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emeraldcreeper · 8 months

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This is hell! This is hell!

I hate the Bible Belt it’s so bad, I just lately fixed my baptist upbringing and recognized horny is fine actually, can we not say things like you should go to the homophobic as fuck baptist church full of conservative old people who say outrageously passive aggressive shit to you on a weekly basis???? Including at a fucking funeral????? Can we not make me guilty for my lack of enjoyment with organized religion that hates me and the things I do/the romance novels I read for fun????? I’d like that, actually, it’d be nice, but clearly I am in the actual hell I hate that church and every member of it! It should be dissolved! It won’t be though and that’s FINE!

#I thought I could continue my gross spiritual and not religious ways #alas #my mom still wants to go to the baptist church filled with old people #and freaks #I disagree with their preacher on #oh the main issues #like the everyone outside our religion goes to hell #that point has ALWAYS rubbed me the wrong fuckin way #I despise their politics #for obvious reasons re lesbian and of mild woowoo spiritual leaning #I’d visit a church that say let women be spiritual leaders #wasn’t homophobic #I may push for that but I don’t love the Bible part either so I may settle for not going at all #also mission trips rub me the wrong way too for the obvious reasons #I’ll settle for tarot introspection for a while and quiet relaxation for my weekend over fire and brimstone #not my scene also the elderly are so dusty and do not like me if I’m not being insanely polite #vent

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flydotnet · 7 months

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Répondez, s'il-vous-plaît (it's a fanfic in English don't flee)

WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?” Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

Up until yesterday, I had no idea what I'd write for this day. We're a third in and some days do have prompts that boggle my mind.

Fortunately, I got out of there by going to Paris on Friday, seeing good ol' Prism, and wow actually I know what characters I'm gonna use for this oneshot! Thanks Prismou!

Don't look into the actual context around this scene too hard. Like for "Egg Basket" from June, it's in reference to a yet-unpublished piece of fanfiction I've been working on with friends. We still can't release any concrete info about it, so for now, you'll have to do with Vague Setting That's Clearly French.

I'm a bit cheeky about it, though, I'll admit, since I purposefully gave this fic a French title to allude to the fact this is set in France with mostly French characters who speak French among themselves. What's funny is that I've never seen "RSVP" in anything ever in my daily life, only "je vous prie de bien vouloir répondre". Maybe it's one of those Parisian sayings I don't get. I just thought it really fit the fic.

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Répondez, s'il-vous-plaît

Summary: répondez s'il-vous-plaît (RSVP): French for please reply. Though francophones may use more usually "prière de répondre" or "je vous prie de bien vouloir répondre", it is common enough.

Everyone has their issues, and sometimes, it's bound to bubble up to the surface. JB and Maxine just… didn't plan on finding out their friend's the way they did.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa (with a good dose of universe mixing and OC/Canon!)

Word Count: 1K words

AO3 version available here.

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Today was supposed to be one of those innocuous days where her best friends aren’t playing soccer for a living for a couple weeks, where they just spend the day together talking about whatever and doing what friends do: hang out, drink, eat, walk, pet a dog, pet a horse. Whatever Maxine was meaning for it to be, it wasn’t playing nursemaid.

Instead, it’s turned into a shitshow and she doesn’t know where to direct the anger that’s swelled inside of her. Maybe it isn’t even anger, who knows. It could be frustration, it could be disappointment – all she knows is that, whatever it is, it’s drowning in slimy concern.

She should’ve known something was afoul when Yuzo wasn’t responding to her text messages. He’s usually so uptight about responding to her in time, he’d have had apologized for responding as little as half an hour later, to some of the most useless stuff possible. This man would apologize for not giving his seat in the subway to a barely-showing pregnant woman because he couldn’t actually stand on his right foot, courtesy of a practice mishap.

All in all, Maxine was expecting something iffy by the time JB and she concluded they both didn’t have news from their pal – and she wishes it was just him oversleeping on his day off, or having forgotten to respond by misplacing his phone somewhere, or some other stupid explanation that wasn’t… that.

When JB and she arrived here, they were greeted by a door left open, if just barely, and a passed-out Yuzo hanging on the floor of his own kitchenette. Most odd was that he was dressed to go outside and had in fact not even taken off his coat nor his scarf, not even his beanie, which was still on his head. On the counter, barely put there, was what clearly was a doctor’s notice with a medicine list.

Unfortunately, doctors speak a language only pharmacists can decode, and neither JB nor Maxine is one. She only knows the names of horse medicine and ketamine isn’t going to help Yuzo – at least, not to rise back to his feet, because God knows it can help with other issues.

“Max, what’s happening to him?” JB asks, downright panicked.

This happens to be how she realizes she’s never explained shit to him and instead just sent him on a wild goose chase for the nearest pharmacy.

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest, but I think it’s, uh…” She sighs. “How did you even make yourself so sick to begin with, you idiot…?”

“It’s my fault, I’m sure of it.”

“Why would it be?”

JB is the kindest man alive on Earth, but this is stupid.

“I was the one who had the flu first! I must’ve given it to Yuzo and now he’s…” he points at the man on the sofa, “like that!””

“JB, you’re not the sole cause why Yuzo’s like this, I’m certain of that. You were nowhere near as bad as that.” She slowly inserts a thermometer inside his mouth as she speaks, cradling his head with her other hand. “Maybe he’s not used to our European bugs yet. He’s not been here for that long, after all.”

“Maybe I should’ve been more cautious?” There he is, freaking out again. “Maybe if I had worn a mask, or told him not to come inside, he’d be—”

“JB, he was going to catch something eventually. We all have caught something on the subway or the RER. Stop worrying about how he got it, it’s not going to serve much use.” She takes the thermometer out and cusses as soon as the number comes into view. “Shit.”

“It’s bad?”

Maxine glances back at Yuzo. He’s frowning in a fitful sleep, everything about him soaking in sweat and what may be tears, his skin white as his blanket and yet so bright where it’s concerning.

“It’s bad-bad. His fever’s over forty.”

She puts the thermometer back where it came from: the mess of things JB found at the foot of the sofa when they came in.

“What?! That’s…”

“I’m gonna get a bucket and some water, he—”

As Maxine gets up, she feels a grip on her forearm that makes her stop dead in her tracks. The grip isn’t very strong, far from it, but it’s vicious: now staring at her, or trying his hardest to at least, is Yuzo, whose half-open eyes with unfocused irises are freezing her blood in place.

He’s trying to tell her something, as far as she can tell, but it’s gibberish to her. She can’t even tell if it’s her Japanese that’s not good enough to understand it (and it wouldn’t surprise her) or if Yuzo really is incoherent in his speech. All she can tell is that he’s calling out to… someone. First it was his mother, but then, it sounded like names Maxine had never heard about.

“JB, can you get the bucket of water and a washcloth, please?” She asks as she lowers back to her boyfriend’s level. “I’m afraid of what would happen if I left him.”

“I’m on it!”

“Thanks a lot,” she tells her best friend before focusing back on their shared companion. “What were you trying to tell me, honey…?”

Unfortunately, she gets no response from him as he slips back into his fitful sleep.

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It takes around thirty minutes before, at long last, Yuzo reemerges from whatever hell of the mind he was stuck in. It’s clear as soon as she can actually see something in his eyes, not just haze and a sort of desperate plea.

“Ah, you’re awake!” JB says as he rushes to the sofa, the bag of medicine in hand.

Yuzo flinches at the noise, gritting his teeth.

“I think you’re too loud, his head must hurt.”

“Ah, crap! Sorry, pal!”

Maxine can’t help but sigh with fondness, then focus back on their patient.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” he replies in Japanese, and that’s how Maxine can interpret it.

“What’s he saying?”

She lifts her eyes to JB, who looks discernibly worried out of his skin, rubbing his arms for warmth.

“He isn’t feeling too good, from what I can tell. It’d be more obvious if he spoke French, but it’s not a surprise he’s fallen back to Japanese.”

“Yeah, true…”

It seems as if even hearing this conversation has awaken something in their friend, whose arms barely manage to lift him up.

“Maxine…?” His voice is hoarse, his barking cough sounds wet. “What’re you doing here…?”

Both JB and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, good, you can actually speak coherent French! That means you’re doing better.”

“What happened, I’m… confused?”

JB runs to her side, smiling a little – no doubt from relief.

“Sorry for that, pal! We found you passed out on your floor earlier. You really worried us, you know?”

Yuzo looks like he’s trying to solve an equation with two unknowns on the fly to very mixed results.

“I don’t know what the doctor diagnosed you with, Yuzo, but it must be terrible. Do you mind if I take your temperature?”

“N-no, go for it.”

They all stand in silence as she does. It takes longer than the first time, and despite how heavy it makes the air as a result, it’s somewhat reassuring. Eventually, it beeps again, and this time, Maxine’s eyes don’t bulge out of their sockets.

“Thirty-eight point nine,” she announces. “It’s not good by any means, but it’s better than before, that’s for sure.”

Yuzo stares at her with

“Hang on, Max! We’ve still got all that stuff!”

As she stares at the bag in JB’s hands, she feels utterly stupid.

“Oh, snap, you’re right.”

It only takes them a couple minutes to get a couple of pills inside Yuzo, who doesn’t even protest – his throat does, but he doesn’t. In the meantime, she observes him, watches the colour on his face slowly come back even if he remains ashen pale compared to usual anyway.

She has questions swirling through her mind, some dating from before today and some so fresh they still feel crispy. She waits to ask them, sits through JB making sure his friend isn’t going to lose consciousness again. For a second, she wonders if he knows, so less puzzled yet just as heartbroken as she was earlier.

“Hey, Yuzo… Can I ask you something?” She eventually says.

He looks back at her

“Earlier, when your fever spiked, you said some things out loud.” Her eyes harden. “I doubt you remember much from it, but I still wanted to ask: do you know what you could’ve said? I think you were talking in Japanese.”

He takes time to process. Jesus, Maxine, you know he’s already struggling with French and a fever, don’t make both harder on him.

“It… depends. I was deep in a dream, I think.”

“You clutched Max’s arm and told her stuff as you cried,” JB adds.

Yuzo changes faces immediately, losing all confidence.

“Oh… I know what I must’ve said.” He takes a pause, gets a coughing fit out (she hands him a glass of water as soon as it’s done). “You said… You said you’d never leave me.” He gulps. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what I said.”

“Do you know who you were saying that?”

“My mother… presumably.”

He doesn’t sound sure, but it doesn’t prevent JB from wanting confirmation, even if his face is hesitant.

“You said that to your… mom?”

“I don’t see anyone else I could’ve asked in my sleep…”

“Not even one of your friends or teammates?”

Maxine prefers to make sure because, come to think of it, she’s been dating this man for months and he’s never told her about his family. Every time she asked, he recoiled and she dropped the topic entirely. Which means…

“No, I’ve never been ill in front of them.”

“It’s normal to call out to your mom when you’re sick, though, I do it all the time,” JB continues. “So why do you look so… uneasy?”

In front of them, Yuzo rolls back inside himself, shoulders rounded like a hedgehog protecting himself. It’s bizarre to witness.

“It’s… I’ve never gotten along with my parents.” Despite his hoarse voice, he sounds clear as day, suddenly. “They’ve always held more interest within my brothers.”

“You have siblings?”

This is the first time Maxine hears about potential in-laws.

“Two brothers. One older, one younger. Engineer, doctor.” He shivers. “I wanted to be a soccer player. It didn’t make them happy.”

She doesn’t like where it’s going. Don’t tell her they…

“So when any of us would get sick, it was first them, and then me. I think they didn’t really want me to be born, but they still raised me.”

Her blood is boiling. Who are those people? How can you be so cruel? How could they’ve given the world such a sweet man…?

JB and Maxine are staring at each other, speechless.

“It’s fine, it’s just… How I was raised,” Yuzo continues to try and justify. “

“Actually, uhm… That’s just…”

JB is struggling to find his wording, fretting again (and who can blame him, that’s quite the unexpected package to drop onto their lap); so Maxine, like the good ol’ pal she is, takes the helm once more.

“Can I be very blunt about that?”

“Yes…?”

She’s sorry, she really is, especially since he looks so troubled, trembling from head to toes and hair risen on his arms; but it must be said. It must be done.

“Fuck your parents and fuck your brothers while I’m at it. They should’ve taken care of you before it got this bad.” She gets JB closer to her. “And neither of us is gonna let you down like they gave up on you.”

“It’s…” Tears prickle at his eyes. “Thank you…”

“It’s no big deal!”

“Just tell us when you’re ill, though. I’d rather not have that scare again!”

“I promise.”

She cups his face again, relief finally coming back to her.

“Now, you should get some rest. JB and I will stay here, don’t worry.”

“Actually, I need to get my sleepover stuff…”

“Well, at least one of us will be here at all times,” Maxine chuckles. “Unless you want us both?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he replies with a bit of a cough stuck in his throat. “It’s already a lot. Thank you very much.”

#whumptober 2023 #no.10 #“you said you'd never leave”#captain tsubasa #fic #oc/canon #because life's too short not to invent a gf for a fav #also featuring jean baptiste hugo because i love this doofus #prism made him say “tu lui parles pas d'âge” in our fic and i'm giggling every time i remember

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transearlgrey · 8 months

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man it really sucks being one of many Queer Cousins in your family BUT being the only one raised religiously. not like just raised with religion, but lots of 'being gay is a sin and you have to repent and promise to be celibate or you'll go to hell' and the like kinda religious. I'm almost 30 and i still don't feel like i will ever be like my cousins who were able to figure this shit out when they were teens with the support of their parents. it sucks!

#like i Love my cousins dearly. they're good ppl. but there is a huge disconnect between me and my lesbian cousin #who had her parents and our grandparents support since she was like 10 or 11 #who had time to like. grow up around other gay ppl and figure that shit out early on!!! with familial support!#who knows she belongs at home with our family AND in the queer community and like.#me. who tried to come out initially at 13 and was laughed at. and immediately went to live with evangelical baptist grandparents.#it took till 25 before i was brave enough to try and get on T. god it sucks lol #really wish i didnt feel so alienated from other ppl that i could actually connect with them.

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catholicdailyreflections · 1 year

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The Meaning of Love

The Meaning of Love - Daily Gospel Reflection for Thursday, April 20, 2023

April 20, 2023 Thursday of the Second Week of Easter The Father loves the Son and has given everything over to him. John 3:35 It’s interesting to note that the words of today’s Gospel appear to be from Saint John the Baptist, since they come within the context of his testimony to Jesus. Some commentators, however, suggest that they are words that were actually spoken by…

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#Jesus #John the Baptist #Love #Our Father

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covington-shenanigans · 1 month

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so I'm on this app, Marco Polo, where you stay in touch with people by means of sending video messages. (there are probably other features, but I'm a free user, so I remain blissfully ignorant of them.) mostly I use it to annoy my sister. ("BITCH WHAT IF I GOT A PHALLOPLASTY AND HAD A BABY SHOWER FOR MY DICK. WE COULD HAVE ZUCCHINI FRITTERS. DICK-SHAPED PASTA. BANANAS FOSTER. DO U SEE MY VISION")

anyway, during the Hell Year of 2020, I saw my childhood best friend (let's call her Lee) was on this app. and like.

when I say "my childhood best friend", I mean the Weird Girl next door, who saw the Weird Girl that I was. I mean the girl I played with from age five until just shy of eleven, when my family moved away. I mean the girl I played with every day, for hours and hours, making up all kinds of elaborate scenarios involving our menagerie of stuffed animals. there were multiple overlapping, soap opera-style plotlines that lasted for years. there was drama. heartbreak. glory. she was the first friend I remember having. she was the first girl I ever loved, in my five-year-old way.

well, I hadn't seen Lee in at least 20 years and I was like, "holy shit! Lee!!!" so I sent her a "hey, nice to see you here, how you been" message.

again, this was late 2020.

now, I had been on T for a scant three months when I sent the first message, so I was a mere baby child, relative to the gruff manly man I am now. no beard, my voice had only started to wobble, still had tits... you get it. keep this in mind, it'll be important later.

I never heard back from her, but we're both Old, so I was like "eh, she probably forgot she installed the app" and forgot about it. we'd exchanged text messages at some point during the Hell Year, but like many people my age she doesn't really text, and I'm not calling anyone if I don't have to, so our communication had been sporadic, at best.

well. today I got a notification that she sent me a reply on Marco Polo.

I figured, well, she's replying to me 3.5 years late, but better late than never. I have ADHD and no friendship degradation mechanic, so I'm excited! yay! friend! :D

and then I remember. "...oh shit. she doesn't know I'm trans."

so. the thing is. I'm from Mississippi, which is. very very fucking conservative. I know Lee grew up Southern Baptist. I also know she's still living in the same town where we grew up and where she eventually graduated from high school and college. last I checked she was still attending the same Southern Baptist church where she grew up and her remaining living parent is still living in Lee's childhood home.

so this is either going to be Fine or it's going to be a disaster. lol.

in thinking it through, I figure either she's seen my updated profile pic, where I have the beard etc., or she hasn't. so either she's going to acknowledge this change or she isn't. okay. these are the possibilities. so I watch the message.

...the secret third option is... she seems to not realize when I sent the message? "sorry, I missed this when I was at work!" girl. what? I mean, you probably did miss it while you were at work... three and a half years ago. possibly she meant to reply to someone else and got me instead?

whatever. who knows. doesn't matter.

because I have the opportunity to do the funniest fucking thing in the world now

#covington-shenanigans gets personal #story time #marco polo #trans stuff #childhood friends #trans man #transmasc #trans men

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toournextadventure · 1 year

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our little secret

Summary: You're the preacher's daughter with the perfect boyfriend. Lorraine is a rancher's daughter with a less than perfect boyfriend. You were both the best of friends. If only anyone knew what went on behind closed doors.

Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: 18+ smut (fingering, oral), swearing, religious talk (talk of sin, seminary, Christian/Baptist views), religious trauma, mentions of homophobia, angst Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader Taglist: @aahdiieb (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv)

There was something relaxing about spending a day outdoors on someone else's farm. Well, you had a farm; they had a ranch. It was quite the different beast to take care of, but you were more than happy to assist in whatever they needed you for, and they were always more than happy to ask for your assistance.

A benefit of being the preacher's daughter, you supposed.

It wasn't the first time you had found yourself crawling under Mr. Day's truck, and it wouldn't be the last. Piece 'a shit is broke, he grumbled before immediately following it up with don't tell your daddy I swore. You had just laughed at him and promised your lips were sealed.

But now that you found yourself tearing it apart, you had to agree with him. His truck was a certified piece of shit.

You slid out from under the truck and sat up with a sigh, your arms resting on your bent knees. It was going to take far more than one day's worth of work to get it fixed. That was mighty fine with you, though, you liked the Day family. They came to church dutifully and your parents almost always had them over afterwards for lunch. Just a nice, genuine Texas family. That was why you liked them.

Certainly not because of Lorraine.

"She's broke, huh?" Mr. Day asked, bringing you out of your thoughts. You glanced up and saw him leaning against the door frame of the barn.

"She ain't broke," you said with a shake of your head. "She just needs some love." You gave him a teasing smile. "Which you ain't givin' her."

"S'pose not," he huffed.

"Hope you been givin' your family more love than your truck," you continued as you pushed yourself up to your feet. Oil covered hands tried to brush stray pieces of straw off your jeans and left black stains in its place. "Ain't nothin' more important than family."

"Well now you sound just like your daddy," Mr. Day chuckled. You turned your head so he couldn't see the grimace his words caused.

"Sometimes he's right," you managed to chuckle back. If he picked up on the double edge of your words, he didn't acknowledge it. It was better that way.

"Well, he can be right again," Mr. Day said as he stretched his hand out in your direction. "Come on in, now, Mrs. Day made lunch."

You walked forward, suddenly focused on trying to wipe the oil off your hands. Mr. Day's hand rested lightly on your lower back, guiding you back to the house while you were now otherwise distracted. His other hand reached out to hold your forearm, helping you not trip up the stairs. By the time he opened the front porch door for you, you had managed to get absolutely no oil off your hands.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Day," you said with a smile and a little wave.

"Better wash those hands off 'fore you touch anything in this kitchen," she said with a pointed look that then directed you to the kitchen sink.

"Yes ma'am," you said with a sag in your shoulders. It made you feel like a child getting scolded for playing in the mud.

Only once she had declared your hands "good enough" did she have you sit down at the table for lunch. It was the perfect lunch, in your opinion; sandwiches, chips, and an ice cold coke. Mrs. Day really knew how to put the charm on.

"How are your brothers holdin’ up?" She asked once everyone had started eating.

"They're…" you hesitated. Perfect Christian family, your father's voice echoed in your head. "They're great," you finally said with a polite smile. "Just goin’ ta classes.”

“And that fella of yours?” Mr. Day asks.

You almost laughed. Instead you took a bite of your sandwich and took the time to chew before answering.

“Beau is fine,” you said with a small smile to yourself. “He should be back from the rodeo tomorrow mornin’.”

“How’d he do?” Mr. Day asked around his own mouthful of food. “Calf ropin’, wasn’t it?”

“Team ropin’,” you said with a nod. “Think he said him and his partner got third?”

“Well that ain’t half bad,” he mumbled. “Lorraine and RJ are s’pose to get back from that film thing tomorrow, too.”

The mention of Lorraine got your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to rise up out of your throat. Everything about her got your body reacting in ways you couldn’t quite describe. The mere mention of her name got your palms sweaty, your thoughts foggy, and your mouth dry.

But then the mention of RJ made you feel sick to your stomach, like when you drank warm milk after it had been sitting on the counter all morning. The thought of him touching Lorraine, or kissing her, or even talking to her made you irrationally angry. It wasn’t something the good lord would want from you.

Too bad you didn’t really care.

“The four of you should go down to the lake tomorrow,” Mr. Day mused aloud. “Give you all a day or two to relax before gettin’ back down to business.”

“Only if y’all behave,” Mrs. Day scolded. She didn’t wait for either of you to finish your lunch before taking the plates to the sink. You quickly got up to help.

It was the Southern thing to do.

“Go on home, sugar,” Mr. Day said when you finished drying the plates.

“I need to finish your truck,” you said as you leaned your hip against the counter. “She’ll never get fixed if you keep sendin’ me home after feedin’ me.”

“I think she can last a little longer,” he said with a light chuckle. “Go home. I’ll tell ‘Raine y’all can meet up around 2.”

“When the sun’s shinin’ down?” You complained.

“It’s good for you. You’ve been locked in that chapel for so long you’re gettin’ mighty ghostly-”

“-John,” Mrs. Day interrupted. You had to turn away from her so she couldn’t see you laughing. “That’s blasphemy.”

“Preacher’s daughter is here, she’ll forgive my transgressions,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Won’t you?”

“In a heartbeat,” you replied.

“You’re both blasphemers,” Mrs. Day huffed before walking away.

You and Mr. Day tried to stifle your laughter to avoid getting in trouble again, but you couldn’t help it. Only when Mrs. Day beat you both with the hand towel did you both stop, shouting your “sorrys” as you ran outside. You called out your goodbyes and hopped into your daddy’s truck before going back home.

“You’ve gotta be quiet,” you mumbled against Lorraine’s lips. Her fingers scratched against the back of your neck in response before pulling you back to her.

You let her lead, pulling you with her until her back hit the wall with a *thud*. You tried to tell her to be quiet again but she didn’t let you pull away. Her arms tightened around your neck. Your own hands slid under the hem of her shirt, resting on her waist. She shivered, giving you all the approval you needed to trail your fingers up her sides, stopping right below her breasts.

"Please," she whimpered against your lips.

Oh, how that gave you such unholy thoughts.

You didn't bother removing her bra; there was too much risk involved. But you had no shame in pushing it up just enough for your hands to cup her breasts. The smallest moan fell from her lips and you had barely brushed your thumbs against her nipples.

"Quiet, 'Raine," you whispered.

But before she could answer, you softly squeezed one of her nipples between your fingers. She moaned into your mouth that time, and you couldn't help your little chuckle before doing it again. Her back arched, pushing the rest of her closer to you. All you needed to do was put your knee-

-you shoved Lorraine into the coats when you heard the door click and open. You spun around just in time to see Jimmy looking in, quickly meeting your eyes.

"I'm goin' to see Liz," he said. "If Pap asks, I'm out studyin' with Blaine."

"You better not get her pregnant, Jim,” you said quickly, almost forgetting why you were in the chapel closet in the first place. “I can’t protect you from daddy forever.”

“I ain’t gettin’ her pregnant, god,” he huffed. “You know too much.”

“It’s on account ‘a I’m your big sister,” you said with a pointed finger, “and if you get her pregnant before you marry her, I’m gonna tan your hide.”

“You got me shakin’ in my boots,” Jimmy taunted with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see you later.” He turned to walk out but leaned in through the doorway once again. “Bye Lorraine.”

You locked eyes with Jimmy and froze. There was a small smirk on his lips that you wanted to smack off. But then you heard rustling behind you, and his smile grew when you felt Lorraine’s hands on your waist as she leaned out from behind you.

“Bye, Jimmy,” she said sheepishly.

“Not a word, Jim,” you said with a slight shake of your head.

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell Liz y’all said hi.”

Both you and Lorraine mumbled goodbyes as Jimmy finally shut the door and left. You let out a shaky sigh and turned around to look at Lorraine. By all accounts she looked embarrassed with her flushed cheeks and guilty smile. But the flush could still be from the fact that she was turned on.

You would be in the same boat.

“I told you to hush,” you mumbled.

“Then keep me quiet,” Lorraine said before she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you in for another kiss that had your stomach twisting into knots.

Oh this girl would be the death of you.

You were still remembering that day at the chapel while you watched Beau finish clearing out the trailer. It was a tough job, watching your fake boyfriend clear out the trailer with his fake friend. The way they laughed and couldn’t keep their eyes off each other was almost embarrassing. They were disgusting, truly. They needed to learn the definition of discretion.

“Howdy, beautiful,” Beau said with a smile when he finally approached you after cleaning back up.

“Afternoon, handsome,” you teased back.

When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he gave you a kiss on the cheek. It was simple, much more conservative than most couples. But it was a line you both had settled on. After all, it wasn’t like either of you were interested in each other. You both had… other fascinations.

“Bye, Huck,” you called out to Hucksley when you started climbing into your daddy’s truck. “I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“Have fun, you two!” He shouted back with a big ‘ole grin and a wave.

“He likes you,” Beau said when he started driving over to the Day ranch. At the rate you were going, you would both get there just before 2. And then you could finally see Lorraine again.

“Y’all able to get some alone time this trip?” You asked. You didn’t bother looking at him, instead opting to look out the window.

“Little bit,” he said. “You get to see Lorraine yet?”

“No,” you sighed. “She went off with RJ. Again.”

“You know he is her beau,” he said with far too much gumption. “It’s almost expected she go with him.”

“That don’t mean I have to like it,” you said quietly.

“Now you know how Huck feels when I'm with you,” he said. “It ain’t easy, but it’s what we gotta do.”

You didn’t bother answering him. You knew he was right, he was always right. Hell would freeze over the day your daddy found out Beau was nothing more than a front so everyone thought you were both having normal relations. If anyone found out about your feelings for Lorraine, or his and Huck’s relationship, your lives would be over.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

What did make it better was seeing Lorraine standing on the porch with Mr. Day. She was staying out of the sun but that didn’t hide the brilliance of her smile. The scarred side of her face was turned away from the road - a habit she had picked up recently - but you didn’t care. She was home, and oh so close. It made your palms sweaty.

You didn’t wait for Beau to park the car before throwing the door open and jumping out. The ground was still rushing underneath you and you stumbled, but quickly regained your footing. All you wanted to do was run up the porch and hug her, letting her know just how much you had missed her over the past two weeks.

But your feet slowed to little more than a walk when RJ came out of the house with a bag in hand. Right. He was there too. Your smile fell into little more than a grin as you forced yourself forward and up the porch. Lorraine turned and gave you those soft, pitiful eyes that made your knees weak.

And the moment was ruined when RJ wrapped an arm over her shoulder.

“Thought you’d never make it,” RJ said with an irritating grin that had you grinding your teeth.

“My fault,” Beau answered as he finally stood behind you. He dutifully put his hand on the small of your back, just like any good boyfriend should. He always did play the part exceptionally well. “Huck and I took a bit to unload the trailer.”

“Congratulations by the way,” Mr. Day said.

“Thank you, sir,” Beau replied. “Coulda done better, but ain’t half-bad.”

“Would you let me film you some day?” RJ asked. “It’d make a good movie.”

“We’ll see, camera boy,” Beau said with a chuckle.

How he could be so casual around RJ was beyond you. The man caused you to want to do un-Christianly things to him. Whether it was his obnoxious smirk, or his stupid hair, or his dumbass glasses. Every single aspect of him got your blood boiling, and him wanting to film Beau was just the icing on the cake.

“Y’all should skedaddle before it gets too late,” Mr. Day said. “Should be plenty of daylight left to pitch the tents.”

“We can take my daddy’s truck,” you said. Lorraine’s eyes were broken, and butterflies instantly erupted in your stomach. "Plenty of space for everything."

Everyone agreed before grabbing their things, telling Mr. and Mrs. Day goodbye, and loading up the truck. Two tents, food, sleeping bags, and small backpacks with some extra clothes and necessities. It was as if you were all professionals. And you were, if you were being honest.

Well. Everyone except RJ.

"In the cab, pardner," Beau said to RJ once everything was loaded. "We'll let the ladies ride in the bed."

"Yeah, alright," RJ mumbled. He gave Lorraine a quick kiss on the lips before getting in the cab.

It made you sick.

Lorraine was perfectly capable of climbing into the bed of the truck all on her own, you knew that. But you couldn't stop yourself from holding your hand out to help her up. She flashed you that smile that you loved so much and climbed in, sitting on the left side. Her bad side.

You didn't bring it up as you climbed in next, sitting down directly beside her and immediately grabbing her hand. It wasn't like anyone could see, you were both surrounded by gear and the truck was already pulling away. She twisted her hand just enough to interlock her fingers with yours and suddenly things weren't so bad anymore. Things almost felt right.

"How was the shoot?" You asked even though you didn't exactly want to know.

"Rocky," Lorraine said; her first word to you in two weeks. "Nothin' went right so we gave up for the weekend."

"Did you join this time?" You continued.

She didn't answer. Her face was turned away from you and your fingers ached to pull her back. To make her look at you so you could see her eyes, caress her scars, kiss her soft lips. But all she ever did nowadays was turn away from you.

It had started after that very first film they did, when she had gotten shot. All you remembered was Mr. Day calling in the middle of the night to let you know she was in the hospital. Nothing had ever put the fear of God into you quite like that night.

Now she always did her best to sit on your left side so you couldn't see her face. It didn't matter how much you kissed her or tried to comfort her, she always turned away from you. The only time she didn't was when she was coming undone beneath you and had plenty of other things on her mind.

"How's Roy?" She asked instead. It was answer enough; she had done a scene or two for the film.

"Can't eat, can't sleep, hootin' and hollerin' cause he thinks he's still in 'Nam," you said with a shrug. "Daddy says we can pray it out of him."

"I'm sorry." Lorraine squeezed your hand lightly before pulling it into her lap and playing with your fingers.

It was your turn not to answer. You didn't want to talk about your veteran brother, or her smut film, or your preacher daddy. Nothing about Beau or RJ or Huck or anything else. You just wanted to talk about her; anything and everything you could possibly find out.

Not like you, Lorraine, Beau, and Huck had all been friends since you were in diapers and knew each other inside and out. That meant nothing.

Lorraine leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder as the truck continued to bounce down the dirt road to the lake. It was hot and humid and you were sweatin’ like a whore in church. But you still let your own head fall on hers and pulled her closer. You could handle the uncomfortable weather if you had her with you.

“I missed you,” Lorraine said softly before practically cuddling deeper into you.

“Missed you too,” you answered.

There was a desperation to kiss the top of her head, tell her you loved her again. A desperation to pull her into your lap and kiss away the frown that you knew she had on her lips. To show her how much you loved her and give her something to take her mind off of whatever was bothering her.

But the truck pulled to a stop at the lake and she pulled away. It put a lump in your throat when RJ came around and helped her out of the back of the truck. Beau did the same for you, of course, shooting you a sympathetic smile in the process. It didn’t make you feel any better.

“Wanna help me pitch the tents?” He asked you while RJ took Lorraine to the lake, ignoring all the bags in the back.

You nodded and started to grab everything you could. If you “accidentally” left RJ’s bag in the back of the truck, you could be forgiven. Things happened, you know? The Big Man in White would forgive you for any transgressions. Beau started up a conversation for nothing more than to pass time.

It helped.

The sun was just starting to kiss the horizon when RJ and Lorraine came back, a smile on his face and a slight frown on hers. But that frown turned upside down when you admitted “oh I’m sorry, RJ, I must have forgotten your pack.” He grumbled and left to grab it while Lorraine turned around to hide her smile.

It was the little things in life.

“Hey ‘Raine,” Beau called out while RJ was still gone. She turned around to look at him. “Why don’t you and sweetness over there go get some firewood?” He gestured his head to where you were finishing putting the cooler down on the ground.

Oh that sneaky bastard.

She nodded once and waited for you to join her before walking away. You both knew where the firewood was, you had grown up around this lake. It just gave you a nice opportunity to be close to her; you thanked god for Beau every day of your life.

“Beau’s not very sneaky,” Lorraine said once you were both out of earshot of the boys.

“No he ain’t,” you laughed, “but I love him anyway.”

“RJ doesn’t like him,” she continued. “Thinks he’s fake.”

“Bold words,” you grumbled. You didn’t like talking about RJ; he always seemed to be the topic of conversation during the few moments you got alone with Lorraine.

It seemed Lorraine picked up on it because she reached over and grabbed your hand, slotting her fingers between yours and stepping closer. Her skin was just as sweaty as yours thanks to that Texas sun, and your hands were sliding against each other and were all clammy. And it was perfect.

“How’s seminary?” Lorraine asked. You didn’t necessarily like that question either, but you could at least talk about it.

And you did. You both started talking, going over what all had been happening since Lorraine had started traveling with RJ more often. How you and Jimmy were primed and ready to go to seminary, just needed to find out which one. How Lorraine was really starting to enjoy filming, and even sometimes being in the films. You teased her about the promiscuity, which she promptly shoved you for.

“Better watch out, ‘Raine,” you continued, “the flames of Hell might devour you for your sin of the flesh.”

“Oh shut up,” she huffed, but there was a smile on her face. “I think you commit the same sin.”

“I’m not at fault,” you said. You stopped abruptly and Lorraine was yanked back by your hand. With only a little bit of finesse, you pulled her into you until she had to look up at you. “I fell victim to a temptress.”

“Is that what I am?” She asked. “Your temptress?”

You looked down at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She went to turn away, to hide the scars covering the entire left side of her face. But you cupped her cheek instead, keeping her still and looking at you. It broke your heart to see her desire to hide away. Did no one remind her how beautiful she was?

“No,” you said softly, eyes trailing over every scar and freckle on her face. “You’re my whole world.”

You didn’t have to make the first move; Lorraine was more than willing to stand on her toes and kiss you. Just a peck, always just a peck at first, almost as if daring the other one to pull away. But it always led to the same thing. You bent down and cupped both of her cheeks, pulling her into another kiss that had butterflies crawling over every inch of your insides.

The moment her hands gripped your shirt collar, you knew you were done for. That needy, whiny grab that was so full of want and desperation, pulling you closer until you threatened to topple over. It gave you that little push to go a bit further, gently biting her bottom lip to draw out the tiniest moan from her.

You thanked God for whoever had invented the little snap buttons on your shirt. Lorraine's slender fingers could pop them open instantly, and you shivered from both the sudden brush of air and her fingers on your chest. Her skin was hot on yours, scalding like hellfire, and it felt heavenly.

A coyote howled in the distance and you quickly straightened, pulling Lorraine closer to keep her safe. It was getting far darker than you had expected and you knew better than to get caught in the open by a pack. You knew she could hear your heart racing in your chest, and she placed a comforting hand on your now-bare stomach.

"We should get back," you said quietly; you certainly didn't want to alert any coyotes to your location.

"We didn't get firewood," Lorraine said just as quietly. Her breath tickled against your chest.

"Beau and I got some while you were gettin' indecent with RJ," you said before immediately stiffening up.

You weren't supposed to admit that.

"And what, pray tell, are we doin'?" Lorraine asked in what you, Beau, and Huck had dubbed her Scolding Mother voice.

"Sinnin'," you said without hesitation. You were already in trouble, no use trying to get out of it.

"Y'all are bastards," she said with a huff and an elbow to your stomach. You coughed and doubled over, giving her the perfect opportunity to start walking back to camp without you.

"Be careful," you whisper-shouted as you ran after her, your fingers trying desperately to button your shirt back up. “Lorraine!”

You were in a state of complete disarray when you both got back to camp. RJ and Beau were already building the fire; well, Beau was forcing RJ to try and do it. He was failing miserably and you wanted nothing more than to laugh, but the look Lorraine gave you shut you up.

“Need some help, RJ?” You asked when he failed for the fifth time to get the fire started.

“I’ll let you try,” he said with a shake of his head and a shrug. The three of you knew it was his way of saying I can’t do it.

You knelt down and got the fire started in one go. You had to stay on the ground for a few minutes too long so you could stop yourself from looking so smug about it. By the time you stood up, convinced the fire would stay steady, Beau and Lorraine were finishing up preparing for dinner and RJ was messing around with his camera.

“You always have that with you?” You asked him, gesturing your head to the device in his hands.

“Never know when you’ll stumble across the perfect shot,” he said with a smile.

Laughter had you turning your head to see Beau and Lorraine with large smiles on their faces. She looked at peace, like she was actually happy to be there with him. There was no intent to hide herself, or keep quiet, or act a certain way. She was just laughing and pushing him around and talking ceaselessly.

It was the perfect shot, and RJ was missing it.

“Quit it,” you told Beau, who was waving a knife around all willy nilly. “You two go sit down before you hurt somebody.”

“Yes mother,” Beau said with a roll of his eyes. Lorraine said nothing but smiled and walked away to sit beside RJ.

Everyone kind of did their own thing after that; you cooked the stew for dinner, Beau got his guitar out and started picking a few tunes, and Lorraine and RJ were sitting together, whispering about something. Every now and then she would look up and meet your eyes for a moment before focusing on RJ once again.

Beau noticed, as he always did, and decided to make light of the situation. He started strumming a tune, singing horribly off key and inviting you to join. You shook your head and protested and did your best to ignore him, but how could you when he was giving you that smile? It was no wonder he had managed to pull Huck in.

You both continued to sing as terribly as possible, laughing when the coyotes started howling in harmony. He cracked open a lukewarm beer and handed it to you before grabbing one for everyone else and then himself. It was disgusting, but you couldn’t complain too much because it was about the camaraderie, not the taste. About knowing you were all just out having fun, enjoying the reprieve from the real world.

For a moment you could almost believe you were out there with Lorraine, free from the prying, judgmental eyes of the world. When you handed her a bowl of stew and her fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine and a heat in your belly. When she smiled at you while RJ and Beau were talking, as if you were the one she was with.

But then RJ would kiss her on the cheek, or wrap his arm around her, and you felt sick to your stomach. The world certainly knew how to play its sick jokes. You knew what your daddy would have to say about it. It's a temptation from the Devil himself to lust after another woman. Guilt started gnawing at your heart, piece by piece until it was beating wildly and you feared you would pass out.

“We should get some sleep,” Beau proclaimed once talk had died down. Maybe he had noticed you starting to lose every ounce of sanity you had left. You hoped he didn’t. “Plenty more fun to be had tomorrow.”

Everyone mumbled their agreements - you just stared off into the fire - before standing up and stretching. Sitting on the hard ground was always tough on the joints no matter how young you were. Once everyone started getting ready, you cleaned up and put out the fire, your mind still dwelling on the guilt your daddy continued to instill in you even from afar.

“RJ, you’re in the tent with me,” Beau said quickly. “I ain’t invokin’ the wrath of a man of god.”

He didn’t look happy about that proclamation at all, but what could he do? He had grown up a Southern man too, he knew how seriously people took such a thing. So he nodded once, grumbling an agreement before climbing into the tent with Beau hot on his heels. Beau gave you one look before zipping up the tent and leaving you alone with Lorraine.

Alone with Lorraine.

Oh god.

You took far too long gathering your things before heading to the tent. Double and triple checking that the fire was out, looking out for coyotes, checking for rattlers, making sure the food was properly put away. Only when you could no longer find anything to do did you finally venture into the tent where Lorraine was already waiting.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw Lorraine sitting in the tent, lantern on and book in hand. She had her chin resting in one small hand as the other turned the page. Her hair fell over her face, creating a sheer curtain that you could barely see through. The tanned skin of her shoulder was bare to the world as her too-large sleep gown hung off her arm.

Just the sight of her was enough to make you want to praise the heavens, singing her gospel until God felled you from heaven himself. You would give up the very promise of heaven if it meant you could go to bed seeing her like that every night. The deepest pits of hell could not persuade you from loving her with every beat of your heart and every breath that she pulled from your lungs.

"You're starin'," Lorraine mumbled in her sleepy voice, the one you would die for.

"You're plum wore out," you said as you finally managed to get your body moving again. You zipped the tent up behind you and moved to get on the small pallet beside her.

"Long trip home," she said with a sigh. Slender fingers placed the bookmark in its spot before placing the book beside the lamp and blowing it out.

You laid down in silence, staying as still as possible so as to allow her to go where she pleased. You're acting like you've never slept with her before, your mind taunted you. And it was right, but there was a guilt that was still gnawing at your heart, chomping at the bit to devour you, body and soul.

"You ain't gonna face me?" Lorraine asked, her mouth so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," you whispered as you turned on your side and ended up face-to-face with her.

"You're thinkin' real hard tonight," she said. You couldn't really see her in the dark, but you heard shuffling before you felt her hand resting on your cheek.

It felt like the touch of god himself.

"I'm alright," you said. Part of you hoped she would believe you.

Part of you hoped she wouldn't.

"It's just you and me tonight," she said. Her fingers scratched gently against your skin, just enough to keep you grounded.

Tonight, your mind emphasized. It was just you and her tonight. When the sun came up she would go back to RJ, and you would go back to Beau, and no one would think twice. It would be as if nothing had ever happened, as if she hadn't made you want to prostrate yourself at her altar.

"You and me," you said to yourself. If you said it enough, you could believe it.

"I don't wanna fuck tonight," Lorraine said, making you blink in the dark at her complete 180.

"You… you don't?" You asked. "May- may I ask why?"

"All I ever do is fuck," she said, her lips now brushing lightly against yours. “I want you to remind me what love feels like.”

Oh. Oh, you could do that. It was all you ever wanted to do. There wasn't a single thought in your head when you felt her lips press against yours. No thoughts as you wrapped your arm around her waist, pulling her body flush against yours. She was warm and soft; she was yours.

You rolled over onto your back, gently pulling her with you until she was laying on top of you. It always amazed you how small she was, how her weight on you meant nothing as she straddled your stomach. Both of her hands made their way to your neck while yours went under her shirt and to her hips. Her skin was already slick with sweat thanks to the summer heat.

She bit your bottom lip as your hands slid up her sides, caressing every inch of skin they could find. Gentle touches until you reached the sides of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat when one of your thumbs lightly brushed against her nipple, immediately followed by a shiver down her back.

“Don’t tease,” Lorraine mumbled against your lips.

You hummed your acknowledgment and leaned up into another kiss, but continued to leave the lightest of touches. Brushing a knuckle against her nipple, softly kneading her flesh. Only when she was least expecting it did you do anything more, rolling a nipple between your thumb and forefinger and swallowing her moan.

The simple touch had her rolling her hips against your stomach. Even with her panties on, you could feel her arousal on your stomach. Just the knowledge that you had such an effect on her was enough to convince you that she had too many clothes on.

She whined when you removed your hands from her breasts. A needy, breathy sound that quickly disappeared when you pulled her gown up. Her lips parted from yours just long enough to get the gown over her head before she leaned down, instantly kissing you again.

Your hands rested on her hips, just tracing patterns on her skin as she continued to roll her hips. Her movements were slow, methodical. She was working herself up, not trying to get off just yet.

"Take it off," she mumbled as her hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. Well, it was Beau's shirt, but no one cared.

"Yes ma'am," you answered before sitting up.

Lorraine slid into your lap while her hands tugged at your shirt, attempting to assist you. But you could tell she was already too desperate, too distracted to be of any genuine help. As you pulled your shirt off, her own hands quickly replaced it, running over every inch of skin she could reach.

"I missed you," she said breathlessly. Her hands trailed from your neck down to your breasts, giving them the same teasing treatment you had given her.

"I missed you too " you answered just as breathlessly before her lips closed around one of your nipples and drew a moan out of you.

She loved to do that. She loved to interrupt your thoughts with her actions, whether it was a gentle bite here or the scratching of her nails on your back. And she did just that, biting down just hard enough to pull a gasp from you before soothing the sting with her tongue.

You let her continue for a few moments; it was one of her favourite things to do. All the while you massaged her hips, her thighs, could practically feel the heat from her core. She was still working herself up.

"Come here," you said, gently pulling her face back up to yours.

You couldn't see her in the dark but you could imagine the lust-drunk look she was giving you as you laid her down on the pallet. Both of your hands were on either side of her head, caging her in. Your thigh strategically placed itself between her legs and she took no time in rutting against it.

Her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you into another kiss. One thing about Lorraine, she loved to be kissed. To taste you, feel your tongue on her lips, your lips on her skin. If you were kissing her then you loved her, and she couldn't have been more right.

"More," she said with another desperate grind against your thigh.

You lowered yourself down to your elbows before shifting your weight. Your body was tilted ever so slightly so as not to crush her while one of your hands finally made its way back down her body. If the sweat was anything to go by, you knew exactly what you would find when you slid your hand in between your thigh and her panties.

The wetness on your thigh and stomach had already told you how worked up she was, but when you actually felt how soaked her panties were, you couldn't help but sigh. She just made it so easy to tease her, to run your fingers over her so lightly that all she could do was whine and squirm.

"Stop teasin'," Lorraine whined, pulling a smile from you.

"Take these off too," you said in reply.

She had never moved so fast in her life, you reckoned. But almost within an instant she had kicked her panties off and laid bare beneath you. You wished the lantern was on so you could see her. See her kiss-swollen lips and her freckled skin, the blush on her cheeks or the almost bashful look in her eyes. You wanted to see her; all of her.

But she clearly felt you were taking too long, because she grabbed your hand and placed it exactly where she wanted it. You dipped your finger into her arousal and up to her clit once. She threw her head back with a moan at the same time as you.

"Jesus, Lorraine," you said as you bent down to kiss her neck. "You're so fuckin' wet and I barely touched you."

You could feel the vibrations of her moan against your lips as you continued to kiss down her body. Your fingers slowly circled her clit, putting the lightest amount of pressure just to keep her worked up. You kissed her collarbone, her chest, left little love bites on her breasts. Her hips rolled with your fingers as you kissed lower, across her stomach and to her hips. Extra kisses for her hips, one love bite on each before being soothed with your tongue.

"Please," Lorraine whimpered just loud enough for you to hear.

How could you say no to that?

The first swipe of your tongue already had her back arching and her fingers tangling themselves in your hair. She tasted like the nectar of heaven, something you could only ever find from her. Any semblance of self control dissipated and you dove back in like you had been parched for a thousand years.

Her hips wriggled below you with every touch on her clit. Flat broad licks always brought out the low moans from her while the quick kitten licks had her whining and her thighs shaking.

"You gotta be quiet, 'Raine," you said when you picked your head up for a moment to try and see her face.

Her fingers removed themselves from your hair before cupping your cheeks and pulling you back up. Part of you was upset you couldn't taste her anymore, but then she pulled you into another kiss. This one deep and slow. She liked your bottom lip and you quickly parted your lips, allowing her to taste herself on your tongue.

"Then keep me quiet," she said before immediately kissing you again.

She was going to be the death of you.

With your mouth now preoccupied, your fingers went back to work. Rubbing slow, wide circles on her clit to make up for the few seconds of lost contact. Lorraine sighed through her nose, the air tickling your cheek. But you were tired of teasing her. It had been too long for you to tease her all night.

You pressed two fingers against her entrance lightly, giving her time to tell you no. One of her hands left your face and grabbed your wrist, pushing you completely into her. You both moaned into each other, her at the feel of your fingers and you at how tight and warm she was.

Sometimes she liked it harder, faster, but not tonight. Tonight you went with slow, deep strokes. Every time you would pull out, you would curl your fingers just enough to hit that sweet spot that had her toes curling. Her hips rolled to meet your hand, pushing your fingers just that extra bit deeper to have her a sweaty, moaning mess below you.

You didn't stop kissing her when you moved your thumb to her clit, adding that extra sensation. Her nails dug into the back of your neck and your wrist, but you didn't care. She would bite your lip every time your fingers thrusted into her deeper than usual. She was coming completely undone.

All it took was one more circle on her clit before she came, clenching around your fingers and moaning into your mouth. You kept thrusting slowly, softly, helping her ride it out until she could gently come back down. You could feel the welts on your neck and wrist, but it didn't hurt. You stayed completely still until you could feel her body start to relax again, only then removing your fingers slowly.

"I love you," she whispered with a husky, exhausted voice. "I love you."

"I love you too, Lorraine," you whispered back before laying down beside her and pulling her until you could curl your body around her.

She interlocked her fingers with yours and pulled your hands tight to her chest. You felt her lips press kisses into each fingertip, the kisses getting slower and slower until you could feel her even breathing. Part of you wanted to laugh; she always fell asleep so quickly.

The other part was screaming. Reminding you that she wasn't yours. That come morning, she would go back with RJ like nothing had ever happened, and you would be alone again. You would never get the girl, and one day he would even take her away from you.

You closed your eyes and pulled her impossibly closer, feeling the warmth from her skin. The Texas heat was unbearable even in the dark, and it was humid and you were both sweaty. But the touch of her skin on yours was worth it. You left lingering kisses to the back of her bare neck as she continued to sleep.

"I love you, Lorraine," you whispered into the dark for no one but god to hear.

At least for now you could pretend she was yours. Just for one night.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day smut

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sometimesraven · 10 months

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Unpopular writing opinion:

We need more absolutely vile, unlikeable villains. There’s a place for villains you can "babygirl" but I’m bored of it. Give me the most nasty disgusting villains that will make me cringe into the earth you cowards.

There's this entire thing that's cropped up around 'likeable' or 'relatable' villains where, instead of being a cautionary tale about how we can all end up there or how people who seem lovely can actually be vile, it's become "uwu babygirl isn't evil after all"

And like there's a place for it! I like my fair share of babygirl villains! Hell I was there all the way back when Thor was released and Loki kicked off the popularisation of this trend!

I'm just,,, bored of it now. Especially when I'm seeing people do the whole babygirlification process on real-ass human beings???? It's gone too far.

Give me vile.

Give me the eugenicist who wants to eradicate 'imperfections' because he thinks he's an agent of God

Give me an abusive horrible parent but don't tell me they're trying just show me from their kid's eyes the catharsis of getting them the fuck out of their life

Give me the fuckin westboro baptist church for elves or someshit i don't care, just give me something I can hate with my entire being so that I can feel the rush of vindication when they inevitably get defeated.

There's too many irredeemable, vile people in real life. Especially as a trans person right now, it's easy to fall into despair when I see how untouchable those people seem to be, and how many people will defend them based on their motivations or some other "relatable" bullshit.

Give me a story that shows they're not as untouchable as they seem. Give me a story that shows there's always hope for the downtrodden; that the vile, horrible people trying to destroy us are just that, and they don't deserve a single tear. Stop trying to humanise our abusers, because we know they're humans but they don't care that we are too.

Just once, give me someone I can sink my teeth into and tear apart without the slightest touch of empathy. Give me what I can't have in real life.

#this got a lil more personal than i intended oops #writing opinions #writing community #villain characters #writing villains #urban fantasy #authors of tumblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #authorblr #indie author #queer author #neurodivergent author #but hey 'be the change you want to see'#my villain is irredeemable and untouchable #i will destroy him

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fengxun · 1 month

Note

the lucio nation army has decided to back off (same anon as before- hiya~) and now we feast. how about some cassidy cuddles?

FIVE MORE MINUTES – COLE CASSIDY X READER

Soft is the very last word he’d use to describe himself, but you know it for sure: your Cole Cassidy is a total softie.

CONTENT.⠀gender-neutral reader. just fluff. Cass calls you 'sweetheart' and refers to you as his partner. ~0,6k words

NOTES.⠀I'm so sorry for this horrendously late response LOL it's been a busy week. Here's a sleepy, clingy Cassidy for the soul <3

You don’t think Cole realises just how affectionate he is.

A pat on the back, a gentle clasp on the shoulder after a job well done, a noogie if he’s feeling playful. He’s changed a lot over the years, but he’s still the same man you love. He’s carefree, keeping tension off the air with his chatter. He’s close to the rookies, putting up with Hana’s teasing jabs or going through one of Zarya’s ‘easier’ regimens. He trains at the shooting range with Fareeha every Thursday. He tries to help Baptiste with whatever he can, even if he’s more distracting than helpful.

He’s not shy with physical affection—that much is obvious. He’s more careful with his superiors (as he should be, you think bemusedly) but with you?

Total free rein.

He kisses your cheek every morning, greeting you with a good morning, sugar that never fails to elicit a reaction from you. He kisses your forehead every night, holds you close against his chest as his fingers dance across your skin until you both fall asleep. He likes having his arm around your waist, loves letting your hands brush together when you walk side by side.

Soft is the very last word he’d use to describe himself, but you know it for sure: your Cole Cassidy is a total softie.

If it were any other time, you’d tease him for it, but your love for him consumes your being entirely. You let the innate desire for him to be yours, heart, mind and soul, grow stronger every time he glances your way. You want to be the only one who gets to see him like this—asleep, at peace, at home. He’ll call you a sap if you ever say these things out loud, but the redness at the tips of his ears will betray him. Much like the smile on his face will.

The morning sun shines and peeks through the gap between the curtains as the day begins its course. Cole grumbles something in his sleep, not quite ready to start the day just yet, and languidly pulls himself closer to your body. You can feel his chest against your back, rising and falling with each breath he takes. It falls into a rhythm that lulls you into a state of tranquillity, but as much as you’d like to stay here, there’s a lot of work to catch up with today.

Begrudgingly, you push yourself into a sitting position. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can rest, right?

“Cass,” you whisper, gently shaking him awake. “Get up.”

He blinks one eye open, his brows furrowed until his gaze lands on you. Relaxing and sinking deeper into the sheets, he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you back down. An endearing chuckle rumbles in his chest at the surprised yelp you let out.

“It’s our day off, sweetheart.” Sleep is still evident in his voice as he speaks. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “Work can wait.”

You sigh in mock exasperation, though you don’t make an effort to pry his arm off your waist. “You promised to help out Torbjörn and Baptiste today, remember?”

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Cass.”

“Hmm.”

You bite back a smile. “You’re gonna prove Hana right, y’know. About you being a lazy bum.”

“Can’t I just spend the morning in bed with my partner?” His complaint is more playful than it is of genuine upset. With how close you are to him, figuratively and literally, you can just tell that he’s in a good mood. “Come on, sweetheart. Five more minutes.”

And his five more minutes will turn into ten more, fifteen more until someone inevitably comes to look for one of you and rings the buzzer at the door. It’s never five more minutes with him, but as he peppers soft kisses from your neck to the curve of your shoulder, you think you don’t mind spending the entire morning like this.

#anonymous #all #cole cassidy x reader #overwatch x reader #cassidy x reader #q

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trashsupportmain · 11 months

Text

OUR CONFIRMED QUEER HEROES

We already have Soldier 76 confirmed as gay, Tracer confirmed as a lesbian, and Lifeweaver confirmed as pansexual...

NOW we have Baptiste confirmed as bisexual and Pharah confirmed as lesbian! Pharah being a lesbian makes me so happy, I KNEW IT-

I love you, bird mom-

We also get some new cosmetics! (Peep the lesbian Pharah banner, I am equipping this IMMEDIATELY)

AHHHH-

(edit: there's also a short story :P)

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #pharah #fareeha amari #tracer #lena oxton #lifeweaver #soldier 76 #jack morrison #jean baptiste augustin #pride #2023 #lesbian #gay #bisexual #pansexual #niran pruksamanee #sorry this is so long I'm just so excited

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vaspider · 2 years

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Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

Truly amazed at the people whose big takeaway from that thread is "you hate Pete Buttigieg" like buddy did you not... read... all of it?

I genuinely don't give a shit about Pete himself. If you think this is about Democratic self-devouring or whatever the fuck, please mentally substitute Ellen or George Takei or Rachel Maddow or your favorite Other Respectable Gay. I hear some dude named Rubin is even a conservative who is getting turned on for adopting a baby? I don't know who he is and I don't care (do not tell me, I do not care) but if it makes you feel better, substitute any of those names.

I think the ones that actually make me sad are the people who keep insisting that 70% of people support gay marriage, and that I'm just 'acting out my trauma', and we won't see things turn against us, we're perfectly safe now, how dare I say that cishets won't put themselves out for us when it counts, it's different now.

Honey, 99% of people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today, and what they'll support when it doesn't cost them anything has nothing to do with what they'll support when it does. Those of us telling you 'we were abandoned before, and we were the ones who took care of us then' aren't telling you because we're incorrigibly bitter misanthropes. I am annoyingly hopeful, actually, and in love with humanity and the beauty of life. Seriously, I have to write poems about it because I love the universe and all of humanity so fucking much. One of the things I love about humanity is its fragility and its uncertainty. I love the ways in which we fail.

And humans, over and over again, turn our eyes away from tragedy.

If you are lucky enough to have cishet friends and family who will put themselves out for you when it really matters, that is fucking fantastic. That's not nearly universal, and I'm afraid that you're going to find out sooner rather than later that it's far less universal for you than you'd like to believe.

At the end of the day, you can believe me or not about all of this. You can say that I'm just a bitter old transfag, an angry old dyke, a traumatized old queer if it lets you sleep better at night, if it allows you to just close your eyes and say 'this is all going to be fine, because 70% of people support marriage equality!' and get some rest. I can't make you pay attention.

And the thing is? I'd love to be wrong. I would absolutely love for every cishet who has ever said "one of them" or said "well, I mean, I just don't want to see it, they can do whatever they want in private" or whatever to turn out to be the raddest fucking ally the world has ever seen. I know it can happen! My in-laws went from being Baptist homophobes to getting weekly chatty update phone calls from the two trans women refugees from Latin America who they housed and helped get their papers sorted and who are now living in New York and call them Mom and Dad. Like, truly, it can fucking happen!

But you can't count on that from the vast majority of people, because when it comes down to it, most people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today. You're much more likely to be able to count on someone with a dog in the hunt.

More than that, though, the point of that essay -- which, when people miss it, they miss it so hard that it feels deliberate, honestly -- is that all of our bullshit infighting doesn't mean dick. I've been saying that for years, begging people to think inclusively about our community, begging people to stop all the bullshit infighting because I could see this shit fucking coming, you didn't need to be Cassandra to see it coming but sometimes I felt like I was screaming until my throat was horse, the fucking tsunami is coming, it's coming, motherfuckers, can't you see the way the water is pulling back?

And here we are, and all the arguing about whether bi lesbians are "valid" doesn't matter, and everyone's attempt to gatekeep butch and femme doesn't matter, and everyone's arguments about whether neopronouns are bad doesn't fucking matter because we are all just fags, dykes and trannies to them, they do not care for one fucking second about any of this. None of them care for one second about our infighting. No one is going to stop and ask you what your orientation is so they can call you the right slur when they're gaybashing you, kids. They. Don't. Care.

So now here we are, and people are acting like the point of the essay is that I wanted to call one particular dude a fag, rather than that it doesn't matter how perfectly primed you are to fit into Respectable WASP Society, it is your queerness which is objectionable. It is your gayness. It is your transness. It is your bisexuality, your asexuality, your lesbianism. You will never be granted rights and respectability. You have to defend your rights, and stop giving a shit about respectability as a metric of whether or not someone deserves them.

I mean, for fuck's sake, some Iowa voters tried to withdraw their caucus support once they realized that Pete was gay. It literally fucking happened. There's video. Someone they supported above all the other candidates in the Iowa primary was immediately disqualified for them to the point where they tried to retract their support the minute they found out he was gay.

That's the fucking point. I don't care who you use as your Proxy Respectable Gay.

Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

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