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moonstruckme · 7 months

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White Lies

summary: when you come back to work soon after getting injured on a case, all you can think about is keeping the public safe from your latest unsub; Spencer's thinking about keeping you safe

cw: case involves kidnapped and murdered women, but no details are given

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 981 words

You’re aching from sitting up straight in your chair, but you do your best to ignore it. You keep your eyes firmly on the screen as JJ presents an overview of your new case, doing your best to look engaged and attentive. A consequence of your job is extraordinarily perceptive coworkers, which means that when you have something you want to keep to yourself, you often have to go to inconvenient lengths to avoid notice. You’d hustled like never before when you’d gotten the call to come in, getting yourself situated in the briefing room a good ten minutes before anyone else arrived. That meant no one had been around to see you limping into the building, taking your time to sit down in your chair, or downing two extra-strength pain relievers with your coffee.

Emily had expressed some surprise at seeing you back at work so soon after you were injured in the field and you’d gotten an odd look from Spencer, but neither of them had time to question you further before Hotch entered and began asking for details about the case. This one’s got to do with women being kidnapped and subsequently dumped in rural Texas, and not to be dramatic, but no physical pain can be worse than the torment of not being able to help catch the guy who’s doing this to them. All you have to do now is avoid giving anyone on your team reason to question your capability.

“News networks have already published some details of the case, so we’ve got some damage control to do,” JJ finishes, “but the local law enforcement is very eager for our help and it seems like they’re going to be open to what we have to say.”

“Good. Y/N.” Hotch isn’t even looking up from the case, but you snap to attention. “You’re cleared to travel?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He snaps the binder shut. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone else stands, and you stall, waiting until all backs are turned before pushing yourself up out of your chair with a grimace. Spencer turns around at the door, stepping aside for Garcia to pass through, and then you’re alone.

“You’re cleared to travel?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you repeat yourself.

Spencer crosses his arms, standing just barely in front of the door. You could push past him if you really wanted to leave, but he knows you won’t. You and Spencer haven’t been together for long, but he’s always had a way of reading you when even the other members of your team can’t. You keep your face carefully blank. “You’ve barely had any time to heal,” he says. “Who would clear you?”

“A doctor.”

“What doctor?”

You sigh, crossing your arms to match him. “My friend Maggie.”

Spencer’s eyebrows knit together. “Doesn’t your friend Maggie live in Chicago?”

“She does,” you admit.

“So how did she determine that you were safe for travel?”

He’s frowning like he already knows. You think about not answering (what’s he going to do, whine to Hotch about it? They need everyone they can get for a time-sensitive case like this, and you know Spencer is just as aware of that as you are), but then you catch the flicker of worry in his gaze. It’s hard to be angry at him when he’s clearly doing what he thinks will help you most. “We talked on the phone,” you say, softly but still firm enough that you hope he won’t argue further. “I told her I feel fine, and she cleared me.”

The sigh that leaves Spencer is so long and heavy you’re surprised his ghost doesn’t come out at the end of it. “Sweetheart,” he says, coming forward to wrap his hands around your arms. His thumbs rub synchronized paths, up and down on the skin above your elbows. “You know that’s not the same as having a doctor actually check you over. We both know you’re not fragile—” he gives you a small smile, and you feel a tug on the corners of your lips in response “—but your body is vulnerable right now. The last thing you need is to make it worse by getting hurt again in the field.”

You can’t look him in the eyes. You can handle a verbal lashing, but it’s softness like this that wears you down, and Spencer knows it. You fix your gaze on his chin, trying to think past the sproutling of guilt he’s sneakily planted in your gut.

Spencer gives your arms a light squeeze. “Let me just talk to Hotch,” he says, pushing his advantage. “I’ll tell him about the mixup with your clearance, and then he can decide if you should still come along on this one or not. I’m sure Garcia could use the help if you stay back.”

You look at him, feeling like a kid chastened for being outside after dark. “Garcia’s a one-woman army, she doesn’t need me. You guys need all the manpower you can get for this case.”

“I know.” Spencer’s tone is consoling, and that only makes it worse. He drops a kiss on the top of your head. “But I need you to be safe even more than that. Hotch might still decide to let you come, okay? Just…you have to be honest about these things, sweetheart.” He gives you a disappointed look, and you have to look away from his eyes, well-meaning as they are. “Your health is a serious thing. We need you for years, not just for today.” He ducks, catching your gaze. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly, and Spencer gives you a smile, kissing your cheek.

“Okay, just give me a minute,” he says, and if he weren’t on the way to foil all your plans, you’d say he looks downright merry as he starts towards Hotch’s office. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

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tightjeansjavi · 3 months

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The Rite of Movement | part two

“first impressions”

part one | honeymoonin’

A/N: well, well, well, fancy that we’re all meeting up here, huh? 🥵 first, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl who has been feeding my brain rot all day. I appreciate you so so much and your input is extremely helpful 🥺 I do not have a lot of knowledge on the adult film industry, but I’m eager to dive into it with y’all. We all have our different preferences and tastes when it comes to porn, (if you choose to watch it) but for me personally, I’m into porn that is catered to women. And guess who else is? Joel fuckin’ Miller! I hope these impromptu drabbles give you all the warm, fuzzy, and hornknee feelings. In this household, we support sex workers 💗 we also support healthy communication during sex, safe sex, and sexual liberation for everyone. Thank u also to @strang3lov3 for the title 🤍

~word count: 5.0k~

Summary: it’s your first time meeting Joel Miller, your new adult film partner

Pairing | pornstar!joel miller x pornstar f!reader (and a sprinkle of pornstar!tommy miller. More to come in later chapters!)

Warnings: 30s reader/40s joel, general discussions of the porn industry, brief discussions of workplace trauma, mild swearing, kissing, slightly inappropriate workplace relationship, boss/employee power dynamic but it’s only lightly explored in this chapter, voyeurism, light smut, f!masturbation, reader has no physical descriptions, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol consumption, +18, minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

When you moved back to Austin Texas looking for a fresh start after a rather rocky experience doing unsatisfying pornos as a regular on screen talent for the mega studio, Brazzers, you never expected to rejoin the industry through a professional studio. After being fired, you settled on making solo amateur films in an attempt to pay your bills and make ends meet. The only problem was rent in LA was nowhere near affordable, and the pay was significantly less than you’d been bringing in from the studio. That’s when you made the decision to leave the state of California entirely, looking eastward towards a once-familiar home.

Your roots were in rural Texas, and although your parents ultimately disowned you for joining the adult film industry, you still had a support group of fellow transplants in Austin that had missed you terribly.

The porn industry was always evolving, but with these changes came an influx of new content. You had a decent following for a small time account, but without the promotion budget that came with films produced at larger studios, your homemade solo films were inevitably pushed to the bottom of the pecking order, making it difficult to expand your audience. You thought about quitting entirely and getting an everyday job as a receptionist at some corporate office, until one night you stumbled upon a channel account that was based in Austin. “Miller-Co, Real people, real sex, professionally produced for your pleasure.” Surrounded by unpacked moving boxes on your single, sad, sofa, you poured yourself a tall glass of wine and clicked on the first video that appeared on the channel’s page, its male lead catching your eye immediately and you clicked the video details to find his name.

Joel Miller was big in every possible sense. From his hands, to his biceps, to his strong thighs. His cock was stunning. It wasn’t the longest cock you had ever seen, but it was deliciously thick, a girth that had you salivating immediately. Not only was it big, but the more you watched, the more you learned he sure knew how to use it. Despite Joel’s brooding nature, his attentive care to his partners on screen was something you had never seen before. He was a talker, a praiser and it seemed he only did scenes in positions where he could see his partners face while they came. The studio lighting was softer, inviting, and very, very intimate.

You clicked through more videos. Joel’s apparent brother, Tommy Miller, was also a big talker, but he reminded you more of a sweet frat boy with some serious golden retriever energy. In simple terms, Tommy liked to pound it. His style seemed more physically intense and fun, lighthearted even. He could do more sensual, intimacy based scenes, but that was more Joel’s forte, you gleaned as you continued to consume their content. Tommy’s cock had an inch or so on his brother, but his cock wasn’t as thick. What it lacked it girth it made up for with how it was curved, and you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to hit that spot inside of you that sent you keening.

The more you watched these two brothers in their element, the damper your flimsy panties grew. It had been so long since you had gotten off while watching porn that you weren’t even sure if you could have a successful orgasm from it. Boy, were you wrong.

Your clit was soon overstimulated and pulsing beneath the soft silicon of your vibrator. You tossed the toy to the side and paused the video while you caught your breath for a few minutes, coming down from your high. A sense of post-orgasmic clarity settled in your mind and something was telling you that working for this channel’s studio might end up being your calling. A wonderful, horny twist of fate. Your ticket back into the industry that had left you both emotionally and physically bruised.

You couldn’t help the gleeful giggle that slipped past your lips the further you scrolled down the channel’s main page, looking for information on Miller-Co’s parent studio, and discovered a link at the bottom: Auditions.

You scrambled to update your resumé, and threw together a portfolio of your past work and clicked on the link. You submitted your application and downed the rest of your wine before closing the screen to your laptop with a decompressing sigh.

No one could say that you didn’t try.

On the other side of town Joel Miller was just closing up the studio for the evening to meet Tommy at their usual watering hole for a drink. His phone buzzed, notifying him that he had a new email and while he walked to his truck, he opened the email.

He had been recently looking for a new film partner outside of his current talent pool. Things were going well at his and Tommy’s boutique adult film studio, they were starting to see growth, and that meant making sure there was regularly fresh content for their growing audience.

Despite receiving 100s of applicants a day from his online posting on his studio’s PornHub channel, none of them were quite what Joel was looking for..until he opened up your application. Joel got a sudden overwhelming feeling in his chest that you were exactly the type of on-screen partner he was looking for. He exited out of the email and sent a quick text to Tommy. Hey, I'm gonna be a few minutes late. Got an applicant that I think will be perfect.

After sending the text to his brother, he opened the email once more. Your resumé was brief, and a noticeable frown crossed over his face when he saw that you were ex-Brazzers. When Joel was 18 and fresh to the industry, he worked for Brazzers. Being so green, he hadn’t known what exactly to expect, so he suffered through in the name of independence and regular pay, but he had hated it, and especially hated the way it made him feel. The culture there had led him to never wanting to partake in making that type of porn again. There was no emphasis on the comfort of his female partners, little to no communication between the actors, and Joel ultimately was uncomfortable with following through with the things he was requested to do. Half the time it didn’t even feel good. And what the hell is the point of making porn if both participants aren’t having fun and feeling pleasure?

For this reason, he felt wrong viewing the content that you had made with Brazzers. Given his prior experience, he could only imagine what you had gone through, and he didn’t want to see you that way. His business was solely based around respect, consent, and comfort as a top priority.

He opted to view your solo amateur content instead. You were a natural, and he knew that he could easily make you a star, if that’s what you truly wanted. Joel knew that mixing pleasure with business, in this industry in particular, could end up messy, but he never felt so physically and emotionally attracted to another human being till now.

His fingers worked fast on the screen as he responded to the email.

Hello,

It’s after working hours for me, but I just went over your application. You’re a natural, and I would be extremely interested in meeting for an official audition. Here is the address to the studio, and my personal work number.

I am off tomorrow, but if you are interested, I can go ahead and schedule a meeting for noon?

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Joel Miller.

He receives an email response from you five minutes later just when he starts the engine of his truck.

Hello Joel,

I would absolutely be interested in coming in for an official audition tomorrow. Noon works for me as well.

See you then!

He lets out a sigh of relief at your response and despite his goal to remain professional, he can’t help the flush that rises to his cheeks at the thought of filming with you. He sends a calendar invite to your email address with the meeting time of noon tomorrow. He tosses his phone into the cup holder and finally drives to the bar.

“She’s ex-Brazzers. Moved all the way from LA just like you and me.” Joel discusses with Tommy over a beer. He takes a sip from the rim and slides his phone across the table to the opposite end of the booth where Tommy is sitting.

“And she’s only been doing solo amateur content as of late?”

“Yeah, she’s only got a few videos up, but it sounds like she’s ready to dip her toe back into the industry. She’s a natural, Tommy. Real captivatin’ on camera.”

Tommy glances down at your application and lightly taps out a bit of ash from his cigarette in the ashtray resting near his elbow. “That so? Well, guess I’m just gonna have to see for myself jus’ how captivatin’ she is.” He looked over at his brother with a knowing grin and pulled out his earbuds from his jacket pocket and slipped them in.

Joel intently observes his brother watching one of your solo films and when he sees Tommy reach down to adjust himself, he couldn’t help but grin.

Tommy’s cheeks have a bright flush to them as he hits pause on the video, taking out one of the earbuds and makes direct eye contact with his brother. “Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. Those eyes? Brother, I feel like I was being sucked into the screen! God, and her little whimpers? The way they kept gettin’ higher and higher—” Tommy said animatedly.

Joel feels a twinge of jealousy zip up his spine like he was shocked. Tommy’s never been shy, and neither has Joel, but he’s already feeling protective over you and he hasn’t even met you yet. “Yeah, she is a thing of beauty, ain’t she? I don’t know what it is about her, but I love her energy.” Joel comments thoughtfully.

Tommy, being the horndog that he is, can't help but look back down at the screen and the part where the video has paused. Your thighs are spread wide, fingers playing with your clit, teasing yourself while making occasional direct eye contact with the camera. “And god, that pussy? Y’ever see somethin’ so pretty? Bet she tastes like fuckin’ honey.” Tommy drawls.

“Tommy.” Joel snaps his fingers in front of his face in a quick motion. “Don’t go gettin’ too excited now. I’m the one meetin’ with her.” Joel gently reminds him.

“Well, I can see why ya like her so much already, Joel.” He winks and slides the phone back in his direction. “Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a twist. I think just based on this single video, she’s gonna be a good fit. On a serious note, I hope that Brazzers didn’t fuck her up too much.” He reaches for his beer and takes a sip.

“It’s her energy man, it’s infectious. She seems so gentle, soft, but you can tell that she knows exactly what she wants just by looking into her eyes alone.” Joel said rather dreamily.

“Y’gonna give ‘er the ole Joel Miller razzle dazzle then?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully with a chuckle.

Joel rolled his eyes and flipped him off before taking another sip of his beer. “All depends on her comfort level during our first interaction. I want her to know that she gets to call all the shots.”

Tommy tips his beer towards Joel in a mock salute. “And yet they say chivalry is dead.”

At first you wonder if Miller-Co is just another too good to be true scam and Joel had played you, providing you with the wrong address on purpose. Maybe this was a sign for you to never try studio work in the adult film industry again. You were standing outside of a hardware store, triple checking the address while simultaneously looking up at the sign: Miller-Co

Joel is sitting behind his desk when he sees you teetering around outside. He checks the time on his watch—quarter to noon—and smiles. He’s a punctual person himself and always had this philosophy of showing up earlier than planned out of respect for everyone’s valuable time.

He gets up from his desk and walks towards the door just as you’re turning on your heel to walk away.

The door swings open behind you with a sweet chime, and then you hear the raspy timbre of his voice, his smooth southern accent that already has you feeling weak in the knees.

“Are you my 12 o’clock?” He grins a boyish grin that oozes a level of natural confidence and charm that men dream of possessing.

“Oh.” You laugh and fiddle with the strap on your purse. “I totally thought I had the wrong place for a second there.”

“Sorry ‘bout the confusion, darlin.’ Folks ‘round these parts can be…sensitive to what we’re doing here. Gotta be sure they ain’t have a clue what they’re walkin’ by, be discreet, y’know?” He holds the door open with his shoulder effortlessly, and you get a good look at his handsome features. Joel Miller is tall, well-groomed, and there’s something immediately comforting about him. You can’t quite put your finger on what that thing is, but it might have to do with the selfless energy that radiates from the depths of his soft, espresso colored eyes. Or maybe it’s the endearing heart-shaped patches in his gray speckled beard.

“Oh, thank god!” You laugh again, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, and he chuckles. Something flickers in your eyes that Joel registers as unabashed curiosity. He clocks the slight hitch of your breath, your pupils dilating.

“I take it you’re probably used to dingy warehouses, unkempt garages, and the occasional sketchy office building?” Joel quips. He slips one of his hands into the faded pocket of his denim jeans.

“Yeah, how did you know?” You retort with false sarcasm and a small smile.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Lucky guess?”

“Well, you didn’t not hit the nail on the head, Mr. Miller.”

You swear you see him blush, the tops of his cheeks turning a flushed pink color. “Oh, please, call me Joel, darlin’. Mr. Miller makes me feel so..old.” He laughs and subtly gestures to the open door. “And hope ya don’t mind me sayin’ this, but ain’t you jus’ the sweetest n’ prettiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on.” He winks. “Shall we?”

“Oh, please, you aren’t old at all, Joel,” you brush away his self deprecation as his compliment leaves you feeling flustered, the heat beginning to rise to your cheeks. “So, your videos weren’t lying then? You really are a sweet talker?” You flirt back.

“Some days I feel like I am, got a bad back and ‘a that. And, oh, I am quite the sweet talker, darlin’.” He holds the door open for you as you slip past him, brushing up against the rough denim of his jeans due to his sheer mass taking up most of the entryway.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach when your eyes zone in on an all-to familiar black leather couch pressed up against the side of the wall. He notices your immediate discomfort and hesitation and clears his throat alongside you. “We uh—don’t film anythin’ on that, darlin’. It’s there more as a joke than anythin’.”

He sees you visibly let out a sigh of relief as your shoulders relax. You don’t see his face, but his lips are set in a deep frown and he genuinely feels bad. “There’s no leather couches or bright, headache inducin’ lights where I film, darlin’,” he adds softly and steps around you to pull back the chair at his desk.

You’re not even sure what to think or say as he pulls the chair back and you quietly sit down and watch as he sits across from you. “Hey, before we get into talkin’ business, I’m aware that you worked for Brazzers at one point, saw it on the application you submitted, and I jus’ wanted to let you know that me sayin’ ‘lucky guess’ back there was to ease your nerves. I understand what it’s like coming from that world, could tell that you were feelin’ a bit apprehensive, and I didn’t wanna jump right on into discussing your portfolio out in the open, y’know?” He held steady eye contact with you which was something that you normally would be intimidated by, but Joel wasn’t trying to make you feel small, his concern was genuine.

“It’s just been awhile for me since working there, but I appreciate you trying to ease the tension, Joel. I swear I’m not always this jumpy,” you add softly and he smiles.

“S’alright. I understand. I jus’ wanna start off by sayin’ that I want you to be comfortable, darlin’. That’s our first priority. We can film in the studio if you want. Now, personally, I never film here. All feels a bit too sterile for me; got a set up at home to film there. Feels more natural, but if you would rather be here, we can make that work.” He clicks a few buttons on the desktop mouse and pulls up your application so he has it to directly reference.

“Your first priority is that you want me to be comfortable?” The question tumbles past your lips and your pupils are blown wide. In past jobs your comfort was always pushed to the very bottom. It was viewed as insignificant and something that you were told you’d just have to suck up and get over. There was always a limited budget, which meant limited time, which meant little care given to anything other than hard and fast, turn and burn shoot days. And the studio executives cared about little except increasing profits year over year, so time and time again, you’d endured a lack of connection with your scene partners and set crew alike, never more than a quick direction thrown your way. No, comfortable was a far cry from what you were used to.

He’s not taken aback by your response at all. It’s something that he’s all-too familiar with, unfortunately. “Of course, darlin’. That’s the key to makin’ good porn, ain’t it? Both parties gotta be comfortable, otherwise the audience won’t feel connected to what they’re viewin’. All sex sells, but intimacy sells more.”

“I’m just not used to this kind of treatment, Joel. I honestly didn’t even believe that it existed in the adult film industry. The whole notion of comfort above all is just…new for me.”

“I know it is, darlin’,” Joel takes a breath before continuing, “I’m ex-Brazzers, too. Started there when I was 18, and left on my 30th birthday.” This was a piece of Joel’s past that was especially private, it came with baggage he still wasn’t entirely ready to unpack, and yet sharing this with you felt comforting for him.

“Oh my god, did they fire you too?” You lean forward in your chair feeling shocked that someone else in the industry shared the same awful experience as you did.

Joel’s heart shatters when he learns that you were fired. It makes him angry for you and the other women in the industry that were often released from their contracts for frivolous reasons. How could they let someone like you go? You have all the potential in the world with real, raw, talent, and on top of that, you were an absolute knockout. Those motherfuckers had a goldmine with you, and yet they couldn’t see what Joel sees.

“No, darlin’,” he frowns, “they didn’t. My brother and I made the decision to quit on our own. We stayed in LA for awhile with some old costars and made some amateur films before we moved back home to Austin, and started our own studio. I’ve strived to make porn that is catered to women. It’s a market that’s been largely untapped, and I’m lookin’ to shift the industry by showing how profitable it is,” he explains honestly. “And folks deserve to see real sex full of connection and intimacy and even sometimes some bloopers,” he chuckles. “It’s something that I’m incredibly passionate about, and that’s why it’s my utmost priority to make sure that you are respected and feel comfortable.”

You shrink in on yourself when the wave of sudden emotions hit and you don’t even realize your crying till Joel is getting up in a haste with a few tissues in his hand. His eyes are laced with concern as he crouches in front of you. “Hey, I’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean t’make ya cry. I jus’—know how harmful the industry can be, and ‘m tryin’ to build a safe space within it.”

Fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks as you try to laugh through the tears. You feel pathetic for breaking down in front of this man who you have only just met. He must think you’re a lost cause in the industry if you can’t even hold yourself together for more than five minutes. You sniffle as he gently brings the tissue upwards towards your face and gently brushes away your tears. “I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t mean to turn into this blubbering fuckin’ mess.”

“Hey, ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’,” he coos. “Maybe we wanna get outta here for some fresh air? If you’d like? Know a nice quiet coffee shop jus’ down the street. How do you feel about that?”

You look at him through wet lashes and parted lips when you slowly nod. “Uh—yeah. That would..be great. I’m just not exactly comfortable in this environment,” you murmur.

“I understand. No hard feelin’s taken or anythin’. Would you like some help gettin’ up?” He offers you his freehand.

“You’re not..upset?” You question softly and grasp his hand in your palm as he gently helps you up from the chair. His palm is warm against yours and massive in size.

“Upset? No, not at all. I meant it when I said that your comfort is a priority, darlin.’” He affirms.

After you’ve composed yourself a bit, you let Joel lead the way to the quiet coffee shop down the street. He holds the door open for you and lets you pick a secluded table in the back. When you offer to pay for the coffees, he interjects with a small grin and shakes his head. “S’on me, darlin’. G’on now and make yourself comfy,” he nudges you gently towards the table.

It’s a depressing thought to have, but you think about how no man has ever treated you with the kindness and respect that Joel Miller has thus far. It’s the bare minimum, but you appreciate him for it deeply.

He returns with two lattes and places them on the table before taking a seat across from you. “Y’jus’ let me know when and if you wanna continue the conversation, alright? There’s no rush. I ain’t got anywhere else to be.”

You grasp the mug between your palms and let the warm steam wafting from the mug kiss your skin as you look over at him. “Well, I figured it would be okay with me to share with you a list of things I’m not comfortable with?” You lean over the side of the chair and reach into your purse to pull out a folded up piece of paper that you drafted up after submitting the application last night.

He nods and takes a sip of his latte. “Of course that’s okay for you to do. I’ve got a form for you to sign back at the studio that includes a section disclosing your limitations and your personal comforts. We like to keep it on file so we can prepare everyone before shoot day, that way there ain’t any accidental crossed boundaries.” He reaches across the table and gently takes the paper from you.

Despite everything Joel has told you thus far, you’re afraid that he’ll end up being judgemental based on your list. It’s pretty much everything that mainstream porn runs on: bondage, punishment, gang bangs, overstimulation, and anal to name a few. You’re already thinking of getting up from the table, and protecting what’s left of your ego when he sets the paper down, reaches for your hand, gently picks it up and kisses the back of it while looking into your eyes. “This is it? We can absolutely work with this, darlin’. Don’t you worry none,” he reassures you.

His lips against your skin are like two plush pillows. Soft, silky and it’s hard to not imagine what those lips would feel like pressed against either of your own. You expected shame, and instead were greeted with the complete opposite. He validated you, and that alone was making your head spin like a ferris wheel.

“I know you ain’t have any pleasant experiences in the industry, and that’s a damn shame. But I can promise you that you won’t have to worry about none of that with me. Okay, darlin’? Sweet girl, I’m gonna be honest with ya because that’s jus’ the kind of man I am. Y’got some serious talent that I think has been severely overlooked. I can make you into a real star if that’s what you want. I’m simply jus’ actin’ as a guideway for ya. And between you and me? I love my job, and I hope that maybe I’ll be able to turn those bad experiences you had into somethin’ good.”

Your eyes focus on his lips and their movement with each word that flows past them. Neither of you realize how close you’re leaning over the table till you can practically taste the hazelnut latte lingering on his tongue.

“Joel, I swear I heard every word you just said, and please tell me if I’m being unprofessional given the circumstances, but I really want to kiss you right now,” you breathe.

His brow raises and a dimple pokes through his cheek as a grin tugs across the corner of his lips. He chuckles softly, “Well, lucky for you, it’s totally appropriate given the circumstances. Jus’ one of the many perks of bein’ in this industry, darlin’. Unbridled desire is personally one of my favorite things.” He leans in closer, his tone dropping down to an octave that made you tingle with desire, and admits quietly, just for you, “If we weren’t here in this coffee shop right now, I’d show you just how unbridled my desire can be.”

You gripped the edge of the table for dear life. It took everything in you to not rip that man’s clothes off right then and there. That part of you that had laid so dormant was crackling to life again, and he could see those emotions swirling in your eyes. “Maybe we should get those papers signed so that you can show me if you’re really just all talk?” Your brow quirked upwards, mouth lifting into a flirtatious smirk just as his nose brushed against your own.

“Think you’ve seen enough to me to know that I ain’t bluffin’, darlin’.” His hot breath fans your lips as you reach across the table and rest a hand on his shoulder, the other steadying your balance on the table. Joel lifts his hand to your face and gently guides you by your chin. His lips brush yours, testing the waters while your tongue swipes confidently at his lower lip. He surges forward, hand moving from your chin to cup your face where your jaw meets your neck and deepens the kiss. You unconsciously let a soft moan loose, lost in the feeling, and Joel feels his cock come to life at the sound. It’s a good thing the barista behind the counter is too busy watching a YouTube video to see you and Joel practically gorging on each other's faces.

You can feel him smiling against your mouth before he leaves you with a final press of his lips and pulls back, sitting back in his chair, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he brings his thumb up to the corner of his lips and wipes away a stray strand of saliva. “Think I’m gonna get a little somethin’ to eat. Y’want anythin’?” He rasps and reaches for his wallet in his pocket.

“Yeah.” You grin and rest your chin in your palms. “Something..sweet.”

A flush rises to his cheeks as he stands up from the chair and discreetly adjusts himself in his jeans and you giggle at the sight. You’d think it was his first rodeo by how quickly he had grown hard from just kissing you. Then again, Joel did say that he loved his job. And if he treated the less significant parts of his job like that, you were more than looking forward to seeing, feeling, him do the other parts of his job he loved, too.

You sat in that coffee shop for hours getting to know one another. It felt like no time had gone by at all, and it was obvious that you both were feeling that spark of an immediate connection blossoming. There was no denial that you and Joel were physically attracted to one another, but you had no idea what doors were now opened because of this first meeting. The chemistry was palpable, electricity ricocheting off the walls, and that unspoken language between one another was apparent.

“Hey, Joel? I think I’m ready to sign those forms now,” you spoke, wading through the building sexual tension.

“Perfect.” He grins. “Let’s go n’get ‘em signed.” He pats your thigh gently.

Once you’re back in the studio, Joel goes over every section of the documents and answers every single one of your questions with direct thoughtfulness and professionalism. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears when you sign the last page, clenching your thighs to abate the need growing between your legs.

“Now, there’s no rush to filmin’ anythin’ right away, okay? We don’t gotta dive head first if you wanna go home and process all of this, I completely understand. But, if you’re interested, I can give you my address and we can—”

“How about you drive me to your place instead?” You coyly interjected with a grin.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

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vague-humanoid · 1 year

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Increasingly, it is not safe to be in public, to be human, to be fallible. I’m not quoting breathless journalism about rising crime or conservative talking points about America falling into ruin. The ruin I’m thinking of isn’t in San Francisco or Chicago or at the southern border. The ruin is woven into the fabric of America. It’s seeping into all of us. All across the country, supposedly good, upstanding citizens are often fatally enforcing ever-changing, arbitrary and personal norms for how we conduct ourselves.

In Kansas City, Mo., Ralph Yarl, a Black 16-year-old, rang the wrong doorbell. He was trying to pick up his younger brothers and was simply on the wrong street, Northeast 115th Street instead of Northeast 115th Terrace, a harmless mistake. Andrew Lester, 84 and white, shot him twice and said, according to Ralph, “Don’t come around here.” Bleeding and injured, Ralph went to three different houses, according to a family member, before those good neighbors in a good, middle-class neighborhood helped him.

In upstate New York, a 20-year-old woman, Kaylin Gillis, was looking for a friend’s house in a rural area. The driver of the car she was in turned into a driveway and the homeowner, Kevin Monahan, 65, is accused of firing twice at the car and killing Ms. Gillis.

In Illinois, William Martys was using a leaf blower in his yard. A neighbor, Ettore Lacchei, allegedly started an argument with Mr. Martys and, the police say, killed him.

Two cheerleaders were shot in a Texas parking lot after one, Heather Roth, got into the wrong car. One of her teammates, Payton Washington, was also shot. Both girls survived, with injuries.

In Cleveland, Texas, a father asked his neighbor Francisco Oropesa to stop shooting his gun on his porch because his baby was trying to sleep. Mr. Oropesa walked over to the father’s house and has been charged with killing five people, including an 8-year-old boy, with an AR-15-style rifle. Two of the slain adults were found covering children, who survived.

At a Walgreens in Nashville, Mitarius Boyd suspected that Travonsha Ferguson, who was seven months pregnant, was shoplifting. Instead of calling the police, he followed Ms. Ferguson and her friend into the parking lot and, after one of the women sprayed mace in his face, according to Mr. Boyd, began firing. Ms. Ferguson was rushed to the hospital, where she had an emergency C-section and her baby was born two months early.

And sometimes there is no gun. On Monday, Jordan Neely, a Michael Jackson impersonator experiencing homelessness, was yelling and, according to some subway riders, acting aggressively on an F train in New York City. “I don’t have food, I don’t have a drink, I’m fed up,” Mr. Neely cried out. “I don’t mind going to jail and getting life in prison. I’m ready to die.” Was he making people uncomfortable? I’m sure he was. But his were the words of a man in pain. He did not physically harm anyone. And the consequence for causing discomfort isn’t death unless, of course, it is. A former Marine held Mr. Neely in a chokehold for several minutes, killing the man. News reports keep saying Mr. Neely died, which is a passive thing. We die of old age. We die in a car accident. We die from disease. When someone holds us in a chokehold for several minutes, something far worse has occurred.

A man actively brought about Mr. Neely’s death. No one appears to have intervened during those minutes to help Mr. Neely, though two men apparently tried to help the former Marine. Did anyone ask the former Marine to release Mr. Neely from his chokehold? The people in that subway car prioritized their own discomfort and anxiety over Mr. Neely’s distress. All of the people in that subway car on Monday will have to live with their apparent inaction and indifference. Now that it’s too late, there are haunting, heartbreaking images of Mr. Neely, helpless and pinned, still being choked. How does something like this happen? How does this senseless, avoidable violence happen? Truly, how? We all need to ask ourselves that question until we come up with an acceptable answer.

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 17 days

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I Think Hypmic's Portrayal of Gender Roles is Kinda Refreshing: An Essay A.K.A. I'm Procrastinating on a Weekend Deadline :)

Hypmic's talking points on gender are hamfisted, corny, and melodramatic. "Maybe...we shouldn't have a wage gap," is not the hottest of takes. However, like most things in Hypmic, the writers have a lot more to say about gender and gender roles in the framing of the story itself that's much more nuanced. And honestly? It's kinda refreshing.

It's also something that went way over my head when I first became a Hypmic fan. Sure, I read manga and played Japanese video games--usually translated into English first--but I didn't have enough exposure to hundreds or thousands of pieces of untranslated Japanese media. I'm going to guess that most Hypmic fans don't either, which is totally fine and normal. We all exist within our respective cultural communities wherein we're bombarded with messages constantly telling us how to act, think, and speak. We tend to absorb these messages on subconscious levels and reflect them in the art we create and stories we tell, either by reinforcing them or challenging them. Thus, our stories don't exist in a vacuum, and divorcing stories from their cultural backgrounds can suggest the artist is the original thinker of a larger concept or hide their specific point of criticism. That is, if I wrote a story about a man who chooses to not catch fish, drink beer, and drive a Dodge Ram pick-up truck, we should be aware that I'm not the person who conceptualized the stereotype of dudes who catch fish, drink beer, and drive pick-ups. I wouldn't deserve the credit for dreaming up that exact image, and at the same time, it would be incorrect to read that as me targeting those three things randomly. The choice to not drive a Dodge Ram pick-up is not a commentary on Fiat Chrysler Automobiles. It's a stand-in for the notion of masculinity.

Thing is, we're hit with messages about masculinity, femininity, and other gender-related concepts on a daily basis. No matter where you live or what language you speak, every person on Earth is inundated with messages saying, "This is what you are, and consequently, this is how you should act." Our relation to these messages is complicated, and this complexity is compounded by different cultural communities preaching different messages in their stories, marketing, and human interactions. For instance, the US's massive global cultural influence means that those outside the US can still easily recognize what I mean by catching fish, drinking beer, and driving enormous American pick-up trucks. But the location and cultural differences may add or subtract nuances. A person living in, say, Munich is unlikely to have Dodge pick-ups advertised to them the way a person in rural Texas would. Our fictional Munich person does not feel the same social pressures to buy a Dodge and represent their masculinity with a Dodge the way our imaginary Texan would. In turn, the Munich person likely sees a Dodge with an element of absurdity--who the hell needs such a big truck in a European city?--and foreign Americanness. The Texan wouldn't have that concern--why worry about navigating your enormous truck down narrow streets when you live in the countryside?--and sees Americanness as their local default, thus removing any element of foreignness.

That is to say, gendered messages aimed at people (especially women) who live in Japan don't affect me the same way as they impact those who do live in Japan. Like, it's not my dog in the fight, and there are plenty of people who are directly affected who write their own stories and commentaries on gender roles in Japan. Japanese women don't need a random guy in the US to stand up and say, "Damn, your gender roles are fucked!" 1) They already know. 2) They're already saying it. So I come at this from an angle of someone who already has deep, primary frustration with the gendered messaging in my culture and secondary frustrations when similar messages appear in other cultures. I don't have a bone to pick with Japanese media in particular. Plain and simple, reading and working on hundreds of pieces of Japanese media is what I do for a living. It's in my face constantly, and as a result, I am also perpetually bombarded by messages about gender roles in Japanese media.

It's not a hot take to say that Japanese media, like the media of every single other culture around the globe, has a lot to say about gender. There's a lot of slotting people into boxes and telling people what to do. It's chafing, as we see all across history in art produced in reaction to gender roles. In the past couple of decades, global shifts in gender roles have caused media to shift the messages they're pushing, but it's not controversial to say that Japan has lagged behind other countries like the US.

Many, many stories push arbitrary notions of how to be a girl or how to be a boy that don't necessarily come from the author themselves. The authors probably aren't even fully conscious that they're making these choices. If an author writes a story about a library and makes every female character a romance fan and every male character an action fan, it's likely a reflection of endless messaging that says action is for boys, romance is for girls. In turn, this story becomes yet another reinforcing message. If no fictional girls like action, and no fictional boys like romance, it becomes alienating for real girls and boys who don't follow these same rules. These rules are everywhere and have so much to say about gender that it's hard to know where to begin. Girls must like cute things. Boys can't like sweet food. Women must not express sexual desire. Men can't be shy. On and on and on.

Which is why, when there's a relative lack of this in Hypmic, it's kind of a breath of fresh air.

Wrong Ways to Be a Man

Actually, Hypmic does have a few moments where characters claim there are certain things men or women should do, but the writing always frames these messages as incorrect.

Take Samatoki, for instance. After Kuukou and Sasara leave MCD, Samatoki tells Ichirou, "Men shouldn't cry when they lose their friends. Men should only cry when they lose a family member."

(TDD chapter 10)

This line usually appears via Ichirou's perspective. In the stage play, it's told during a song Ichirou narrates, and as shown above in panel 3, the manga frames the line from the angle at which Ichirou sees it. In such moments, the audience is meant to read this as a cool line from a strong mentor figure to Ichirou. That's how Ichirou sees it, and he's a seventeen-year-old with too much on his shoulders who idolizes Samatoki. He is incapable of seeing how much pain Samatoki struggles with.

However, when the manga focuses on more intimate moments of Samatoki's life, we see that Samatoki does struggle quite a lot.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 6)

This isn't a cool, attractive figure meant to be idolized. While Samatoki's cigarette usage and aggressiveness are often framed as sexy or enticing, the juxtaposition with dirty laundry, overflowing ashtrays, and empty bottles make him a sympathetic and struggling figure. Therefore, we should understand that his notion that men don't cry is flawed. It's a means to distract himself from emotions he doesn't want to feel.

Later, as Samatoki begins to process his emotions and open up to his teammates, the unhealthy coping mechanisms recede. Samatoki is more confident, mature, and happier as a result of being more emotionally vulnerable.

We see a similar transformation with Kuukou. As a teen, Kuukou is reluctant to accept help or truly let anyone in. In a conversation with Hitoya, he says (and I am still completely unable to take this seriously), "A man's got to wipe his own ass."

(DH/BAT chapter 4)

However, over the course of his character arc, Kuukou learns that he cannot exist as a good leader or individual without the teamwork of his newfound "family." Only rejecting this classical and toxic notion of masculinity brings Kuukou joy.

In fact, most of the first-line characters have very similar arcs. At the start of the story, Ichirou is insistent on doing everything himself. He has to learn to be able to rely on other people (Kuukou, Samatoki, Ichirou and Jirou) to be happier and unlock his true strength. See below, his final attack and Ability use in the 2nd DRB, which is only possible when his brothers figuratively and literally support him through it.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 25)

Sasara struggles with emotional honesty and trust in favor of using humor to gloss over discomfort. It takes multiple heart-to-hearts with Roshou before he can let humor take a backseat and say how he really feels. Ramuda has difficulty trusting other people and being honest with his emotions when faced with stressful scenarios. Only through Fling Posse is he able to open up and ask for help instead of driving people away when the problems are too big for him to face alone. Jakurai struggles to connect with other people, work through and acknowledge his complicated feelings, and not place himself on a pedestal. Through Matenrou, Jakurai is able to ask for help, be more open, and ultimately be less hard on himself.

The second- and third-line characters follow similar arcs, and this repetition creates a core message for Hypmic: Trust and rely other people. Be open with your feelings. There's a wrong way to be a man, and that's to hurt yourself and other people.

Right Ways to Be a Man...Are Infinite!

But with that being said, there is a surprising lack of commentary on how else to be a man. Hypmic as a whole doesn't do much to constrain the male characters in terms of gender roles.

Sure, some characters do fit into more traditionally masculine roles--Ichirou, Samatoki, Riou, etc. The messaging makes it clear that it isn't wrong to play into masculinity provided it doesn't become toxic. (See above.)

Even then, however, these especially masculine characters are associated with less masculine traits that are either portrayed positively or not portrayed as a joke. Riou is an avid cook, but the joke is never that he wears an apron and knows his way around an outdoor kitchen (tee-hee, men don't cook!). It's that he cooks with horrifying ingredients. Samatoki is a fashionista, but the joke is framed as a counterpart to Ichirou's nerdiness.

(DoD chapter 1)

Here, it's funny that neither of them can shut up (the ペラペラ/blah blah SFX, the long bubbles filled with lots of text that's cut to indicate they kept going for longer), but the object of their attention--a model toy and a pair of jeans--are treated in the same neutral light. It's very common for stories to touch on, even defensively, the social taboo of men being into clothes. Hypmic doesn't even acknowledge that such a taboo could exist.

This is subtle but extraordinarily effective in giving characters the same consideration and weight. The more feminine characters are always treated just as sincerely (or, if there's a joke to be made, irreverently) as the more masculine characters. Take Ramuda, for instance. In Japanese media, a love of sweets is often characterized as feminine and will often be remarked upon, even in LGBT+ media, as atypical for men. Again, there's zero acknowledgement of such a thing in Hypmic. Whenever other characters talk about Ramuda's food intake, it's always framed as a concern about the lack of nutrition.

(FP/M chapter 11... I don't have the source lying around on my computer, so here's the old-ass scanlation lol)

It's also given the exact same weight as anyone else's junk food habits. Here, MCD goes out for burgers (a neutral to masculine-coded food due to the meat and high calorie count) while Ramuda opts to try a sugary Starbucks-esque drink. The parallelism in the comic's framing suggests that the two objects are functionally the same, and there is no comment that a sugary drink is feminine and therefore "inappropriate" for Ramuda. There's also no indication that MCD's preferences are in any way better. They simply happen to be the characters' personal preferences. The punchline is two groups splitting up, only to awkwardly run into each other again moments later.

(DoD volume 4 bonus comic)

Similarly, Ramuda's interest in clothes or fashion is never treated negatively--in fact, the discussions of clothes as a means to find identity and happiness make it a positive!

In ARB cards and promotional materials, Ramuda sometimes wears dresses. It's, again, portrayed in parallel to other characters wearing more masculine clothes and is never commented on as something "unusual." It's just who Ramuda is.

Hifumi is another interesting case. Like Ramuda, his playful personality often doesn't as stereotypically masculine. (To be clear, I read much of this as "gender neutral with a strong emphasis on youth" versus "feminine" in a way that I'm not sure has a good US equivalent...metrosexual/yuppie men's fashion, maybe? In the sense that it's a youth subculture that defies some masculine gender roles but is still focused mainly on men. I wish I was more well-versed in Japanese men's fashion and could give an exact term, but I'm what I'm thinking of is definitely an established thing--young, trendy dudes whose styles focus on poppiness vs. the rugged manly man or "idk, I'm just some guy" subcultures. It's a thing that pisses off old Japanese conservative men in the same fashion as people getting up in arms about "the gayz!!!1!" and their androgynous clothing lol.) Their personalities are often the butt of jokes, but only in the same way that Dice or Doppo are--that is, that they're exaggerated and over the top. There's no commentary on masculinity or lack thereof.

There are also moments when Hifumi, Gentarou, or other characters play feminine characters in roleplay moments, which is usually (but not always) not the sole joke. The audience is supposed to find it funny, but the humor is almost always centered on the absurdity of the scene as a whole. For instance, in a moment where Hifumi and Doppo are pretending to be two drunk karaoke-goers, the humor comes from the composite set-up of Hifumi's hair twirl, Doppo's untucked shirt and tie, Doppo and Hifumi's exaggeratedly flirtatious poses, the spotlights and sparkles, and the same font as used on classic karaoke machines.

(FP/M+ September 2022 oneshot)

Hifumi and Doppo do not perform traditional gender roles in their homelife, and while it's easy to see and often commented on in the English-speaking fanbase when it comes to Hifumi, I find it just as prevalent on Doppo. It's true that Hifumi is taking a feminine role by doing the majority of the household's cooking and cleaning, but if we were to assume Doppo has the masculine role in the household, he would have the breadwinner duty. However, he isn't the main source of income for their household, and he's just as unassertive in finding a (female) romantic partner as Hifumi is. Japanese men are bombarded with media messages stressing the importance of taking an active role in career and romance. That Doppo does not would, in many stories, make him the butt of a joke for not living up to masculine gender roles. But he isn't; instead, Hypmic portrays him as a sympathetic character. It's tough, Hypmic says, for people to get good jobs and maintain friendships/relationships as an adult.

Similarly, it's noteworthy that Hifumi's self-appointed term "Gigolo" is consistently portrayed as a good thing in Hypmic. The meaning of the English term aside, the Japanese word ジゴロ (jigoro) is almost always used as an insult for a man who is financially dependent on one or multiple women. In the strictest sense of the term, Hifumi is a jigoro in that his income derives from his female clients. However, there is never any shame associated with that, and as a whole, Hifumi's career as a host is shown to be a positive thing. I can't express enough how rare that is in any sort of semi-serious media. Certainly, Hypmic acknowledges that his job requires too much drinking (Doppo's verse in Hoodstar), but the overall portrayal is overwhelmingly positive. Hifumi and his coworkers are never treated as uneducated, boorish, or pathetic for "failing" to find other work that does not require flirting with and entertaining women. (This is partially due to the overlapping judgment with sex work.)

All the various harmless preferences and personality traits of the male characters are treated equally with no judgement over what's masculine or non-masculine. Within the broader context of Japanese media, this absence of judgment stands out and reinforces one of Hypmic's core themes: Differences make us better, not worse. In the end, Hypmic suggests, there's no one right way to be a man.

Right Ways to Be a Woman...Are Just as Infinite!

But what about women? This series is, after all, marketed mainly towards women, and while female audience members can no doubt extrapolate the lessons learned from the male characters, it's worth taking a look at the female characters too.

The female characters do receive much less screen time than the men and are not the focus in the series; I'd argue that's less an issue of overt sexism and more that they fall out of focus in the story the writers want to tell. (There's a broader discussion to be had about inherent sexism in the writers' focus which goes hand-in-hand with rap industries across the globe favoring men and rap being an example of exaggerated masculinity, but that's a topic for another day.)

Even so, the framing of the female characters is interesting in a couple key respects. The individual character arcs and motivations of the main female characters are, in my opinion, some of the weakest parts of Hypmic--many times, Otome and Ichijiku do things because the plot demands them to, making them look incompetent or needlessly cruel for characters we're supposed to sympathize with. Nemu's story seems to be handled with more care and takes an interesting twist, wherein she openly acknowledges that she's disenfranchised as a woman in modern Japan but rejects the notion that she needs to find strength on either Ichirou or Samatoki's (male) terms. By choosing to be strong in "her own way" (whatever that means...it's not well-defined), the authors are using Nemu to reject the notion that strength and power are inherently masculine.

What I find to be far more interesting is the character design for the Chuuouku women, both in what is said and what is not said.

To begin with, the characters and their portrayals run the gambit from highly sexualized to completely non-sexual. Some characters (especially Ichijku and Honobono) have conventionally attractive, curvy body types and are often drawn in ways that highlight their bodies.

(FP/M+ chapter 4)

(FP/M+ chapter 14)

In some cases, especially Honobono's, the enticing nature of the illustrations is framed as the character's choice; in the above, her words indicate that she wants to seduce the off-screen listeners. The images included above are largely representative of these characters' raps, regardless of illustrator.

But on the flip side, other characters with large breasts or hips are never drawn in a sexual fashion. By way of comparison, here are two shots of Nemu rapping.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 12)

Even in shots with dynamic poses, no attention is drawn to Nemu's figure in any sort of provocative sense. Nemu touches her chest, drawing the reader's eye there, but the artist does not emphasize the size of her chest--they're allowing a chest touch to be no more than an emphasis of the self. At the same time, Nemu's body isn't downplayed. We can see in panel 2 on page 2 that Nemu has a small waist and wider hips, but once again, she isn't being sexualized. The action lines draw the reader's eye to Samatoki and thus put the action first and foremost. This creates the idea that not only can characters portray themselves sexually, but they can just as easily choose not to.

We see similar with Otome, who does not wear any sort of revealing clothing and is never shown in a sexual fashion. However, Hypmic doesn't equate revealing clothing to sexual portrayals either! While I wouldn't call Tsumabira's outfit revealing, she does have more visible cleavage than most Chuuouku figures. However, her bare chest is never sexualized like Ichijiku's.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 4)

Compare the non-emphasis on the chest and the power stance to any of the many shots of Ichijuku where her breasts are front and center in the camera. Speaking of power stance, Tsumabira remains confident in her power stance without being sexy--that is, no stepping on the camera and showing her whole leg.

Which isn't to say that Tsumabira is a sexless character. She's drawn visibly turned on by the male characters in such a way that is cartoonish but not, in turn, overly sexual. Were this supposed to be titillating to the reader, I would have expected to see a larger close-up on her face and tongue. However, the artist (who is no stranger to focusing on tongues!) devotes the majority of the panel to Tsumabira's body language (which, again, doesn't absurdly exaggerate any of her proportions or focus on her chest) and covers part of the mouth with text bubbles. Tsumabira is drawn as engaging in sexual behavior without being sexualized for reader entertainment.

(FP/M+ chapter 4)

The juxtaposition of such different views with little to no judgement attached to any of them suggests that it's perfectly okay to want to be sexy or not, to wear revealing clothing or not, to be involved in sexual situations without being the object of sexual interest, or to simply exist with an attractive body type without sex ever coming into the equation. Just as some characters choose to tie bodies to sexiness, some don't whatsoever--and either is perfectly fine!

The former idea ("I can choose to be sexy") may not sound especially revolutionary to US audiences, where sexuality is thrust upon women willingly or otherwise, but I find it fascinating because it lets the main characters embrace this idea without associated slut shaming. So much of Japanese media insists that women should be sexy but are also wrong for wanting to indulge in their own sexuality. Therefore, having characters who run virtually every iteration of take on the topic (I want to engage in sexuality and be sexualized, I want to engage in sexuality without being sexualized, I don't want to engage in either) with multiple body types (ie, Tsumabira isn't automatically not sexualized because she has a smaller chest; Nemu isn't automatically sexualized because she has a bigger chest) and no judgement involved feels like another breath of fresh air to me.

As a whole, I find the diversity of the Chuuouku uniforms and character appearances quite interesting. They're undeniably all feminine and relatively militaristic, but different characters wear entirely different wardrobes. Skirts vs pants, blouses vs dresses, high heels vs boots... Since every character has her own take on the common theme, it once again feeds into the idea that each character is her own individual and perfectly valid for defining femininity in her own way.

Haircuts, too, range from longer and more feminine hairstyles to pixie cut-esque looks.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 16)

Again, nothing of the framing suggests this short-haired woman is in any way different from her longer-haired counterparts on the edges of this screenshot.

Finally, while most Chuuouku women are conventionally attractive, I find it extremely compelling that Haebaru is a stereotype of an unattractive Japanese woman. To be extremely clear, I do not think these stereotypes should have weight, but the combination of chubby and/or muscular build, freckles, rounded nose, and non-glossy hair is often used as a visual shorthand for unattractive or otherwise undesirable women.

Sure, it's not fantastic that Haebaru is a scheming, two-bit villain. However, so is virtually every other female character in the series, and in particular, Haebaru is (the conventionally attractive) Tsumabira's counterpart. Both are treated with the same respect or lack thereof, suggesting that one's appearance has nothing to do with your ability to be a no-good baddie. Ha ha ha.

It would be lovely if the female characters were fleshed out further and given intelligent choices and diversity outside of the realms of physical appearance. However, I do think the writers' choices are limited by virtue of all women automatically being antagonistic side characters (which, again, is another discussion altogether). What the writers can and have accomplished is further reinforcing a celebration of differences. Just as there's no one right way to be a man, there's an infinite number of ways to be a scheming snake of a woman HAHA.

Intersection with LGBT+ Topics

Unfortunately, this is a very binary look at gender and gender roles, which, while largely representative of the current state of Japanese media, can be disappointing.

Hypmic appears to want to steer shy of LGBT+ topics as a whole, which is a bit of a shame. In a story so focused on gender and acceptance of diversity, it seems the natural next step to explore the notion of those who experiences don't align with a strict gender binary. Such stories are growing in popularity in Japanese media but have yet to be anywhere near the mainstream acceptance in US media (which is still in a fledgling stage at best). I would imagine Hypmic's writers are unable or unwilling to take a definite stance on these topics in the work due to fears of financial or career backlash. If nothing else, the sexuality of the main characters needs to remain in a limbo in order to have plausible deniability for both self-shipping and shipping with other characters. (Some deniability may be more plausible than others.)

The few instances in which Hypmic does wander into this territory are usually clumsy. I am no fan of the handful of scenes where male/male attraction is supposed to be funny purely by virtue of being male/male.

The inclusion of Urumi, the one minor character explicitly LGBT+, is not stellar either. I am hesitant to apply any definite label to her, as the real-life people her stereotype portrays self-identify as everything from trans women to cis men--or refuse to use these English labels at all! Still, we know from her profession (proprietor of a bar heavily implied to be a gay bar by the neighborhood it's in), appearance (poofy permed hair, exaggerated make-up), and demeanor (feminine speech style, a bit flirtatious) that she's AMAB and choosing to present herself in a feminine fashion. By writing Jirou to ask, "Aren't you a man?" in an exasperated fashion, the writers have put her gender presentation in a boke role--suggesting she's over-the-top, exaggerated, comedic. It's not great. I completely understand why readers find it offensive (and it is) even while I don't think the writers intended it that way. Ultimately, it would have been great to see other explicitly LGBT+ characters portrayed without the joking angle.

With that said, I'm not entirely unhappy with her character. She is a stereotype, but the authors have chosen to take only the visual elements of the stereotype and leave the rest on the cutting room floor. In other works of fiction, characters like Urumi are often hypersexual to the point of being in-universe creepy, especially towards underage boys. Other times, characters like her may be eccentric or off-putting in other ways. However, that's not at all the case here. Urumi seems to play a helpful big sister/aunt role in Jirou's life, and he's clearly comfortable enough with her to spend the night at her bar.

(BB/MTC+ chapter 17. "Sorry, but can I shack up here again tonight?" "Of course you can.")

While she seems to engage in some sort of a bohemian lifestyle, as evidenced by the alcohol and smoking, it isn't anything outside of what many of the other characters do. Additionally, while she isn't drawn in a flattering fashion in scenes where she's playing up her persona (which is par for the course with any character in this series, regardless of gender), there are plenty of neutral shots of her being serious. Finally, the art is never outright rude--that is, she isn't drawn exaggeratedly masculine or flamboyantly...snakey? I don't know how to describe this to anyone who's lucky enough to have never seen this--clearly LGBT+ AMAB characters drawn with noodly limbs and huge, overblown lips winding around male characters.

Maybe because I see so much worse continuing to be produced in this day and age, I feel like Hypmic could have done a much, much worse job with this character. She overall plays a positive role and is treated with much the same care as other side characters. It's unfortunate, then, that the writers have chosen to make her gender presentation the subject of a joke.

In other frustrations, I heavily dislike the unnecessary gender divide in background characters. All punks and other background baddies are male, whereas all adoring fans are female. (But Rhyme Anima has done an interesting job of subverting this!) The vast majority of other background figures fall into strict gender roles, which is likewise disappointing. It appears that diversity may be an accepted trait for none but a lucky few that form the main Hypmic cast.

All in all, I don't think Hypmic's portrayal of gender roles is groundbreaking, nor do I think it's fair to suggest that all Japanese pop culture plays into strict gender roles. There are certainly many Japanese works, popular or otherwise, with much more interesting things to say about gender. However, when compared to the vast majority of the titles that cross my desk on a regular basis, I notice and appreciate the level of care put in to Hypmic's commentary on gender roles. The work consistently reinforces the notion that it's okay to be your own individual, no matter how that plays into your gender, and I find that freeing. That's a message we could all do to hear more often, regardless of culture and language.

TL;DR: Oh no, my rapidly approaching deadline. :)

#not a translation #analysis asks

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 1 month

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A Southern Myth

Summary: Leon had been sent to a rural place in Texas where sightings of a BOW were reported. But upon entering the forgotten town, he began to get entangled in a horrific twist of events involving a religious cult. Things escalate and now he must survive with the help of a girl who doesn’t believe in anything.

Warning: horror. religion. mentions of blood and gore like description. cult activities. violence. swearing. reader is fem. there is no romance/smut.

A/N: omg I’ve never written something like this before🙈 CAPCOM should hire me for script writing.

“You believe you're on the righteous path, you believe you're a force for good, but you're not.” - John Seed, Far Cry 5

“Come forth, my children. Let your souls become pure under His guidance.”

“Let us rejoice in purity as we bathe in this sacrifice. Let us become one for Him, for He has been waiting.”

The sound of the dirt rolling under the car’s wheel made the road feel bumpy for Leon. The heat was intense the further he went into the rural side of what was once a town named Giligand in Texas. Once a lively town that had become a ghost town.

Until a group of religious settlers took over the desert land and claimed it their new home. They built their own society, far away from modern civilization. The orange and dried plants surrounding the new town as the wind blew hard. The sun intensified and caused Leon’s sweat to trickle down his body.

Right in the middle of nowhere is where he got sent- yet again. The D.S.O has assigned Leon a more haunting mission. The government division found in Texas’ own legislation had found weird signs of an unknown entity roaming around the dried up land. He found himself standing in front of an agent in Austin telling him about this entity.

“Our homeland security experts have raised a few concerns regarding a secluded town in Western Texas. They believe that this could be related to the virus incident that presided in other countries,” The senior agent stated as he gave Leon a stack of papers containing pictures and files of the sightings.

The abnormality was big and round. But its eyes were the only visible thing in the dark of night. Pure white eyes protruding from the creature’s face, sending a wave of uneasiness to Leon. The monster seemed tall, definitely more than 9 feet tall. Leon couldn’t tell exactly what it was but he guessed there were some sort of horns coming out the creature’s skull.

Leon had finally reached the town, being greeted by a yellowing sign. The sign written in Times New Roman “Welcome to Cunstacin” on the bottom “previously Giligand” and then near the border edge “Pop. 189”

Such a small town for a big state. Leon didn’t think much of it. He wasn’t aware of how much his life would change the minute he passed the sign without seeing those pure white eyes watching him from behind his truck.

The town itself was small but seemed very busy. The roads were flat with gravel. The houses were old and barren but still usable. He wondered how people were able to make a living of such an abandoned place. As he neared a motel, he was met with the leader of the town. A tall man of tan skin, hair long enough to reach his shoulders as his beard grew to his neck.

He approached Leon’s truck and greeted him with a polite smile, “Ah, you must be the new guy they sent here.” Leon nodded as he turned off the engine and jumped out of his car.

The man walked up to Leon and patted his shoulder, “Hope the road wasn’t too tedious. The distance between here and the city is pretty stretchy.” The man chuckled and looked behind him where two young women stood. “Go fetch his luggage and take it to his room. We don’t want to make our esteemed guest work too much now, don’t we?”

The two ladies nodded and walked over to the trunk of Leon’s truck. They both carried the brown and thick luggages to the motel, their silhouettes getting lost in between the halls.

The man then gently forced Leon to walk with him, “I’m sure you’re tired and you might want to get some rest, but there’s an afternoon mass the town wishes for you to attend. The people want to meet the new guy in town,” the man laughed again and gave Leon’s chest a lazy slap.

“I appreciate the offer but I’m here for work- strictly for work,” Leon replied as he looked at the man and then around the area.

The man chuckled and took his hand away from Leon’s shoulder, “No worries- I get it. You’re a busy guy and your work ethic is commendable,” the man leaned towards Leon’s ear to whisper, “But if you find yourself in need of His words, do come to the church behind the Great Willowed Forest.” The man leaned back and gave him another toothy smile, almost unsettling. “Make yourself at home.” That was the last thing the man said before he began to walk away.

Leon exhaled through his nose. He already got the creeps from the background check he ran on the town but meeting the people in person made the whole experience much more precarious.

He began to walk along the town, trying to find any other civilians. He saw an older woman with two children outside a two story building.

“Excuse me,” Leon said as he jogged to the three individuals. One of the children, a little boy with a bowl haircut pointed to Leon and exclaimed, “Look, meemaw- ‘tis the new guy!” The older woman slapped the little boy’s head, “Pointing at strangers is rude.”

Leon cleared his throat, “It’s alright,” he looked down at the kid before looking back at the older woman, “I’ve heard there were some strange… sightings around this town-“

“Ah, yes-“ the woman cut him off, “You’re talking Tervin.” Leon immediately furrowed his brows. They had named the potential B.O.W?

“Tervin?” Leon asked and the woman nodded, “Yes. He was sent by God,” she looked up at the sky and then back at him.

“He was kind enough to send us a messenger. My boy, the end is coming. We must cleanse our souls of our sins in order to enter our Eden.”

Leon immediately felt a weird sense of unease in his lower stomach, the bottom pit sinking down after the woman spoke.

The woman took a step forward and cupped Leon’s face, “He is our savior. He will bring us to an eternal peace. Time is ticking, we must proceed with His plan.”

Leon took a step back, taking deep breaths. What was this feeling? His heart was hammering against his rib cage and he could feel his head become light. Maybe it was heatstroke or maybe it was fear.

The woman stared at Leon, seemingly in a trance. He swore he saw her eye color vanish for a moment, not right before she “came back” and smiled at him. She then took hold of the two children’s hands and walked away. He could only stay there watching as they got further away.

He exhaled shakily as he ran a hand through his hair, this would be harder than he thought.

For the next following days, he’s been trying to talk to these people but everyone said remotely the same things.

“Monster? He’s no monster. He’s our salvation.”

“God sent him, it is His gift to us.”

“We must act quickly, the end is nigh”

Leon was currently sitting on the edge of the bed in the room he was currently staying. His elbows rested on his knees as his gaze fell on the picture of the creature he had in his hand. Pure black, except for the eyes. Something felt sinister- almost too evil. But he couldn’t pinpoint what. Everyone looked normal-ish.

He left the motel and began his 15th round of research. He was so sure he’d get kicked out if he kept asking the people questions. His mind traveled back to what the leader said, something about attending mass.

He didn’t want to but he knew that he had to try. Maybe there was something that could be useful in the church.

So that’s where he was headed. To the Great Willowed Forest. A forest full of tall trees and tall grass. The sun was setting and the church came into his line of vision. A tall Victorian structure that was adorned in white and gold. A bell sitting on top of the highest tower peak of the religious establishment. He slowly walked up the freaking and old steps of the church. Muffled talking from just the other of the door. With a light inhale, he pushed the door open with gentleness and stepped into the church.

The inside was much more beautiful. The benches were neatly fixed in rows as the windows were stained glass depicting stories of their God. The church was packed and the leader stood on the podium, preaching about their path to salvation.

“We must obey the Lord’s rule. For we are His children as well as His servants. We must makeup for the loss of His journey.”

Leon found himself an empty seat at the very back. No one seemed to have noticed him enter, they were all focusing on the town’s leader words. Almost as if they were bewitched.

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

The mass lasted for an hour and a half, and he didn’t find anything remotely useful. He sighed in defeat as he felt like he wasted his time, yet again. There were no signs of any B.O.W and these people were most certainly convinced that the monster was their key to heaven.

It was nighttime when Leon had left the church, walking aimlessly through the forest. His mind preoccupied with thoughts about potentially lying to the D.S.O and telling them it was just some southern myth.

Until he hears clinking sounds coming from behind a bush. His agent instincts activated and he quietly walked towards the bush to see what was behind it.

To his surprise, he’d found another person. A girl working on a garden. She had been couched down on the floor as her hands worked through the soil.

As he walked towards you, his boots crunched against the twigs lost in the grass. Your attention had been drawn to the sound and you quickly spotted the new man in town.

You furrowed your brows as he approached you, “You’re the new guy everyone’s talking about.”

Leon nodded curtly, “The one and only,” you hummed in response and resumed your duties.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

He was caught off guard by your immediate answer. You didn’t even look back at him. He could only stare at the back of your head as your hands worked through the soil.

“You didn’t even listen to what I had to say,” he approached you and crouched next to you, glancing at the plants you’ve been planting.

“I don’t need to. You’re asking questions about this stupid and fake thing everyone claims to be salvation or some other bullshit,” you grumbled.

“Not necessarily-“ he sighed and looked at your side profile, “I’m not here for that-“

“What do you want me to tell you? That there’s some sort of monster roaming around the forest?” You turned your head to look at him, “Because I won’t. I haven’t seen anything and I do not believe it even exists. Those lunatics are hell bent on their stupid… belief,” you scoffed as you turned your attention back to your plants.

“Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” you muttered. He looked at you some more before looking back down at your hands covered in dirt.

“So you aren’t with those people?” Leon raised a brow as he analyzed you. You shook your head no, “Hell no. You don’t know what they do to those who don’t believe in their God… you don’t know anything.”

Leon remained silent as your words settled down in his mind. There was more than what you led on and both of you knew this.

“Then tell me,” he replied quietly. You sighed and looked at him with an annoyed expression, “Doesn’t matter. Just go back to your shit and mind your business.”

He didn’t say anything, he just watched you for a few minutes before he stood up and left.

He went back to his motel room and laid down on the bed. Staring up at ceiling as he thought about the events that took place. He still couldn’t shake off the strange feeling he felt about this town. Something felt odd but he just didn’t know what. He sighed and decided to just sleep for the night.

Leon woke up early in the morning and tried to find the leader of the town. Surprisingly, he was at the church. He was sitting down on a bench, silently praying. Leon walked up to him and sat next to him as he waited for him to finish praying.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our visitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man said as he noticed Leon’s presence next to him. Leon cleared his throat and pulled out a picture of ‘Tervin’

“I need you to tell me about this. What do you know?” Leon’s brows were furrowed, he was serious. He didn’t come around to play. The man took the picture and stared at it. Something in his aura had changed upon seeing that picture.

“Where did you get this?” The man asked as he looked at Leon with an unreadable expression. Leon shrugged, “I can’t say.” The man hummed and looked back at the altar in front of them.

“Tervin is a gift from God. He was sent as a warning of impending doom,” the man replied in a flat voice. “If he isn’t satisfied, then he seeks blood. We must cleanse this town of impurities and relay a message to God that we are worthy of his Eden paradise.”

Something in that caused a shiver to run down Leon’s spine, but he didn’t show it. He remained serious and calm. Leon nodded once and stood up, feeling like no one will actually tell him anything.

“Thanks,” he muttered before he left the church. When he walked out, he nearly crashed into you.

“Watch it,” you hissed at him. He looked down at you with a raised brow, “I’m pretty sure you meant ‘excuse me’” he crossed his arms over his chest and kept blocking the doorway.

You sighed and looked at him unimpressed, “Excuse me.” Leon rolled his eyes and stepped to the side. As you began to walk past him, you noticed the picture in his hands. Your brows pinched together and you quickly pointed to it, “what’s that?”

Leon looked down at the picture and then back at you, “I’m supposed to investigate this… thing.” He watched you closely, trying to gauge your reaction as you stood there silently thinking.

“You’ll get yourself in trouble if you keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you warned before stepping inside the church. He saw you walk up to the leader. He exhaled and walked back to the town. When will someone actually help him?

It was somewhere past 11 pm, he was staring at the files he had about this town and his objective. It was impossible to think how he didn’t have any leads. It was the Leon S Kennedy! He always saw that the job got done, always.

He groaned defeatedly and began to walk around the town, he doesn’t even know how many times he’s done that.

The town was awfully quiet. There was a fog occupying most of his vision, making the place look eerie and unsettling. He heard the rustling of the trees and grasses but he paid no mind to that. Not right now, at least.

He saw you sitting on a fountain, staring at your reflection deep in thought. Why were you the only one out here. He walked over to you and spoke in a soft voice, “What are you doing out here?”

You looked over at him and then back at the water, “Could ask you the same.”

Leon sighed and scratched his head, “I just- I wanted to ask questions but seems like everyone just… disappeared.”

You hummed in response as your fingers played with the water, “They didn’t. They’re at the church praying or something.”

His ears perked up, praying at this time? He didn’t want to question it but it still lingered in his mind.

After a few moments of silence, he couldn’t help but ask, “You said you didn’t believe in God, why is that?” He asked in a quiet voice.

You looked at him before motioning for him to follow you, “It’s better if I just showed you.”

You led him through the dark forest, twigs snapping under your shoes and wind howling soft whispers as the moonlight glimmered down you two.

“This town ostracizes those who don’t believe in God. Do you know what happens to nonbelievers?” You looked behind your shoulder to glance at Leon for a brief moment.

“No, I don’t but do tell,” he followed behind you as his eyes scanned the forest for any threats.

You sighed and stopped walking once you’ve reached an abandoned cemetery, you walked up to one of the gravestones and stared down at the name, “Jeffrey Clyle. 1987-2024.”

“Sacrifice,” you whispered. Leon heard you and walked up next to you, your eyes distant and your expression solemn.

“Ever since rumors of the “messenger” started, they’ve been capturing and targeting those whose faith has been faltering…” your gaze remained down at the gravestone and Leon remained silent as he let you talk.

“They’ve been doing human sacrifices in the name of God. They believe that God would forgive them if they kill those who oppose him…” your voice trailed off for a moment before you turned your face to look at him, “It’s evil. Punishing people for not believing in something is inhumane. They’re all slaves to their own fucking religion, that God is not kind and I will never believe in it.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” Leon asked as he stared into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Because my father is the fucking leader of this whole thing. I can’t just leave,” you mumbled and looked away. “I already get judged for not believing- imagine what would happen to me if I left?”

He remained silent once again. Your father was the preacher and the leader of the town? That makes things even more interesting. Leon never pictured himself to be in this kind of situation- not since Spain, at least. It all seemed the same to him. Religion controlling people, is that all it will ever be?

Then he remembered something from mass he attended,

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he began to finally realize what might happen. He looked down at you, “You mean to tell me… that your father participates in human sacrifices? Why?” His eyes were narrowed as his breathing became faster.

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, “Because his idiotic self thinks that sacrificing people will help him and his goons reach their heaven.”

Innocent lives were being used for this town’s religion. This didn’t sit right with Leon. He quickly ran out of the cemetery- his heartbeat speeding as his legs carried his body towards the church.

Under the embrace of the moon and the night, a gathering assembled at the edge of the churchyard, shrouded by the shadows cast by the townspeople. Their faces unrecognizable under the dark night, their chants in hushed tones as they circled around a sacrifice.

Bound by chains, a person writhed in resistance, their muffled cries stifled by a potato sack over their head. Leon stood behind a tree as you came behind him to look at the scene unfold in front of your eyes.

The leader of the town emerged, wielding a sacrificial blade gleaming under the moonlight. Each stroke of the blade sent shivers down your’s and Leon’s spine, as the victim's anguished pleas echoed through the night, a haunting presence appeared through the tethered night.

“We give this sacrifice to you, our Lord. Let us repent for our sins and wash ourselves with the blood of those who’ve been cleansed.”

The creature- otherwise known as the B.O.W- emerged from behind the forest and entered the churchyard. Its stature was 11 feet, towering over everyone. Its black glistening skin reflected the moonlight as its pearly white eyes penetrated the group of believers. Its horns swirled upwards, reaching up to the sky. The townspeople all bowed to the creature as they chanted its name, “All hail Tervin.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he saw the B.O.W while your eyes widened at the fact that this “messenger” was indeed real. Leon took out his gun and aimed it at the B.O.W. You quickly pulled his arm down and whispered in a harsh tone, “Are you stupid? That thing could be dangerous.”

Leon narrowed his eyes at you, “I’ve fought those things before, I know what I’m doing.” He shook your hands away from his arm and aimed the gun back at the beast.

The beast approached the human sacrifice and with its claws, it picked up. Almost instantly crushing the human, letting the blood fall down like rain on the townspeople.

“Thank you, Lord, for this blessing”

The B.O.W then ate the human sacrifice after the townspeople showered in their blood. A scene so horrific and disturbing, it twisted your stomach upside down. The creeping sensation of the fact that it could’ve been you in that situation only made it worse.

To feel your rib cage cave in, piercing your lungs and heart as blood trickles down your mouth. Its claws clawing into your body, letting the blood flow like water.

It only made you shiver and writhe in disgust.

Leon then began to shoot at the B.O.W with his gun, drawing the attention of the townspeople. One bullet shot the creature’s eye, causing it to stagger backwards in pain. The group of believers all turned to look at you and Leon.

Their faces unrecognizable- their faces foreign as the creases and eyes all felt like distinct people. The group slowly began to walk towards you two as the monster howled in anger.

“God, forgive those sinners. They haven’t sought your guidance. Let us illuminate their path,”

The leader spoke as they approached you and Leon. Anxiety coursed through your body as you saw the B.O.W swing its claws at the group of believers. People flying left and right. The leader turned around and observed in delight.

“Yes, God, yes! We shall sacrifice ourselves for Eden.”

The whole group then began to chant, “For Eden. For Tervin.”

The B.O.W only had one goal in mind- and it was to kill the person who injured it. As Tervin kept walking towards you and Leon, Leon took hold of your wrist and began to ran. He dragged you through the forest back to the motel he was staying in.

He looked the door to his room and turned to look at you, “What the fuck was that!?” Leon was stressing, all these emotions resurfaced and he felt overwhelmed. Why was this happening, how was this happening?

“I told you, they’re fucking evil when it comes to their God,” you replied harshly.

“Yeah I wasn’t exactly expecting your father to be the leader of a cult with that thing as its dog!,” Leon replied as his hands traveled through his face and hair.

You scoffed and crossed your arms over you chest but just as you were to speak, the ground shook. Heavy footsteps were heard and Leon rushed to the window. He peeked through the blinds and saw the group of believers walking over to the motel with Tervin in following them. They kept chanting as they kept walking.

“We need to get out of here now-“ you said as you began to hurry out the door. Leon, however, stopped you.

“I can’t just leave, I have a mission to do and it requires me to kill that thing. I cannot go home until it’s dead,” he said as he stared at you with a resolved expression.

You could only stare at him in silence for a few moments before sighing defeatedly, “Fine, do whatever you want.”

“Stay here,” he instructed as he took his gun and walked out, leaving you alone in his motel room.

In the flickering glow of the moonlight, amidst the eerie chants of the cultists, Leon stood there, gun in hand as he scanned the group. He needed to be smart. They had a B.O.W to their advantage.

As the first cultist lunged forward, knife in hand, Leon countered with swift precision, deflecting the blade with a punch to the gut. His movements were a blur of calculated strikes and evasions. As he killed and wounded the cultists, they grew more frenzied, their chants escalating into desperate cries of fury. Yet, undeterred, Leon continued fighting.

“We must bring him to God!” They chanted as they kept lunging at Leon.

Amidst the chaos, the B.O.W stepped forward, its twisted features contorted with rage as it charged at Leon. With the gun pointed at the beast, he shot bullet after bullet, causing it to slow its movements.

“God, please forgive our brother for he has sinned. We must cleanse him.”

Leon ran out of bullets and just as the B.O.W was about to strike, he saw you throw a pitchfork at it. The blades piercing the creature’s skin, stabbing it right in the chest.

The B.O.W let out a screeching scream, “No! Our messenger!” The leader spoke in anguish as he watched the creature stumble back, falling to the ground with a thud. Leon reloaded his gun and began to shoot again, this time aiming for the head.

As Leon became busy, your father glared at you and it was like something turned in him, “You bitch. I’ve had just about it with you. You will submit to your God and you will repent!”

You’ve never heard him speak to you this way, so much malice in his voice that you didn’t recognize the man that used to be your father.

He lunged at you, his hands trying to reach for your neck to strangle you. You took a nearby torch and set his clothes on fire. He stood back and tried to set the fire off of himself- to which he fails. He screams and cries in pain as he began to get engulfed in the flames of his sins.

“Forgive me, my children!”

You finally understood everything. There was no God because your father believed he was that God. The flames burned up in hues of blue and orange right before the sparks flew into the night sky.

His skin melted, his eyes became a blobby mess and he fell to the ground. His screech becoming more faint as the life in being burnt away from his body. The flames expanding over the dried wheat of the town, engulfing the town in a pit of fire.

Leon had been too busy to even notice that you killed your father. He’s been shooting the B.O.W, making sure to blow its head off once and for all.

After two rounds of reloading, he finally was able to kill that damn thing. Watching it fall to the ground, sending harsh vibrations to the floor as silence overtook the ghostly town.

Heavy panting overtook the two of you as the silence grew deafening. You turned to look at Leon as he stared at the B.O.W all lifeless. You looked around and saw the bloodbath. Everyone was dead.

Pools of blood stained the gravel he once stepped, the lifeless bodies of the townspeople growing cold. The flames being the only source of light under the dark night.

Leon turned to look at you for a brief moment before looking up at sky as he tried to take deep breaths. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He couldn’t believe what he was brought into. But he was glad it was over. For now at least.

Leon packed his things and went over to his truck, he looked at you, “Aren’t you coming?”

You looked at him and then back at the town- or what remained of the town. You nodded and walked over to his truck.

Both of you driving down the lane of the rose, exiting the town. Passing by a sign that read, “Please visit soon!”

Unaware of the presence with the white eyes watching you two leave the town.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon #resident evil fic #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon #horror #southern gothic #x reader #re4r leon

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trickphotography2 · 4 months

Text

'tis the damn season | Chapter 5

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 4.8K

Note: This chapter includes brief mentions of miscarriages.

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 4 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 5

The ride back to the ranch was quiet, interrupted by the buzzing of Jake’s phone. Fanboy had apparently found Shayla’s video announcing the pregnancy and sent it to the Dagger group chat.

Merry Christmas. And congrats Hangman?????

The squad chimed in with their half-hearted congratulations and pointed comments that they hadn’t expected to find out about the first Dagger baby online. After scrolling through the first few messages, he silenced his phone. When they approached the main house, he barely waited for Will’s truck to stop before throwing open the door and heading inside. “Merry Christmas, asshole!” his big brother called through the window before heading off to the foreman’s quarters and his pregnant wife.

Jake knew he was being an asshole. Will had done nothing but be honest, but he didn’t want to hear those hard truths.

“You gotta let her go. It’s not fair to you or her or Shayla.”

And he knew that. He’d gotten his hopes up after running into Cece in Austin and started thinking about how to convince her to give him another chance. He’d been two years into his eight-year obligation after finishing flight school and had even thought about promising her that he would resign from the Navy after completing it. But when she stopped answering his texts and calls, Jake realized that it had just been a bathroom hookup for her. Especially when she’d ignored him the next year when he’d tried to say hello in the grocery store.

Watching the love of his life walk away from him for the third time was one of the hardest things Jake had to do. Which is why he’d avoided coming home for the last six years. It was easier to get over heartbreak if he wasn’t reminded of her at every turn. There wasn’t a place in Magnolia that wasn’t associated with some memory of Cece.

And the longer he was away, the easier it was to forget. It took a long time for him to not see her favorite flower and think of her. To stop reaching for his phone to call her when something exciting happened or he needed someone to talk to. To not want to send her pictures as he traveled to places they’d imagined visiting while lying in bed together, dreaming about what their life would be like.

It had only taken seeing her in his mama’s kitchen for all those feelings to rush back. Even as the woman he’d promised to marry and was carrying his baby stood in front of him, Jake didn’t want to hurt Cece by saying that Shayla was his fiancée. He’d caught that brief flicker of pain on her face before she’d smiled, and he’d reminded himself that it was her choice to leave. That, no matter their history, they didn’t have a claim on one another. Which is what he tried to remind himself as he watched the firefighter kiss her. Just because he’d promised to be her first and last kiss didn’t mean anything.

But now he wasn’t so sure it was her choice that she left. Had he pushed her out by keeping his deployment secret?

Jake’s musings were cut short when he opened the door and heard his parents talking in the kitchen. Kicking off his boots and hanging up his coat, he crept toward the stairs until Pops called, “Jacob? That you, son?”

“Yes, sir,” he sighed, letting go of the banister and walking toward the kitchen. Mama and Pops sat at the table, holding hands as they drank their nightly cup of tea. For as long as he could remember, this had been their evening routine - spending twenty minutes together, usually after he and Will went to bed, just to talk and spend time with one another. Even when Pops moved to the foreman's house for a few weeks when Jake was 16, not long after Will had left for college, they would keep up their nightly talks.

“Have a good time in town?” Mama asked, watching her youngest pour himself a glass of water.

“Saw lotsa folks I haven’t seen since high school,” Jake shrugged. “Good to catch up with ‘em.” His parents shared a look before Mama pushed to her feet.

“I’m heading up.” Jake caught how she used the table to help her stand and the grimace as her bones cracked. When she neared, he noticed the sad, tired look in her eyes before she crooked a finger at him. Leaning down, he couldn’t help but smile when she brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Night, baby. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama.” After patting his chest, she rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher before leaving.

“Pull up a chair.” Though said lightly, the order in Pop’s voice was unmistakable. Taking his water with him, Jake sat beside his father and scrubbed a hand through his hair. At the older man’s heavy sigh, he hung his head, feeling like a kid again. “Son.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“This trip hasn’t gone as I thought it would.” Pops hummed, and Jake glanced up at him.

“It’s certainly been an interesting few days.” Jake huffed, shaking his head. When Pops cleared his throat, he forced his gaze up. The older man looked tired as he ran a hand through hair that was more grey than brown these days. “Your mother and I were talking about it, and… we’d like you to have a conversation with Shayla about respect in this house.”

“Pops - ” Holding up a hand, the older man sighed.

“I know she’s your fiancée, but this is my home. And respect for others is an expectation here, as you know. Right?”

“Yes, sir.” Bill hesitated for a moment before pressing on.

“I know that you and Julie have… a complicated past, but that girl is family. She was long before the two of you got together. And she will be respected as such. What Shayla did was unacceptable, especially after I opened my house to Julie to get her work done. I expect her to apologize.”

“I… I’ll try.” Pressing his lips into a thin line, the older man breathed heavily through his nose before sipping his tea. Like his mother, when Pops stood, Jake could see the effort it took. His parents weren’t old - just in their mid-50s - but life wasn’t easy when you did daily physical labor. Bill and Kerry Seresin dedicated every day to maintaining the ranch and making sure that there was something to pass on to their boys. But seeing the difference in them since his last trip to Magnolia made Jake regret that he hadn’t come home sooner.

After setting his mug in the dishwasher and starting it, Pops clapped a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I’m headed up. I’ll see you for chores?”

“Yeah.” Nodding, the older man walked toward the hallway, pausing in the doorframe.

“I love you, son. But I don’t like the person you are now. I don’t recognize him.”

Jacob Seresin wasn’t a man who cried. He could count on one hand the time’s he’d done it since turning 18, but those words, filled with disappointment, hit him like a bullet through the chest. Tears sprang to his eyes as he hung his head in shame.

He didn’t recognize himself either. Hadn’t for years.

Not since Cece left him.

He’d told himself that she just needed time. That they would find their way back to each other. Before she got into her car to start the drive back to Texas, he told her that he would be waiting if she changed her mind. They’d agreed to keep talking when she got home to see if they could fix it. But he still didn’t know how to tell her he was deploying in two months because that would mean telling her he’d known all along and kept it a secret.

Finally, the night before he left, Jake told her he’d been called up for a last-minute mission. Cece had been silent for a long time - what he’d taken for worry but now recognized as her seeing another lie - before telling him to be careful. She’d agreed to email him while he was gone, and their messages had been sporadic.

And then he saw the pictures of her with someone else once she was back in Austin, and his heart shattered. So, he focused on making himself move on. And the more he focused on making himself forget her, the more he became Hangman. His callsign, given to him not long after he got drunk in flight school and let it slip that he’d talked his childhood sweetheart into pushing back their marriage, haunted him daily. So, he leaned into the idea that he was unreliable. That he would put himself first. Because it hurt less to embrace the idea that he would leave his fellow pilots out to dry than the woman he loved. Hangman was cocky and didn’t give a shit what others thought of him.

Women didn’t look at him with expectation, and for a little while, that was freeing. The first time he’d slept with someone else, he’d groaned Cece’s name into her neck and had been rightly slapped. But as time went on, he was able to forget about her for a little while. He dated and tried not to compare the women to her.

Meeting Shayla had been an accident. He hadn’t known it then, but she’d gone to the Hard Deck intending to make a video about military guys. Jake had gone there, planning to have a beer or two before returning to his new house and unpacking. Word had come down while they were on the way back from the uranium mission that he was issued orders to relocate to North Island. Slowly, the other Daggers were notified of their new orders as well.

But that January night, Jake had been alone, toasting his new three-year contract. Lost in his thoughts about where he’d imagined himself being at this point in his career - married, with a kid or two - he hadn’t noticed Shayla until she was beside him. She’d startled him out of his thoughts by asking what was good there, and that was that. They’d ended the night with him teaching her to play darts and exchanging numbers.

Being with Shayla was easy in the beginning. She hadn’t expected too much of him, which was good as he settled into his new part-time instructing role. She was happy to fill his silence when he came home tired from work and unable to talk about what he did. When it came to dates, she was more than willing to plan where they went. And by the time he realized that the videos and pictures he thought she was taking for herself were being posted online, her followers had grown. When he asked her to stop, she’d pleaded with him to let her keep doing it - that she was trying to launch a career from it.

And, against his better judgment, he’d agree to keep her happy. Try as he might to ignore it, the filming got more intrusive, and he felt himself getting less comfortable being around her. Those rare moments that he could just be Jake with her were lost, as she wanted to show off her “cocky pilot boyfriend.”

For once, he welcomed the series of short deployments he was sent on, anticipating the change of scenery and time away. The only one he regretted was in late January when he woke to a call from Mama saying Mr. Ryan had passed. He wouldn’t be stateside in time for the funeral, as much as he would have moved heaven and earth to be there for Cece. But from across the globe, he struggled to pick up his phone and call her. Hearing Cece upset when there was nothing he could do was a certain kind of hell, especially when he couldn’t even hold her. When he was back, he debated asking for leave to go home but decided against it. Cece’s silence spoke volumes; the last thing she needed was him intruding in her grief. So, instead, he asked Mama to pass along that he was thinking of her whenever they talked. He’d opened a text to message her a few times but closed it every time, convincing himself that she’d changed her number.

Until one night, he’d opened it only to find three blinking dots. Heart in his throat, he’d watched it for nearly fifteen minutes before they disappeared for good.

Jake wasn’t sure what flipped in him that August morning when he’d gone to Cece’s profile and typed out his annual ‘Happy Birthday’ message. He found himself scrolling through her pictures far enough back to find ones of them together. Pausing on one from her graduation from UT, he couldn’t help but smile, remembering how nervous he’d been that weekend. Having been given leave at the last minute, he’d almost drained his bank account to get a red-eye flight Friday night to get to Austin in time to surprise her. While waiting for her to cross the stage and accept her diploma, Jake formally asked Mr. Ryan for permission to marry his daughter.

Sighing, the older man had nodded. “As long as you don’t ask her this weekend. Let this weekend be only about her.” The ring had been burning a hole in his pocket, but if that was the only thing Cece’s father asked of him, he could wait another week until his commissioning.

When he stored his phone in his locker and left for the carrier mess hall, Jake knew he had to end it with Shayla. As ready as he was to commit to someone and get his life back on track, he knew it wasn’t with her. He didn’t feel like he could relax around her - could never lower his guard in case her camera was rolling.

And then, as his brother accused him of doing, he thought with his dick on Halloween instead of his head. As much as he wanted to move on, Jake wouldn’t leave his kid behind. The night Shayla told him she was pregnant, he’d gotten drunk and tried to think of a way to convince her to give him the baby. She’d never mentioned wanting kids, and he would never keep them from her. But she made it clear that she and the baby were a package deal - if Jake wanted frequent access to his kid, Shayla wanted to get married. If not, she would get a lawyer involved and point out how much he was gone during their relationship to prove that he would be an inconsistent parent.

Hangman might leave his coworkers out to dry, even the love of his life, but he would never do that to his child.

So he’d agreed to marry her. But now, seeing how Shayla treated the people he loved, Jake knew it was time to set his stipulations. That started with respecting his family and apologizing for the drama she’d caused. It ended with a long engagement and time with a couple’s therapist before they married.

As he climbed the stairs, Jake knew that Shayla would again demand that he cut contact with Cece. And, as much as it hurt to imagine never seeing her again, Jake would agree to that. If he had to trade his past for his future, he would.

Julie smiled as Drew spun her, tugging gently to draw her back into his arms. Christmas music played as he leaned down to brush his lips to hers. Shaking off his hand, she stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, tugging him down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips when he pulled her closer. His hands were warm on her hips, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. It’d been so long since anyone had held her like this.

Swaying as the song ended, Julie looked up in time to see Will Seresin grabbing his coat and standing, a wad of napkins soaking up spilled beer on his table. Their eyes met as he tugged on his jacket, and he gave her a strained smile before walking out of Mikey’s. “I think we pissed off your ex,” Drew said, chuckling softly.

“What?”

“He just stormed out.” Julie felt her stomach drop as she lowered her arms, looking around the bar to see people looking at her and whispering. A blush crept up her face as she forced her chin high while grabbing his hand and retreating to their table, knowing that a new chapter had been added to Magnolia’s ongoing Jake and Julie saga.

Which was stupid, she thought, dropping into her chair and taking a sip of her beer. They had ended things so long ago, and he was getting married and having a baby. She was single and had every right to kiss another man. It was no one else’s business - especially Jake’s. But if he’d just made a scene, she would be the one to have to deal with the fallout of it, just like she always did.

The gossip is what had driven her from Magnolia when she’d come home to lick her wounds after Virginia. Julie had naively thought people wouldn’t ask why she was home instead of living with her fiancé. Why she no longer wore the engagement ring on her left hand. But almost every time she stepped out of the house, someone remarked about it. Even running into Ally was hard - for as long as they’d known each other, the two women had expected to be sisters-in-law, but now they were nothing. Thankfully, the Seresins hadn’t turned their back on her and were supportive and happy to see her when she saw them in town. She knew that they, like Jake, were hoping that this was just a bump in the road on the way that led to them getting married.

But they hadn’t seen Jake in Virginia. They hadn’t seen him laughing with his buddies on the beach as her heart broke, listening to the spouses talk about the upcoming deployment. Hadn’t spent every single day waiting for him to come clean and tell her that he was leaving again. That she would be alone, away from her friends and family, in a place she wasn’t sure she liked for seven months. None of them crawled into bed alone and tried not to cry when he crept back in late at night.

After a month, it became too much. Daddy had come home from the firehouse to find her crying after being asked at the gas station why she was home when she should be with her fiancé, her former classmate pointedly glancing at her empty ring finger. “Julie, I want you to listen to me,” Daddy had said, holding her tightly as she sobbed. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why you’re back. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. If Jake didn’t realize how much he was asking of you without doing the minimum of being honest, he didn’t deserve you. You deserve to be the center of someone’s world, not an afterthought.”

Daddy helped her pay for an apartment in Austin for those first few months until she got back on her feet. She avoided returning to Magnolia for a long time and loved hosting her daddy in the city. Her friends encouraged her to go out, and Julie found herself exploring and enjoying herself in a way she hadn’t for the almost six years she’d lived there. Once Jake had deployed and their communication was limited to emails, it felt almost like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She no longer had to listen to him mumble a soft “I love you, baby, I miss you” as they ended the call or his offers to buy a plane ticket so she could come to visit him.

Hesitantly, she’d dipped her toe in the dating pool. Her friends set her up with guys or gently nudged her toward someone when they would go out dancing. And, at first, it felt wrong. The first time she slept with someone else, she’d gone home and cried in the shower. As much as she tried to enjoy the feeling of someone else’s touch, she couldn’t stop comparing it to Jake’s. It ended with that guy shortly after, and Julie decided she would only casually date.

That night in Austin had proven just how little the Jake Seresin-sized hole in her heart had healed when he’d crashed into her life again, tearing down her defenses like tissue paper. For a moment, as he held her while dancing, she’d let herself imagine what would happen if she took him home. Maybe they’d just needed two years apart to experience life before finding one another again. She’d missed his touch, his laugh, and how safe she felt in his arms. But the pregnancy scare had reminded her how much his arms held her back.

And then, the first time she went back to Magnolia, she ran into Jake. The chance run-in had made the whispers start up again, and Julie cut her trip home short. She knew it hurt Daddy, but he understood when she left the day after Christmas rather than staying for another week.

So, seeing people look at her and whisper in the aftermath of Jake making a scene made Julie want to leave. The longer she sat there, the more she gave them to talk about. As if seeing the hesitancy in her eyes that could no longer meet his, Drew cleared his throat. “You alright, Jules?”

Taking a deep breath, Julie straightened her spine and swiped at the condensation on her beer. “I’m fine. Just… Do you ever feel like you’ve outgrown a place?”

The corner of Drew’s mouth lifted before he sipped his beer.

Jake paused outside Shayla’s door and took a deep breath before knocking. When she called for him to come in, he opened the door to see her sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Hey.”

“Oh. You’re back,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. Sighing, Jake crossed the room to sit beside her, waiting for her to take her eyes off the computer screen. “What?” she finally demanded.

“I want to talk.”

“I’m working.”

“Shayla.”

“Jacob.”

“Please.” Breathing out heavily, she scowled at him.

“Are you going to yell at me again?” Sighing, he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“No. I’m sorry for raising my voice earlier.” Sniffing, she set aside her computer and stood.

“Fine. I’ll be right back.” With a groan, Jake fell back onto the bed, putting a hand over his eyes. She did this whenever he tried to confront her with something - he would say they needed to talk, and she would make him wait at least five minutes before doing it. He recognized it as some way to make sure that they did it on her terms, and it annoyed the hell out of him.

Her computer chimed with a text somewhere around the two-minute mark. Jake glanced at it instinctually - the screen was angled toward him but partially closed. He’d closed his eyes when two words registered: rainbow baby.

Without thinking, he reached out to swipe the mousepad to keep the computer from going into sleep mode as the screen darkened again. Once Shayla’s video editing software was minimized, he saw the text thread with her best friend, and his blood ran cold at her last message.

Yessssss! Then you can say you have a rainbow baby and get so much more interaction 🌈 🤰

Jake felt his stomach drop as tears sprang to his eyes. Shayla had miscarried and hadn’t told him.

But then the second text appeared.

Gotta have him fuck you, though. Can’t fake a test if he doesn’t touch you

Sitting up, he grabbed the computer and scrolled further up to read their chat. And felt the sickening combination of grief and relief.

Fuck you. We just need to get home and away from this hick town. Once I have my Jakey back, it’ll be fine

The message popped up, and he couldn’t help the watery chuckle that escaped. Apparently, Shayla had her phone with her and was responding. The usual flash of irritation at being called Jakey was smothered under the tidal wave of emotion.

And there it was.

Quickly, he took screenshots of the chat and sent them to himself, downloading them onto his phone. He felt sick as he looked at the texts again.

“What are you doing?” Shayla asked, standing in the doorway. Her eyes darted from the computer in his lap to his pale face. Closing the laptop, he stood.

“Was it ever real?”

“Was what real?” At his blank look, she took a step forward. Moving to keep the bed between them, Jake glanced at her stomach. “W-what do you mean, Jakey?” she asked, putting a hand on her flat stomach.

“Don’t lie to me.” The words were hissed through clenched teeth as Jake’s hands fisted. It made horrible sense.

“I’m not!”

Not once had he seen her sick in the morning.

“I swear!”

Her refusal to let him go to the doctor with her.

“Jake, stop being an idiot,” she stomped, tears glistening in her eyes.

Her constantly trying to sleep with him before they left California, even when he said no.

“Were you ever pregnant?” he demanded. Her eyes darted from the computer back to him before she wrapped her arms around her middle.

“I-I miscarried a-and didn’t know how to t-tell you!”

Lifting his phone, he pulled up one of the screenshots and read it. “Maybe he’ll actually knock you up this time, so you don’t have to pretend.”

The blood drained from Shayla’s face, the phone falling from her limp fingers. “J-Jake…”

“Were you. Ever. Pregnant?”

“Yes!” A cruel laugh burst from him, and Jake spun on his heel, gripping his hair.

“Who are you lying to, Shayla? Me or your best fucking friend?!” The texts were seared into the back of his eyes when they closed.

You can probably buy a fake test

Did you see the views on the last video????????!!!! Wait until we do the official pregnancy reveal!!! I’ll talk him into doing a cute one

Fuck, he passed out before we had sex. Fucking drunk asshole

It’s too late to say you’re still pregnant. Tell him you miscarried???? He won’t leave you if he thinks that

“I’m not lying! Baby - ” Her hand landed on his shoulder, and he jerked away from her.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snapped. Running a shaking hand over his mouth, Jake quickly brushed away the tears on his cheeks.

There was never a baby.

He was never going to be a father.

He’d almost married a woman he didn’t love.

“Jake, please, just - ”

“I don’t want to hear it, you fucking lying bi - ”

“What’s going on in here?” Mama demanded, tucking her robe close to her body. Her eyes darted from Jake to Shayla, taking in the tears on both their faces. Behind her, Pops frowned.

“Noth - ”

“Don’t fucking talk to them,” Jake yelled. “I can’t BELIEVE I brought you here and made excuses for you being a - ”

“Jacob Thomas,” Pops cut him off. “What the hell is going on.” Ignoring his father, Jake leveled his gaze on a trembling Shayla.

“Jakey, I - ” When she reached up to cup his face, he caught her hands, a disgusted smile crossing his mouth when his eyes landed on the ring he’d put on her finger.

It was all a lie.

Dropping her right hand, he held her left and quickly tugged the gaudy thing from her finger before letting go of her and taking a step back. “I want you out of here tonight. Take the rental and get the fuck out. I don’t ever want to hear from you again, you manipulative, psychotic - ”

“Jacob!” His watery eyes rose to see his parents' worried expressions. “Son, what - ”

“Looks like you’re only having one grandkid,” he said softly, shoving the engagement ring into his pocket and taking another step away from Shayla. She reached for him, her nails raking his arm as he walked past her.

“Jakey!”

“What?” Mama asked, eyes widening in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Jake said quickly, kissing his mama’s head before pushing past her and stomping down the stairs.

He could hear his parents calling for him and Shayla crying as he put on his boots and hung the rental keys on the peg, swapping them for his mama’s truck keys.

Slamming the door behind him, he hurried down the steps, breath misting before him. The gravel crunched under the tires as he sped off, windshield wipers doing their best against the snow as he let himself cry.

-----------------------------------------

Author's Note: Another huge thank you to @mamachasesmayhem for helping me tread the line with this chapter, and making sure that Jake's anger came off as realistic without going overboard.

Now we know why Julie has been so guarded with Jake - she's always the one dealing with the fall out in Magnolia. And, as much as Jake loved her, he was holding her back. Kudos to Mr. Ryan for wanting just one weekend for the attention to only be on his daughter's accomplishments.

Aaaaand Shayla. I'm really happy that people picked up on her not being pregnant 🫣 There's still a lot of drama to come, so buckle up!

Read Chapter 6

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#top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc #'tis the damn season fic

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ghouljams · 3 months

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I love the idea of this random small town in the middle of nowhere that’s just overrun with former military and their darlings, especially with ones belonging to rival factions. I can just imagine the first time the 141 or Alejandro & Rudy see Graves out and about, like you could cut the tension in the general vicinity with a knife. Idk but as someone who works in a rural farming community this particular AU is one of my favorites, it’s just comforting and familiar

The absolute devastation that happens at the first Ag hall meeting when the 141 and the shadow company show up...

It's lucky everyone's farms are fairly far apart and Graves' PBR career has him on the road a lot. Everyone tries to be polite, but... there's only so polite you can be to the people that betrayed you. Although I don't know how familiar Ale, Rudy, and the 141 would be with individual shadows, so as long as no one talks about what they were doing before cowboy-ing they're fine. (and I doubt anyone is super forthcoming about their time in the forces)

I do love that this small town has an overabundance of just... beautiful singles. Like what happened there? Combination of darlings moving to town to avoid something or growing up there and sticking around? I'm sure someone makes a comment about it. So many new farmers and ranchers too, this place is definitely on a watch list.

The government gets some new dangerous asset and they need to hide them somewhere? Idk just send them to that weird town in Texas for a few months, they'll probably end up married with children by the time we need them to do any work(and we can use their new family as leverage)

#ghoul speaks #cowboy au

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painted-kneecaps · 1 month

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If you are feeling lonely in your support of Palestine because of where you live, or because the internet is an echo chamber, i have something to tell you !!!

I am traveling in Europe right now, a trip that i have saved for for over a year, that i have grieved and felt guilty for the privilege of having- and i want to share with you some things that have stuck with me so far, as someone from rural Texas who knows very few people who care about Palestine.

In Paris, the wall across from my lodging is plastered with posters. I don’t speak French- the only word I can read is Gaza. I walk past a cafe, and a woman inside sips her coffee as she sits across from her lover, a keffiyeh draped around her shoulders. I pass a school, and a girl breezes past me. I can see the Handala cartoon on the back of her T-shirt as she passes. On the drive back to Germany, I crane my neck as we pass an old brick barn set against fields of green grass and yellow flowers. The Palestinian flag is painted across the side, larger than life, visible to everyone that passes.

In London, I share the sidewalk, only briefly, with an old man in a tweed suit, a ceasefire pin fastened to his lapel. In the subway I walk beneath a sticker calling for a free Palestine, fastened to the concrete above me. I walk to a restaurant with my friend after dark, and a delivery boy sits outside on his bike, a keffiyeh wrapped around his head. I yell, “I like your keffiyeh!” he grins as he pedals away, and calls “I like you!”

As I hurry through the airport, a woman passing me notices my own pin, fastened to my bag, and tells me she likes it. I grin and thank her. When my plane lands in Scotland, and I am rushing around Edinburgh, backpack heavy with everything i currently own, i pass a group of old ladies all in a row, dressed in brightly colored overalls. I stop to admire their outfits, only then to notice the string of hand quilted pennants they hold between them, altogether reading “Ceasefire Now!”

You are not alone. We are all listening.

The whole world sends its love.

Free Palestine.

#free palestine #ceasefire #ceasefire now

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50calmadeuce · 3 months

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Ch. 1: Going Home

In the small barn situated in a quaint rural Wisconsin town, you stood behind the Holstein cow, your task just completed. You carefully peeled off the long blue disposable veterinary glove, a necessary tool for checking if cows, or even horses, were pregnant. With a practiced motion, you tossed the glove into the nearby blue bucket, a routine part of your work in veterinary care. The rustic environment of the barn, the sound of animals nearby, and the smell of hay and livestock created a familiar and comforting atmosphere.

"Well, Hank. She's due any day now," You state, stepping out of the stall. In your jeans, rubber boots, and flannel shirt, you fit right in, despite the stray wisps of chestnut hair escaping your French braid.

Hank, an elderly man dressed in blue jean overalls and a flannel shirt, acknowledged your evaluation with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Doc. I'm not sure how I can repay you…hold on a moment. I recently had a pig butchered. I can offer you some of that meat," he proposed, his weary gray eyes brightening with the suggestion.

"Only if it won't affect your winter provisions. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way."

"No, we're set for now. We still have some meat left from the two deer my sons hunted last fall."

Extending your hand, you replied, "That's more than fair. It'll also take care of any future issues you might have with Mildred."

Gratefully, he clasped your hand in his. "Ever since you arrived here, Doc, you've been a godsend. I can't imagine what we'd do without your help."

You exchanged a firm handshake.

"Remember to call me if there's anything else you need, alright?"

"I sure will. Thanks once more."

Picking up your bucket, you made your way out of the barn and towards your truck.

You positioned your bucket at the rear of your truck, swung open the door, and settled into the driver's seat. Retrieving your cellphone, you noticed a missed call and a voicemail from your husband. As you closed your eyes, you took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh. His communications typically revolved around financial matters, prompting you to wonder about the nature of this particular call.

You tapped the voicemail icon on your iPhone and listened:

"Y/N, it's me. I'm just calling to inform you that I'm on my way back. Not to Texas, though, but to Wisconsin. I'll be landing at Rusk County Airport, aiming to arrive by around 6 p.m. tonight. I'll see you then."

After the message ended, you disconnected the call.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin busied himself packing his travel bag, which lay sprawled on his bed.

"Just to clarify," began Javy 'Coyote' Machado, his best friend, with a tone of disbelief, "you've got a place in Wisconsin?"

"Yup," Jake affirmed.

"And you've never actually set foot in it?"

"Nope," Jake responded, keeping his focus on his packing.

"And who looks after this house?"

"My wife does," Jake said nonchalantly.

Coyote's eyes widened in surprise. "You're married?"

"Yes," Jake replied simply.

Coyote took a moment, the weight of Jake's revelation sinking in. "Hold on, Jake. We've been friends for nearly ten years. And in all that time, you've never once mentioned that you were married, or even hinted at it."

"Well, I am," Jake said matter-of-factly, continuing with his packing.

Coyote, in disbelief, threw his hands up and scanned the room. "Okay, then who is she? And how come there aren't any photos of her around here?"

"We've both had a lot on our plates," Jake replied, finishing his packing with a zip of the bag.

"But how busy can a married couple be to not even see each other?" Coyote pressed.

"She's been occupied with her studies," Jake explained.

"Studies? What, is she training to be a doctor or something?"

Jake remained silent for a moment, his face giving away nothing.

"You're serious? She's actually a doctor?"

Picking up his bag, Jake finally responded, "She was studying to become a large animal veterinarian."

Coyote, visibly taken aback, managed to stutter, "I just... I'm at a loss for words."

Jake, shifting his focus to the task at hand, asked, "You still up for driving me to the airport?"

"Of course," Coyote replied, still processing the revelation.

"Great. Then let's hit the road." Jake motioned towards the door, ready to embark on his journey.

Steering your black Ford F-250, you navigated the lengthy driveway leading to your residence. This log cabin, a product of an inheritance and some astute financial decisions, had been your project three years prior.

As the cabin came into view, you admired the expansive structure that occupied thirty acres of farmland you had acquired. Beyond it lay a sizable horse stable, complete with an attached training ring, a testament to your love for animals.

Approaching the house, you pressed the button to activate the garage door. The door of the 4-car garage rolled open, and you smoothly parked your truck inside, ready to disembark.

You reached over to the passenger side to grab your backpack, then opened the door and stepped out of the truck. Heading towards the door that led into the house, you moved with a purpose, the sound of the garage door closing behind you echoing in the spacious enclosure.

This door opened into the mudroom, which was equipped with a fully functional laundry room, a bathroom, a pet washing station, and ample storage space. As you let your backpack fall to the floor, your cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, you saw it was your mother-in-law calling. Pressing the answer button, you greeted her warmly while switching the phone to speaker mode.

"Hi, Cindy," you said, freeing your hands as you continued your entry routine.

"Y/N, how are you?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

"Just fine," she replied.

"So, you understand why I'm calling then?"

You released a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down. "Yes. He called and left a voicemail."

"Y/N, he still loves you." Cindy's voice carried a mix of hope and concern.

As you settle onto the bench and begin to remove your boots, you respond, "I know."

Cindy probes further, sensing your hesitation, "That doesn't sound very convincing."

With a slight shake of your head, you reply, "Well, sometimes Jake isn't very convincing either."

"Just take things slow," Cindy advises gently. "I believe all you both need is some time together again."

"I'll do my best," you promise, the conversation steering towards a hopeful possibility.

Cindy's voice softened further, her tone imbued with the wisdom of experience. "I understand that it's been difficult, and there might be a lot of unresolved feelings between you two. But remember, love is about finding your way back to each other, even through the toughest times."

You paused, absorbing her words. It was clear she spoke from a place of deep understanding and perhaps her own experiences. "You're right, Cindy. It's just… hard to know where to start."

"Start with honesty," she suggested. "Open up to each other about your feelings, fears, and hopes. It's the foundation you can build on. And remember, you're not alone. We're all here for you, supporting you both."

Your smile reflects a moment of gratitude. "Thanks, Cindy." Glancing at your watch, a sense of urgency creeps in. "I need to go. It's already 5 o'clock, and I've only just got back from work. Jake mentioned he'd be flying in at 6."

"Alright, dear. Please keep me updated on how things go. Oh, and thank you again for the horse fly repellent. It's been working wonders."

"Of course, I'll let you know. And you're welcome. Take care, talk to you later," you say, wrapping up the conversation. After hanging up the phone, you pick up your backpack and make your way to your bedroom, ready to prepare for what comes next.

After managing to squeeze in a quick shower, you slipped into some clean clothes. With the temperature taking a dip, you opted for a pair of jeans, a heavyweight sweatshirt, and hiking shoes to keep comfortable. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, practical for the drive. Steering your Expedition, you headed towards the local airport to meet Jake.

Aware that Jake piloted a Cirrus plane—a fact made all the more personal by your having paid off the aircraft this year—you felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension about the reunion.

Turning onto the road that led to the airport, you soon arrived and parked your truck outside your hangar, ready to greet him.

Casting a look at your watch, you noted it was ten minutes to 6. A memory flashed through your mind, a reminder of one of your husband's traits: Jake was always punctual.

As you closed your eyes, your head resting gently against the headrest, a vivid memory began to surface, transporting you back to the moment you first met Jake:

You stepped through the doors of the rustic bar in Austin, Texas. Your college friend Avery right next to you.

"It's only one night. We deserve it after yesterday," she said.

The rustic bar was alive with the energy of live music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The atmosphere was exactly what you needed after the grueling exams that had consumed your life for the past few weeks. Avery, ever the instigator of your small adventures, was right; a night of unwinding was long overdue.

Navigating through the bustling crowd toward the bar, you felt a sudden nudge that almost set you off, ready to confront whoever was behind it. But that impulse faded the moment you turned around, finding yourself looking into the most captivating green eyes you had ever seen.

The surprise of the encounter rendered you momentarily speechless. The owner of those captivating green eyes was quick to apologize, his voice a warm, deep timbre that seemed to echo directly to your core.

"Sorry about that," he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "This place is a bit more crowded than I expected."

You found your voice, albeit a little shaky from the unexpected jolt of attraction. "It's okay, really. I should have been watching where I was going."

He chuckled, and it was a sound that made you want to hear more of it, to keep him talking just so you could listen. "I'm Jake," he extended his hand, the action both friendly and bold.

Taking his hand, you felt a surprising jolt of electricity at the contact. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Y/N. You here to see anyone in particular tonight?" Jake asked, his gaze still locked with yours, as if the crowded bar around you had faded into the background.

"Just here to unwind with a friend," you replied, gesturing toward where Avery had found a spot at the bar, seemingly engaged in trying to order drinks.

Jake nodded, understanding. "This place is perfect for that, but you're not from around here."

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head slightly, impressed by his observation. "Is it that obvious?"

He smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's the accent."

You chuckled, self-consciously touching your throat as if you could feel your accent there. "I guess it's a dead giveaway, huh?"

"Only a little," Jake teased, his eyes twinkling with humor. "But it's a good thing. Makes you stand out." He thought a second. "Sounds a bit midwestern to me almost Canadian."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "That specific, huh? Well, you're not wrong. I'm actually from Wisconsin, so you're pretty close with the Midwestern guess."

Jake nodded, impressed with himself. "I have an ear for these things. Wisconsin's a beautiful place."

"It is," you agreed, your thoughts briefly wandering back to the familiar landscapes of home.

"So, what brings you here?"

"I'm here for a college class."

"College, huh? What's your major?"

"Veterinarian. I'm a large animal veterinarian."

Jake's interest visibly perked up at your answer. "A large animal vet? That's impressive. There's always a need for folks who can handle the bigger animals, especially around these parts."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and passion for your chosen field. "Yeah, it's been a dream of mine since I was little. I love animals, and getting to help them, especially the larger ones that require a bit more... let's say, finesse, has always been fulfilling for me."

He leaned against the bar, genuinely intrigued. "Sounds like it's more than just a job to you."

"It is," you admitted. "It's about making a difference, however small it may seem. And the connection with the animals... there's something special about it."

Jake smiled, his admiration for your dedication clear. "I can see that. It takes a special kind of person to do what you do. And speaking of making a difference, my family owns a ranch not too far from here. We've got horses, and every now and then, we run into a situation that could use a vet with your expertise."

The mention of his family's ranch piqued your interest. "Really? I'd love to hear more about it. Working with horses has always been a dream of mine."

Just as you were caught in that moment, Avery approached, holding a beer out to you. "Here's your beer," she said, handing it over before her gaze shifted to Jake. "And who's this?"

"Avery, meet Jake. Jake, this is Avery," you made the introductions, facilitating the exchange between your friend and the man with the captivating green eyes.

The sound of a plane engine snapped you out of your reverie, prompting you to open your eyes and gaze skyward. Above the airport, you spotted the small Cirrus plane, unmistakably Jake's. You watched as it gracefully circled above, aligning itself for a smooth approach before finally descending towards the runway in a well-executed landing.

As the plane taxied closer to where your vehicle was parked, you observed the engine powering down. Stepping out of your truck, you began to walk slowly towards the aircraft. The door of the plane opened and out stepped a figure you recognized instantly – a six-foot tall man with dirty blond hair. He was casually dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and tennis shoes, complemented by a brown leather jacket. It was Jake, finally there in front of you after what felt like an eternity.

But it wasn't the young Jake you remembered, this Jake had turned into a manly Jake. He still had the same piercing green eyes, but his face had turned more rugged, yet still handsome. His presence seemed to exude a quiet strength and a sense of maturity that the younger Jake hadn't possessed. There was an air of confidence about him, tempered with a hint of world-weariness. His green eyes, still as piercing as you remembered, now seemed to carry deeper stories, reflections of experiences and growth. His face, more rugged and lined than before, bore the marks of life's trials and triumphs, adding to his manly allure. Yet, despite the changes, there was an undeniable familiarity in his gaze, a connection to the past that lingered in his expression.

He closed the door when you reached him. "Y/N," he said.

"Jake."

The two of you looked at each other.

You cleared your throat and looked away. "Our hangar is over there." You pointed to the hangar behind your vehicle.

"Our hangar?"

"Yes. I had it built after you purchased the plane."

He looked at you questioningly and then he observed the hangar with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "You built that?"

"Yes, it seemed practical for storage and maintenance," you explained, maintaining a professional tone despite the undercurrent of emotions swirling between you.

Jake took a moment to absorb this information, his gaze shifting from the hangar back to you. "That's... impressive. Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation mixed with the awkwardness of the moment.

"You're welcome," you replied, feeling the complexity of the situation. After a brief pause, you added, "Shall we get the plane stored?"

He nodded, a silent agreement to focus on the task at hand, perhaps both of you grateful for a momentary diversion from the emotional reunion.

"You can put your bags in the truck. It's unlocked. I'll go open the hangar and get the tow bar."

""How about I assist you with opening the hangar and retrieving the tow bar once I've put my bags in the truck?"

"That's fine," you agreed since you had no clue what you were doing anyways. You watched as Jake went to the other side of the plane and grabbed four bags.

You quickly made your way to Jake's plane and grabbed two of the bags and then placing the bags in the back of the Expedition. Jake did the same with the other two and then started walking towards the hangar. You couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. This was all new to you, and the prospect of being involved in something as unfamiliar as handling a plane was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

After securing the bags, you walked towards the hangar, where Jake was already busy. As you approached, he looked up and gave you a brief nod, acknowledging your presence. You stood there for a moment, watching him work. He moved with a practiced ease, clearly familiar with every aspect of the aircraft and the hangar.

"Need a hand?" you asked, eager to learn and help.

Jake glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Sure. Could you grab the other end of this tow bar?" He held out one end of a long, metal bar to you.

You took the offered end, feeling its weight. Jake guided you on how to position it correctly, explaining how it was used to move the plane. Together, you maneuvered the bar into place and began the task of towing the aircraft into the hangar.

As you worked alongside Jake, you appreciated the quiet efficiency with which he operated. There was a sense of competence and confidence about him that you found reassuring. It was clear that he was in his element here, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his skills.

Once the plane was safely in the hangar, Jake secured everything and turned to you. "Thanks for the help. Not everyone would jump in like that."

You shrugged modestly, feeling a small sense of pride. "Happy to learn something new. And it's not every day I get to say I helped tow a plane."

His chuckle resonated warmly in the hushed atmosphere of the hangar. "Well, you did a fantastic job."

"Thanks," you responded with a bashful smile. "Uh, dinner should be all set by the time we get back."

"You made dinner?"

"Not exactly. His name is Chuck. I encountered him during a trip to Wyoming."

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "Another man is living in my house?!"

You sighed. "I honestly don't know how to answer that because you really haven't even seen our house."

Jake ran a hand through his hair turning away and then turned back to you. "I never cheated on you, Y/N. I came here to work on our marriage. You could've at least told me."

You looked at him. "I'm sorry. I forgot, my husband hasn't really contacted me for four years. What was I thinking? Oh yeah, that I needed help running a ranch."

Jake stared at you.

"Chuck is my chef and, I guess, butler. He helps around the ranch."

Jake's expression shifted from shock to confusion. "You have a chef and a butler now?"

You nodded, trying to keep your tone even. "Yes, Jake. Running the ranch alone has been tough. Throw in my hours as a Veterinarian, you never know. Chuck has been a huge help, not just in the kitchen but around the property too. He's been indispensable, especially with you being away for so long."

There was a moment of silence as Jake processed this new information, his features softening slightly. "I see. I didn't realize how hard it's been for you here alone. I'm sorry, Y/N."

You let out a small sigh, the tension easing a bit. "It's okay. We both have a lot to catch up on. Let's just focus on getting back home for now."

Jake nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. "You're right. We've both been through a lot, and we have a lot to talk about. But right now, let's just get back home and take it one step at a time."

After closing the hangar, you both walked towards the truck, there was a comfortable silence between you. It was the kind of silence that spoke of mutual understanding and the beginnings of reconciliation. You could sense that both of you were cautiously optimistic about what lay ahead.

Once in the truck, you started the engine and pulled out of the hangar area and started to drive home.

The familiar landscape passed by the windows, each mile bringing you closer to a place that held both memories and possibilities. You glanced over at Jake, who seemed focused on the road but also more at ease than he had been earlier.

"Thanks for coming to get me," he said softly, breaking the silence.

"You would've done the same thing for me," you replied.

Jake glanced your way, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always, Y/N. No matter what happens, I'll always come for you."

Those words, simple as they were, carried a weight of meaning that filled the cab of the truck. You leaned back in your seat, allowing yourself to feel the comfort of his presence and the hope that, despite the challenges, you both might find a way forward together.

Tags:

@buckysteveloki-me

@guacam011y

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #glen powell #hangman top gun #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick

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lesbianjudasiscariot · 1 year

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Because The Past Will Kill The Present If I Let It

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spookykoolkat · 7 months

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kinktober | lucifer, my love - e.m.

kinktober day twelve - somnophilia

pairing: eddie munson x plus size!reader

wc: 3.8k ish idk

summary: your boyfriend was rising to fame quickly with you still behind the scenes, by choice, and you were still unsure about him. was he truly the devil your family claimed him to be? should you cast him out and cleanse yourself from his abominable lifestyle? or will you give yourself to him, worship the devil you were taught to hate?

warnings: 18+ ONLY! minors are not welcomed. this kind of got a little away from me heheh sorry! talks of religious trauma, talks of the devil, unprotected sex (p in v), somnophilia, knife play, cutting clothes off, cutting, dirty talk, extreme *to me lol*

not proofread. also very very far behind pls forgive me omg.

reblogs, likes and comments are very very appreciated i love everyone's feedback!!'

⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧ °｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧

YOU DIDN'T HEAR YOUR BOYFRIEND get home from rehearsals, too late at night for you to be awake to greet him. eddie had been to rehearsals every day for five months, forcing the two of you to rent an apartment in new york, near the studio he went to every day. you didn't know how he did it, seeming superhuman in some aspects.

he was getting ready for his upcoming tour, one that wasn’t going to be too long since he was touring in the UK. even though it was five more months away, you noticed how tired eddie would be. whether it was sound check, rehearsing, eddie having to oversee most things managers would since he was in between.

you even offered to take that position over, but you weren’t fit for the publicity. you liked being in the shadows, being the girl eddie talked about in interviews but never specified. he let everyone know he was taken, for good, but never said who you were. unfortunately, eddie had insane fans, even occasional groupies you’d try to ignore when you face timed him on the tour bus.

this time, you were going on tour with him. this was your entrance to the world, and you really didn’t know if you were ready for it. you told eddie you liked being the mystery girl, the one no one fully corrupted with their image of what eddie’s girlfriend would look like. you were safe. and he kept you safe.

many people told you to forget about eddie in the beginning don't act on the man who saw you in a bar and couldn't leave you alone after that. especially when he's got the devil's star on stage with him, a ram's head glittering in silver hints around his neck, the subliminals in his music — your friends and family told you he was lucifer, the devil in disguise, temptation at its finest.

church girl from rural texas, into a city girl that's surrounded by the devil's music. music that tempted, possessed, brought on this earth by the devil himself to spite. your mother forced you to believe, everything that wasn't the way she raised you, was evil. sinisterly waiting to tempt you, to steer you from the path of god almighty, to keep you as a servant to satan himself.

god was testing you, apparently. find the will, find the way.

to the world, had they known you fell in love with a man who covered himself in blood before sets, other than your closest, you'd be tainted by the devil. you worried it'd be bad for his image, but he only said it'd boost it. innocent church girl falling into the well he carved out for you.

but he usually had his ways of comforting you. in every situation, telling you that no one could compare, not even coming close to you. that the only god he worshiped was you, anything coming close to having faith in something. he was devoted to you, and he knew your family. he knew they'd never agree, but he told you it was okay. he'd be your family.

that’s why you never questioned waking up with him inside of you, you never complained in fact you encouraged him. you wanted him to wake you up like that, just so you could give him what he wanted to ease the stress he had lingering. to be as close to him as possible, it’s only something both of you craved.

he made sure to mark you up in every way he could, and you allowed him to do so. you wanted to see how much he was yours, how much he wanted to be yours and to belong to you - not some other woman who was probably a whole hundred pounds lighter than you. maybe even more.

you didn’t feel the bed dip either, eddie laying beside your practically naked body as the moonlight shone in through the large windows. he couldn’t help himself, not when he has your full consent for him to do as you asked when you were asleep, and ran his warm hand over the curve of your body.

you were admittedly a heavy sleeper. clapping, slapping, picking your arm up and letting it fall, nothing woke you and eddie even found it a little scary at some points. but, somehow eddie still found himself being gentle.

maybe you are the devil. lucifer, satan. what if you called to him just enough times? was this because of him?

you were only in your little panties that bit into the fat of your hips, ones you said you were throwing out since you had a hole ripping at the seam and they got a littleee snug on your hips and sex. it only made eddie drool more, they were cutting into the fat of your ass, your hips and creating an indention that eddie teased around.

instead of sliding them down your legs like a normal person, eddie figured it’d take too much work to work them down your legs. making excuses in his head, he pulled out the pocket knife he always carried in his back pocket.

these are already tearing, what’s the harm?

you can always buy her new ones, she always liked the comfortable ones.

she wouldn’t mind? i mean they do look a little uncomfortable.

devil's son.

just to take the blade, scraping it along your thighs and to your ass cheek and slipping under the fabric to cut through. all he had to do now was shift, rolling you on your back softly as you moaned a little in your sleep. he took the blade again as he sat on his legs between yours, scraping it along your thigh and pulling through the cloth.

all you had now was your sports bra that was a little too tight just to secure your breasts, and a little voice in his head began to make excuses again as he took the blade and fixed it in your cleavage, cutting through the fabric to expose your nipples.

eddie loved your breasts. you always talked about a breast lift or a breast reduction, eddie told you he’d have your bras custom made if you really wanted it. eddie told you to let him hold them for a bit to give your back a break, to let him take care of you for a bit.

anything to keep your breasts just as they were.

you thought they were saggy, he thought they were full and perfect to shove his face into, to love. it was a bonus that they were all his.

it was making eddie throb in his pants, against the confines of his underwear just begging to make its way between the lips of your cunt. he figured he’d just slide them down to the muscles of his thighs, and let his cock spring free above you.

he is evil, dark shadows that swallow you whole, he is that.

the thing is, you were already soaked from making yourself cum not even an hour ago. you were up thinking about eddie again, wishing he could touch you the way you did, thinking about every time he pressed into you to make you cum.

all eddie had to do was raise your legs, heavy with unconsciousness and spread your glistening cunt. you loved this. he kept reminding himself, remembering the way you begged for him to take you as he pleased, whenever he pleased unless you said so.

eddie always respected you, and as he stroked his cock and guided it to nudge between the slick lips you broadcasted to him, slipping against your clit and making your eyebrows twitch — he left kisses on your skin, planting them on the chubbiness of your cheeks, down to your neck and over your shoulders as he felt his cock lather in your juices.

you’re a lucky fucking man. remember that, be grateful for this girl. you’ll never find another like her, and you know that. don’t fuck this up.

he was trying to find security in you, make you his just as he was yours.

and the feeling you gave him, the one that made his limbs go numb as he made himself welcome in the warmth of your cunt, no one else would be able to give that to him.

to the world he was nothing but metal, death, darkness, and impudent. but with you, he was far deviated from corroded coffin. he was yours, you were his reason for being, for loving, and he was unapologetically soft when you wanted it.

and what you wanted, what you asked for — you got, because you deserve nothing less.

corrupt her with your love for all things evil, curse her with your desire to destroy, to pleasure, to crave.

thought you were a heavy sleeper, eddie moved his hips slow, softly as he stretched his hole for his liking. he didn’t feel like he needed to get you ready again since you had your cum still on your fingers, but he was rethinking now before he bottomed out completely.

you believed you were dreaming, a wet dream you came up with in your subconscious that you were hoping was true. it was blurry, but you could feel it. your body was responding to something, and it moved and squirmed as you tried to get more and more.

until you started to hear yourself whine and moan, no longer feeling like you were asleep, not with heavy pants and winces above you hitting your face. not with feeling cold air hit your freckled areolas, your legs bent to fit another person between them.

eddie’s thrusts got snappier, his palms resting against the bed on either side of your head, rutting into you like an eager man. you were clenching unknowingly, and as your eyes began to flutter open and mouth began to hang open a little — eddie’s cock throbbed inside of you.

“e-eddie,” you broke, your voice husky with sleep and confusion.

“hi baby, i’m – fuck – home, i’m home,” he cracked, and your legs almost opened wider, almost instinctively wrapping around his bare waist.

your eyes looked between his dark ones and to where you two connected, just to see your bra was cut in the middle and your panties are gone. something twinged inside of you, suddenly everything was achy, like his cock at his slow pace just wasn’t enough.

is he the devil?

“your knife,” you moaned out as your arms wrapped around his, feeling the heat under your fingertips and grasping at every part of his pale body to feel him with your own hands.

“i’m sorry about your bra, baby, and your panties. couldn’t fucking help myself,” he growled, still looking you in your eyes, occasionally glancing down at the waterlike movement of your breasts.

“use it, wanna feel it, your knife,” you said in a haze, not sure if the words you said were the ones you met.

did you welcome evil to consume you the way he did as he lay above you?

you were half asleep, drunk off of eddie and how delicious the stretch he imposed on you was, and somehow throwing the word knife in the mix felt right.

eddie sat up on his haunches, still buried in you and you bring your legs to your shoulders, bent at the knee so your feet were grazing against his shoulders. he glanced around the bed and found the black steel blade, grabbing it and guiding the pointy tip of it up your hip and against your thigh.

“what do you want, baby? i’m sure you don’t want me to hurt you with this, do you?” he asked innocently, except he felt the way your cunt clenched and nearly gushed around his girth. not only did he look between your fluttering hole to your eyes, but he brought the blade right down to the curve of your thick mound.

you invited it, you felt enveloped by the dark, wanted by the devil, just as you want him.

he was scraping the flat part of the blade against the sparse curls of your sex, watching as your eyes shut and your hips squirmed. your cunt sucked him in like a vice, something he wanted to remember for the rest of his life as your eyes flutter between consciousness.

the blade traveled to your inner thigh, up the skin and back to your fupa, over the roundness of your belly and to the cups of your breasts. the knife was sharp, eddie could attest to that, but the answer you gave him silently when he asked you what you wanted him to do with the knife was tempting.

“want me to mark you, baby? make you mine?” he asked and sleepily, you nodded.

your cunt was producing obscenely wet noises, hearing the air that seeped inside as he thrusted manically. the blade went over your peaked nipples, to the underside of your breast and he decided to trail the blade down your tummy with a little bit of pressure.

it didn’t take much to see the small break of skin he caused, forming a pink line almost down to your navel. the sting was sharp, as if getting a tattoo, but surface level enough for the blood to dry almost instantly as it formed droplets at the cut.

“eddie,” you slurred, the air burning its way into the thin line of hurt, making you his.

“want me to stop, sweetheart? or do you want me to keep making it hurt?” he asked sweetly, almost sinisterly as the blade scraped over your skin.

if he was the devil, why does it feel so satisfying?

it was painful, the searing burn of the cut down your tummy, but it was almost electrifying as you felt eddie’s cock pump inside of you.

you’d be terrified if another man took a knife to your body, but eddie — you’d let him do whatever he wanted.

as your eyes opened again, you grabbed the hand that held the pitch black knife and used your own fingers to position his hand to fit the blade of the knife against your throat.

“m..m..make me cum,” you hummed, stuttering with submission, letting eddie bring his face closer to yours as his hips punched into yours, chasing something of his own.

seeing you like this, almost limp in his hold as your eyes fell heavy enough to fail at keeping them open, cockdrunk and trying to keep him all to yourself, it was easy to get to his point of release.

so with the blade to your neck, his own memory of branding your skin with a cut down your stomach stinging with his love, he lifts himself again to press two calloused fingers onto your nub. eddie uses the slick gathered in a ring around his cock, gushing all around him enough to spread it over your clit in firm circles.

he watched as the blade pressed into your neck, the way your hips lazily bucked up into his palm as his thrusts got erratic and disorganized — it was sending his cock to throb and jerk inside of you as you felt heat creep down your body and your muscles tense with pleasure.

it was lust, greed, gluttony — you should feel disgusting. god would never take you as is, god would diminish you to nothing for lying with the devil.

“cum on my cock, sweetheart, let me see – oh fuck – let me see all of it,” he felt your hole squeeze him in response, and made him take the knife from your throat and threw it somewhere on the bed as you started to babble incoherency.

“g-g-gonna, gonna cum, gonna cum, eddieeee,” it was slurred, soaked in sleep and haze as you tried to come back into full consciousness but your eyes were still heavy, still laced with pleasure, too much to find the strength to keep them open for him.

but eddie’s eyes were on you as you came around him, milking his cock like your life depended on it, taking all of him in your tiny hole with your legs shaking around him until he gave three last sloppy thrusts inside of you and burst with flames, leaking all of his release inside of your walls.

the guilt, the religious trauma, it should haunt you, haunt you as the devil would stalk the vulnerable.

his favorite place to be, was inside of you. any time he could, he’d bury himself inside of you until you were crying tears to be fucked. and watching you squeal and squirm for him as you tried to push him off from the pleasure being too much, it made his release snap. the coil broke, and it made his cock twitch inside of you, his cum invading your hole and coating you entirely.

so after his release burned with warmth inside of you, so comfortable, so homey, he collapsed on your thick body and snuggled his cheek against the stickiness of your breasts from the sweat and took his hand to grope one and stay there.

“eddie,” you mumbled, voice still raspy with sleep and your orgasm.

but nothing could haunt you more than the love you have for your lucifer, nothing could be compared to selling your soul to him, for the love you have for your lucifer.

eddie just looked up through his lashes, winced and apologized as he slid out of you to leave you cold and empty. you felt cold all of the sudden, and eddie got up to get a wet rag and cleaned between your legs with no resistance from you, and decided to just lay down next to you as he pulled the sheets over your two bodies.

eddie wrapped his arm around you as you stilled on your back, your breathing going back to a normal rhythm and your eyes still fluttering open and closed.

“how was practice?” you mumbled, not capable of correcting yourself. you were so dazed, like you were getting high for the first time again, still very out of your mind.

“mmm, baby, terrible. terrible practice, but it’s alright. i’m here with you. let’s go back to bed baby, yeah?” eddie dismissed.

he felt it was too much to say that everybody but him was an idiot. because you’d probably prove him wrong.

“you cut my clothes off,” you mumbled.

you didn't mind the work of the devil. he was yours, and only yours after all.

“you can cut mine off too, if you want,” he grinned against your bare shoulder and rubbed your tummy.

“i’ll remember that.” you slurred, deciding to cuddle back into your boyfriend, grateful you didn’t spend another night alone.

“i really hope you do.” he whispered and kissed your shoulder, closing his eyes as he felt you shift more into him, getting in your usual position.

this was all he needed. he didn’t need the fame, the money, the music. he just needed you, and he was planning on trapping you with a ring or a baby soon. very soon. and he knows you’d love it, because you’d be his completely. and that’s all you needed in a world where your boyfriend was the one everyone wanted or hated.

no one understood him, you said. he was too complex for the world to fully grasp other than throwing the theory that he's given himself to be used as a vessel for the devil's work, they said. the scary thing was that you believed the rumors, and you still fell into his trap.

when eddie was the one held responsible for his demonic persuasion, being the cause of revamping the satanic panic, his 'rituals' being pushed by his songs, and you were the one that was willing to love the devil unapologetically — you could not fear your lucifer.

for your lucifer would fear you.

TAGLIST

@awilderi @nerdieforpedro @cyb3rluvvxx @joelmillers-girl @pedritoferg @bethanymccauley @subconsciouscollapse @teyamsgrl @dirtydianaahah

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the-arctic-commune · 2 years

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Oh PLEASE go on with Techno and accents and portrayal?

LMAO this came in within SECONDS congrats.

I don't really have a ton of citations for you. I think this shifted a lot as the dream-team-centric part of the fandom incorporated and learned about Techno as a person and not just Dream's rival, and if I'm being honest I don't have Thoughts so much as I remember having Thoughts in like mid-2021. General attitudes towards Techno shifted wildly from his “monotone,” “emotionless” reputation in early 2021, and the things I remember thinking about kinda stopped applying. I don’t remember what posts bothered me or why I wanted to bring it up.

But. People talk a lot about Techno's speech patterns, and it's true that in an industry that encourages getting as close to newscaster-neutral as possible, his voice can stand out a bit.

In early days when Dream and Techno were very much set up as rivals and people were trying to justify who would/wouldn't win in certain scenarios, it was actually pretty common to claim that Dream has more mechanical and tactical knowledge than Techno. Techno was cast as the brute-force fighter in these essays - comparatively unknowledgable but mechanically gifted. This is a really bad analysis - Techno’s knowledge of the things he cared about was encyclopedic, and his and Dream’s strengths are a lot more similar than they are different.

Where this intersects with voice is that in a US speaker’s perception, Dream has a pretty standard urban American accent, and Techno, as has been noted by fanfic writers everywhere, does not.

The most notable aspect that gets commented on is "g-dropping," the change of the "-ing" sound to "-in." People who don't do anything else to indicate peoples' speech patterns in writing will make sure they write down that Techno's sayin' something, not just saying it.

(This is called an "eye dialect," the use of a nonstandard spelling to emphasize a pronunciation.)

But that's far from the only thing that marks out Techno's accent. If you've watched his introductions to people (i.e. SMPEarth), you might notice that it's not uncommon for people to assume he's from the South, especially Texas, and to be surprised he's from California. The most commonly-known "California accents" are all very urban- and middle-class-centric, while features of Techno's accent (he can sometimes sort of "break" dipthongs and slur or drop syllables, and most especially the g-dropping) are more associated with rural accents in the US, and especially the rural South. And I don’t think that’s entirely dissociated from the way that so many people were so quick to assume, all evidence to the contrary, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Obviously we don't know a whole lot about Techno's background, so I have no particular thoughts on how he ended up with the accent he did (though it sounds to me like it shares some features with the poorly-described "inland rural California English"). The only thing I can say is how it's perceived, which is as containing a lot of features that US speakers are going to mark as rural and working-class.

(A really fascinating part of this is his seeming inability to really code-switch at all; his Sir Billiam voice contains just as much g-dropping as his normal speech, whereas most people attempting to sound like a rich person would focus on speaking "correctly" and get all those nasals in the right spots. My own g-dropping is markedly more noticeable when I’m with my family than when I’m [location redacted]. But this is more sidetracking linguistics than... ok ok uh back to the point.)

Well... I guess like I said I don’t have much of a point any more, and I probably should have written this post a year back when I did. I certainly don’t have anything quite as obvious and pointed as Xeph’s discussion of how stereotypes about Northern England get applied to certain people (esp. Philza, Jack).

I just have, like, people talk a lot about Techno’s voice, and other blogs brought up a lot of really good points about how perceptions of his speech likely intersect with his ADHD and how neurodivergence can effect speaking patterns (speaking of which, a lot of neurodivergent people can struggle with code-switching! hmm). But I think an aspect that got missed sometimes is the way that those perceptions can also overlap with accent.

And also sometimes I see people pointing out Techno’s speech in a way they don’t for any of the other Dream SMP members. If there's one feature that you consider notable enough to mark while keeping everything else textbook, I think it's worth taking a minute to ask yourself why the feature stands out, and what connotations highlighting it might have. It’s not always a bad thing to do so! It’s just worth taking a second look.

#technoblade #dream smp #words #long post

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miilkybnn · 9 months

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I know these have been requested already but I adore your 09 and cowboy Ghost/Roach/Soap art and would love to see more!! Also, do you have any cowboy/gunslinger headcanons for the three??

I, too, adore ’09 GhostRoachSoap AND cowboy/ranch life GhostRoachSoap so you absolutely WILL see more of them, I promise!!

As for ideas/hc for the cowboy au, it’s a lot more “ranch life” based than gunslingers so if you are into that, keep reading below the line!

If not, then you are more than welcome to skip over this :}

Disclaimer: Most of my ideas are a bit scattered so I apologize for the messy layout, I’ll try my best to keep it coherent. Also, this is not all of them I don’t want this to be overly long

Background:

The AU takes place in Roach’s family ranch where all three members have been discharged from duty.

In this AU, because I like happiness, there is no war over the horizon and is simply a group of people living their lives out on the rolling plains of either Texas or Tennessee— I’m leaning more towards Texas just because I know more about the agriculture of the Texas plains.

In this AU, the 141 & Co simply live their lives from either being retired/discharged/etc. While everyone is involved (except for Shepherd, eat shit and die Shepherd), they all do their own thing but primary attention is mainly on GhostRoachSoap

Roach (+ extended background):

Roach and his other 5 siblings have the ranch under their and their parent’s name. He and two of his siblings, the youngest and the second oldest, are more active in taking care of the ranch's needs now that their parents are well into their ages. The other three help ever so often with more minor things but they have their own families to tend to and his parents don't actually live in the ranch anymore (again, due to age) and live closer to the city.

Roach, however, is the main caretaker for the ranch. He spends the most time on the land and is often alone, that was until Ghost and Soap came

Headcanons;

His accent left when he joined the army. Came back tenfold after a week on the ranch.

Has a collection of cowboy hats and each one serves a purpose (although his favorite is his very worn-out Cattleman that he leaves by the front door to take on his way out)

Expert horse rider. I'm not saying you would see this man at the Rodeo, but he’s had his fair share of bucking broncos, and not ONCE has he been bucked off.

Though there are horses on the ranch, his horse is Estella— a Chestnut American Quarter Horse with three white socks (forelegs + right hind leg) and a star + stripe. She loves to chew on people’s clothes if they turn their backs on her.

Has slept in the barn before (multiple times) and regrets it every time (wouldn’t recommend it, very lumpy and you WILL wake up with straw in places you don’t want it to be)

LOVES cattle work, and hates paperwork 💀 (he lets Ghost, and his two other siblings take care of it) due to this, he is good at reading the animals and knowing when something is wrong!

Are good friends with the vet! (It’s his ex 💀) (They broke amicably though so it’s okay!!) (“So, like, when I kiss you??…. it’s gross” “OH thank God, I thought it was only me")

Gets SOOO distracted when Soap is picking the hay bales. Bff short circuits for a good minute before Ella gets miffed at him and throws her head back

Cows > sheep (will make an exception for baby lambs tho)

Soap:

Along with Ghost, realistically both would not actually retire in some rural Texas town but because I can, let's say they decided to retire to some rural Texas town.

Soap is the most recent member to the farm and took to it like a duck to water. (We'll ignore the times he forgot to lock the chicken coop). He was on active duty but after a close call that was too close to comfort, he decided that maybe it was time to retire. Price is the one that mentioned the ranch to him, although at the time he did not know it was a ranch.

All Price told him was “if you are looking for something a little different, take a look here" and looking he went.

Headcanons:

Not on the friendliest terms with the cattle dogs but boy do they LOVE him (they’ve tried to herd him multiple times and have succeeded) (he cusses both Ghost and Roach out for watching and letting it happen)

Loves the nitty gritty work. Hay bales? Check. Cleaning the stables? On it. Shearing the sheep? The Clippers are all warmed up already. If there’s a job that involves getting his hands dirty, he is the first in line

Sheep > cows

His horse is a Buckskin American Quarter Horse that he very proudly named Buck. This name came after Roach told him the color of his coat but was reinforced when Soap tried riding him and was almost bucked off. They became the best of pals after that, and Buck occasionally tries to nibble Soap’s mohawk for fun.

His favorite chore is feeding the animals! He loves watching them all flock to their food and munch away. He doesn't find it much of a chore as it fills him with such joy to see all the creatures he cares for flourish.

Gagged the first, second, and third time he saw a sheep give birth. Man has seen a soldier’s leg come clean off from a bomb and recovered in less than 5 minutes but BIRTH? Get the bucket ready.

Ghost:

Discharged after a mission had gone wrong, Ghost had no idea where to go. With no family to go back to and no friends to crash with, civilian life was looking very bleak until Price came to him with a plane ticket and an address to some rural town in Texas.

Ranch life was… different for Ghost. It wasn’t bad per say, and he can’t really find much to complain about, but it was just different. It is... steadier? softer? he's not too sure but at least it lets him sleep easier at night.

It took him and Roach a while to find a rhythm. It wasn’t easy and it was very awkward at first but eventually they were able to settle on something unique for them that worked out.

Headcanons:

Sheep > cows

He likes to roam around with the LGDs. He greatly respects their jobs and has grown a soft spot for them. He knows he’s not supposed to distract them, but he just can’t help himself and always gives them a good belly rub.

Became good friends with the farrier. Farrier does most of the talking but Ghost will join in here and there. He really likes learning about the Farrier's different methods and likes to watch him work on the horses. (Lowkey thinking about making Jackson the farrier bc why not)

One of my favorite personal hc's about Ghost is that he is shit at naming things so yeah, he named his horse, Horse. Roach almost took his horse privileges away because of it but anyway, his horse is not an AQH like Roach/Soap but is instead one of the two draft horses the ranch has! His horse is Blue Roan Clydesdale with a very splotchy coat that loves peppermints and loves napping her days away (she’s had three kids alright she deserves it)

Genuinely enjoys doing the ranch paperwork. Sure, he has to ask Roach here and there where some of the stuff is at but honestly? Could spend hours reading and organizing the books and such. He's very interested in the topics discussed.

Earliest riser. His favorite time of the day is just before the sun peaks over the horizon where everything is blue and foggy, where condensation sits on his skin, when the crickets are still chirping, and when the mourning doves are softly cooing. Roach wakes up soon after him.

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gravezgf · 9 months

Text

Ain't Nothin' to It - Phillip Graves x Reader

1,159 words, fem reader with she/her pronouns. a bit suggestive but no warnings! My first time writing anything like this so please be kind. Thanks for reading!

Read under the cut!

You nervously fiddled with the lace waistline of your sundress. It hit your mid-calf, a gorgeous navy blue in breathable cotton, with lace on the waist and along the sweetheart neckline. It was one of Phillip’s favorites, and you couldn’t think of a better way to surprise him.

He was coming back home to you for the first time in a few weeks, where he’d been you had no idea. However, he suggested that you go out and have fun, get a few drinks at his favorite hole-in-the-wall before ending the night in your soft king-sized bed.

You swear you sensed him before you saw him. The scent of his spicy cologne, the sharp thud of his boots on the wooden floor, his firm hand on your shoulder before he slid in between the stool next to you, offering you a wink and a smile. Oh, how you had missed this man.

“No hug for your best girl?” You pouted teasingly.

“More than a hug, if I get my way,” he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his larger frame.

He released you, only to hold you by the wrists and step back, taking a good look at you. He sighed, pushing you gently back onto your stool before taking a seat himself. He motioned for the bartender to come over and ordered a whiskey for himself and your favorite drink for you. With the social lubricant, you felt your emotions even harder. The joy that leapt in your stomach when he flashed that big smile, laughing freely at a story you were telling him. The flush in your cheeks as he told you for the millionth time about how much he missed you when he was gone.

When Phillip noticed you were good and soused, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out onto the dance floor. You had two left feet, but Phil, he was a dancer from way back. He could whirl you around with the best of ‘em. But tonight, he just pulled you close and swayed you to the old country love songs humming from the speakers. He hummed the lyrics lowly, leaning into you. He exhaled a breathy laugh when your feet got confused, but only held you tighter.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” He said it in almost a whisper as he pressed soft kisses onto your neck.

“I think so, how much?”

“A whole sky full. Probably more,” his eyes shone the most beautiful blue in the hazy neon lighting. You couldn’t help but kiss him, and if you could’ve melted into a puddle then and there, you would’ve.

He had one hand pressed into your back, the other cupping your face, as your arms rested on his shoulders, and you let yourself fall into the kiss. You were almost numb now, in a good way. The smell of that cologne, something cheap but one he had loved for years, the Zach Bryan song tumbling through the speakers, his lips against yours, his stubble scratching against your face.

When you broke from the kiss, you swore you felt like a kid all over again. You rested your face on his chest, and you swayed there, where it felt like just the two of you, for what felt like hours.

He climbed into the drivers’ seat of the old blue pickup, after buckling you into the passenger seat. The old radio was playing the classic country station, Phillip’s favorite. He hummed to the George Strait song that was crackling through, and placed his hand in yours. He squeezed it tightly.

It reminded you of when you were kids. It was maybe your fifth or sixth date, and time had escaped you both. There you were, racing down those rural Texas roads, praying that time would slow down, just for a few minutes. You both knew well that breaking curfew would spell a grounding for you, and your dad’s displeasure towards Phil. You swear that you can still make out where you began playing with the lose threads of the fabric seats, nervously tugging at the string as a cloud of dust rose behind you.

That time, much like this one, Phil had grabbed for your hand. He ran his fingers over your knuckles at the red light, cursing quietly to himself.

Now, all these years later, at the red light, he pulled your hand into his, except this time he gently rolled the wedding band on your finger. Instead of damning the light for not turning fast enough, he hummed contentedly to the song on the radio. The city lights slowly turned into the occasional street light as he drove out of the city. Finally, you were heading home.

The drive home felt quick compared to the drive from there to the bar earlier. He opened your door like a gentleman, only getting slightly maimed by your border collie, Maple. He walked you carefully up the porch steps, and you rested on the cool wooden planks as he unlocked the door. You had your hair pushed up, cool summer air brushing the nape of your neck, and had kicked off your shoes. Phillip thought you had never looked more gorgeous than you did at this very moment.

Upon making your way into the house, you made a drunken beeline to the comfort of your bedroom. You had made the bed this morning, and you cursed yourself. You had been proud of the fresh sheets and pressed duvet, but it only made it more complicated for your inebriated self. Still yet, you were snug as a bug by the time Phillip reached your room, shirt off, pajama pants on.

“Wanna get out of your good clothes before you get too comfortable?” He said, yawning midway through. Your only response was an annoyed groan that sounded half you, half Chewbacca. Not getting the hint, or not caring, Phillip gently lifted the duvet and laced his fingers in yours, coaxing you to sit upright. He fumbled through your bedside dresser before finding one of his old shirts. It didn’t take too much begging to get you into it, and you thought about how you’d thank him for his kindness in the morning.

He tucked you back in as sweet as he could before climbing under on his side. When he proposed drinks before coming home, he didn’t exactly imagine this outcome. Then, he looked down. You looked sweet in a silly way, mouth slightly agape, breaths even. He listened for your breathing, that soldierly part of him that he could never quite turn off. You were asleep, he could tell by the gentle cadence of your inhales and exhales. He tried to match it. In the end, he settled for wrapping his arms around you, knowing they’d be asleep in the morning. He pressed a kiss to your head. He had missed home. He had missed you.

#gravezgf #Phillip Graves x Reader #Phillip Graves fluff #Phillip Graves fanfiction #COD MWII #Phillip Graves x Reader fanfiction #COD MW2 fanfic #Phillip Graves fanfic #Modern Warfare fanfic

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