a brute. He probably has a pretty deep voice." And then he actually starts to speak and it's this sophisticated, well-articulated British voice instead. Quite the whiplash.
To get back to the original topic, I'm honestly still upset that they didn't give Drillman a redemption arc at the end of the show. This probably would have happened in season 2, as Mega Man even says at some point "I know deep down your inner bits are good", proving to me that the writers definitely had something in mind regarding Drillmans character arc.
And now that all of that is out of the way, we can finally get into headcanon territory.
You might have seen this image while browsing the tags and asked yourself, "Why is this Mega Man Fully Charged artwork littered with content warnings?" And well, now that you're here and reading this, you probably know why. I can't say I've ever made myself sick with a drawing before. That's a first for me.
My headcanon is, that after the finale of the show, Drillman is just utterly lost. Lord Obsidian, who sought him out specifically because he knew of Drillmans problems and offered him a place to stay and a way to get revenge on the people he thought responsible for his predicament, turned out to be a horribly racist human who was just using him to achieve his own devious goals. After getting his ass kicked by the Lights, the same people who had not only humiliated him in front of the whole city, but who had also left him stuck to his abusive father for an entire day (I bet that ride to the police station was horrible for all the people involved, most of all the police bots who had to hear the Drillmen yell at each other the whole time), Sgt. Night is detained by the police. We don't actually see what happens after that, because that's where the show ends.
I'd like to think that the Lights actually try to talk to the robot masters once everything is over, telling them all the horrible things their so-called "leader" has said and done. And most importantly, what he thinks of robots: That they're nothing but tools to him. That once they had gotten him his Mega key, he would have wiped their minds and turned them into mindless machines.
I'm guessing none of the robot masters would take these news well, but most of all Drillman. I think that after he ran away from Skyraisers Inc. and fought Mega Man for the first time, he was really relieved to have some place to stay and a new goal, maybe even a robot to look up to. That being Lord Obsidian of course. Who knows what lies he told Drillman and the others? Kinda sad that we never really got to see what the robot masters who stayed with Lord Obsidian did the entire day. When they weren't causing havoc in the city, that is.
None of them seemed really friendly with each other in the finale, now that I think about it. I guess "Obsidians robot sanctuary" wasn't really a great place to stay at after all. But still better than being homeless, like that one maniac living in the forest all by himself. Speaking of Woodman, in my AU, he and Drillman already knew each other at this point. This also reminds me of something I forgot to mention in my last post. While I'd love to see them interact in any way, because they're both my favorite characters, I don't ship them in any way whatsoever. I'd also like to think that Woodman and Drillmans father were schoolmates back in the day, maybe even friends? (I'm still holding onto those 30 years).
Anyway, after all the former robot comrades part ways, now without a leader, what was Drillman supposed to do? Once again betrayed by a trusted figure, feeling useless and without purpose, still with these stupid drills mounted to his body... Still too ashamed to ask for help. After all that has happened in the past few hours he begins spiraling, which ultimately leads him to make a very unfortunate decision. Trying to get at least some of the freedom in his life back, he attempts to get rid of the drills making up his body on his own, using the same tools that have haunted him all this time to finally rid himself of this burden.
He regrets this just seconds after, when he's left with an unresponsive limb, metal and wires exposed and oil splattered all over his orange plating. All he can do is stare at the stained drill in front of him in horror.
"I never needed such help/This is my SOS"
Jesus Christ that got dark. Sorry. I mentioned in my last post that Drillman possibly has really bad body dysmorphia, which I'm also trying to convey here. Don't worry, he really gets his hands back after this. Maybe the Lights find him after that and the good Doctor offers to fix him up. By which I mean not only his arm. Because apparently, Dr. Light also doubles as robot psychologist. I just really need Drillman to get his happy ending. He really really deserves it after everything he had to go trough over the course of the show.
I also need him to have a DJing redemption, besides the normal redemption. I've seen people headcanon that he exclusively likes classical music, but I personally don't believe that. He'd be the kind of music nerd who would say stuff like "I listen to everything" and then you look at his playlists and he actually listens to everything. Maybe not experimental noise rock, though. I can just imagine Aki and Suna helping him put on an actual show, this time without any hypnotizing bullshit, as a way for Aki to apologize for the dread he's caused Drillman during that incident. Drillman would be highly suspicious at first, but actually goes along with it in the end. Maybe they'd also take Fireman along, who Dr. Light also blessed with a brand new pair of hands. The punchline at the end would be that Drillman would have so much anxiety about embarrassing himself again, that he forgets to make an actual set list for the gig. In the end, he exclusively plays Lady Gaga songs, which no one complains about.
Alright then, enough yapping from me. I've really been writing this essay since 8pm. And now it's 2am. My god. I just have a lot of feelings about Drillman.
But now I really gotta go to bed. Stay safe peeps. I hope you actually read the content warnings. Jenny out.
#oh man i would like to formally apologize for this#just throwing my favorite blorbo into the shredder over here#if anyone needs me to add any other content or trigger warnings please please tell me i really dont wanna upset anyone with this#megaman#mega man#mega man fully charged#mmfc#drillman#drill man#self harm tw#its robot sh but juuuust in case yknow#robot gore tw
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Can you please do a scenario where Terrys beloved dies during childbirth and how he copes with his grief. Would he accept and love the baby or reject and blame the baby.
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Like five hundred other people are to blame.
Surgeons. Doctors. Nurses. Midwives. The medical staff at the emergency room. The poor, unlucky chauffeur who drove the beloved to their usual appointments, for all we know. The measures they took. The measures they didn't take. The amount of dedication they clearly didn't show, in his opinion. It is the ultimate betrayal that'll get so many people hurt. When Terry Silver pays a sum for a service, he expects the service delivered to perfection and according to his instructions; that's how that social contract works because nothing's for free, and if you throw a whole fortune at something, you expect nothing but your vision delivered to you down to the smallest details. The fact that he was failed so catastrophically it resulted in the death of the person he covets and loves the most? Someone stripped away beyond his control to stop it!? When he trusted vetted professionals, the best of the best in their field, to do the job right!? I swear to god, heads will fly. He daydreams about what could've happened if he just kicked down the doors of the delivery room and carried beloved out of there before it was too fucking late. The revenge will be horrifying, though. People will lose jobs. Their licenses to practice medicine. They'll be blacklisted. Sued. They'll find their cars blown up. Their places of residence broken into. Burned down. The hospital they worked in foreclosed, bought out, bulldozed overnight and turned into an empty privately owned lot until not even a single brick remains of the place that killed beloved. For the love of all that's holy, some of the participants involved in the tragedy might even find their own loved ones done in by mysterious circumstances because blood can be only repaid by blood. A life for a life. And since Terry might just think the life of someone he loves is worth infinitely more than just one life, the retaliation can be truly awful and result in some many injured parties and so much damage it is pretty hard to describe just how far he'd go.
Pretty far, I'd reckon.
Murder, carnage and torture type of far.
When the dragon's been woken, it's impossible to get him to slumber again.
But, however far it does go, I doubt he'd ever blame his child; if anything, his possessiveness of them is only kickstarted into some very excessive territories day one seeing as how they're the last thing he has left off from beloved and the one thing that'll outlive him and carry him on, into the future, and so, all the more reason for him to be devoted to his offspring with all the lovesickness a human heart can produce, blaming, perhaps, himself, all the more, behind the narcissistic facade that he is infallible and all powerful. Terry actually feels he's entirely to blame, triggered into a bygone time where his clumsiness resulted in a friend's death, and here he is, decades later, at the very exact same place. He lost control then and he lost control now. Almost like he's back at the very same spot he was in Vietnam and he's still that scared, shivering boy in the cage and he's angry. Desperate. Vulnerable. And oh so feral. And everyone best beware. This is an issue that The Valley might just end up burning down over, engulfing everything far and wide. Man would step on the whole world because he'd feel the world deserves it now more than ever.
This is an extremely deadly mindset to put Terry Silver into.
No telling how violently all of it could culminate in his mourning.
#terry silver#kk3#cobra kai#tw; death#tw; death at childbirth#terry as father#terry silver as a parent#terry silver as a father#dad!terry#terry silver x reader#terry silver x beloved#angst#ptsd
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ohmygod you have GOT to write a drabble about the norrix shirtgate of march 2024 ™️ please
Oh ho ho something like this? Last night Taylor wrote some dialogue that popped into my head (as I have been doing lately), and this afternoon Taylor fleshed it out a bit.
This is more in line with a reaction to the shirt + the Instagram photo, but still, same idea and same crazy.
Lando’s just finishing toweling his hair when his phone starts ringing. It’s nine in the morning— probably Max calling to see where he is and if he can have another fifteen minutes on their scheduled meet-up time.
The caller ID isn’t Max though. It’s Martin, a selfie of the two of them from Australia smiling up at Lando from where his phone is sitting on the bathroom counter. Lando quickly counts back the ten-hour time difference and is surprised Martin’s even still awake after the long day he’s had.
Beggars can’t be choosers though. Lando slides his finger across the answer button and presses the speakerphone before Martin has a chance to say anything. “Hello?”
Lando directs his attention back to his reflection in the mirror and sets about sorting out the tangled mop on top of his head.
“Are you trying to get me to out myself?” Martin asks point-blank, sounding semi-serious. Given the hour, he could also just be tired.
Lando’s fingers pause in his hair, and he glances back down at the phone as if it holds all the answers. “In what way?” It clicks in the few seconds between Lando finishing his question and Martin speaking again. He could easily correct himself but finds he wants to hear Martin admit to whatever embarrassing reaction he had to Lando’s post.
“Those pictures? In the shirt you stole from me? You did that on purpose.”
Lando can’t help the self-satisfied and questioning hum that makes it past his lips. Because Martin's right, almost. He didn't originally set out with the intention to take the photos wearing that shirt, but Lando woke up missing Martin a little harder in his jet-lagged state than he was prepared to. So, he shrugged on the shirt he’d stolen on the tail end of their France trip even though everyone would inevitably trace the origin of it. (Lando had caught Max trying to pretend he wasn’t looking at first, but rather than put him out of his misery, Lando let him stew.)
And then they'd stumbled across the new art that hadn't been in the graffiti alley last year. Max had looked at him knowingly, suggestively, this time not hiding what he was trying to infer, and Lando had taken the bait.
Only later, as he was looking through the photos, up early again because of jet lag, did Lando decide fuck it.
He and Martin talked about their plans for the year while they were in Vietnam, zipped inside their tent for the night and alone with their thoughts. They're not hiding anymore per se, themselves or their relationship. Lando’s finished with not just posting whatever the hell he wants because of what it’ll eventually look like.
Hide in plain sight, Martin agreed.
Now Martin groans somewhat dramatically. “Menno had to take my phone. My fingers were hovering over the keyboard for too long and he caught me.”
“They were not.” Because there’s no way. If Lando didn’t know better, he’d think Martin was reacting to the more blatant thirst traps in his .mov post.
“Lando, baby, have you seen the photos? And you didn't warn me. What do you expect me to do when you’re sitting there looking comfortable and proud like that?”
Just the implication makes Lando's face warm and his chest ache. It’s at least another month before they see each other in China, and the days feel exponentially long looking at a calendar. “I expect you to be a normal human who doesn’t feel like risking it all over an aesthetic picture. At least wait until I post another thirst trap,” Lando muses. He turns to prop his hip up against the counter and picks up the phone to bring it closer to his face to pull up Instagram.
Most of the comments are normal, taking the aesthetic at face value. A few people play into the tone of the bubblegum pink hearts. A few more seem to have the nerve to call him on what he’s trying to do.
“Post a thirst trap and see what happens.”
The smile that spreads across Lando’s face hurts his cheeks. “Maybe that’s in tomorrow’s dump. Guess you’re gonna have to go to bed to find out.”
A huff of laughter from Martin’s side of the phone might as well be music to Lando’s ears. “Fine, you freak. You can tell me about everything when I’m not about to fall asleep. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Can’t wait. Talk to you later.” The line goes quiet, much to Lando’s disappointment. He swears he could talk to Martin forever and not get bored— about everything and nothing at all. When Martin calls him at the end of his day, rested and recovered, Lando’s sure he’ll hear all about how the half marathon went. He’ll be on the brink of passing out himself, but he won’t care. He’ll lay there listening and counting down the days until next time.
#don't ask me why i just like writing their phone conversations but i have approximately 5 (including this) snippets of just convos#I think the idea is to maybe do something with them eventually but here's this one for now#norrix#writing tag#lando#martin
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