#Big Climb Dallas

[montgomerylawpllc]

Proud of this team for stepping up to take cancer down this weekend at Big Climb Dallas! Thank you to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society for all you do in the fight against blood cancer!

[a-punchline-on-duct-tape]

things i noticed on my re-read:

- ponyboy has “almost—red hair.”

- johnny can’t say “boo to a goose.”

- ponyboy owes johnny 150$ from poker while they were in the church

- just a HILARIOUS quote “sent from heaven? had he gotten a good look at dallas?” ponyboy micheal curtis is hilarious and i don’t wanna hear anything else

- ponyboy isn’t like his parents, but his brothers are

- the curtis and shepard gang have a weird whistle that means “who’s there?” and people don’t talk about it enough

- dally called ponyboy “sleeping beauty.”

- soda’s letter to ponyboy had so many spelling and grammatical mistakes.

- dally had stubble when he went to get ponyboy and johnny “a stubble of colorless beard.”

- johnny’s crazy about drag races.

- dally thinks everything was cherry’s fault.

- dally has a cousin that lives in the area of the church, and told him it’d make a good hiding spot.

- johnny has a “deathly fear of cops.”

- jerry was too fat to climb through the church’s window.

- johnny was having fun in the church.

- soda wouldn’t quit messing with the reporters, he stole their hats and cameras, and even grabbed a cops gun.

- if johnny survived, he would’ve been crippled.

- two-bit’s mom said they should lock the door because of burglars, but darry just flexed his arms in response.

- two-bit was cleaning eggs off the floor after he knocked them off ponyboy’s pan.

- johnny would’ve been charged with manslaughter.

- soda went into darry’s closet to grab his jeans, and steve followed him in. apparently, “in a second, there was the general racket of a pillow fight.”

- two-bit’s mom is just like two-bit, except she isn’t lazy.

- randy’s thinking of leaving town.

- johnny and his mom look exactly the same, with black hair and big black eyes.

- the only difference is johnny has “fearful and sensitive” eyes, while her’s are “cheap and hard.”

- dallas looked out the window instead of at two-bit and ponyboy when he asked about johnny

- cherry had her hair up and she was wearing a ski jacket when she went to go meet the greasers.

- tim shepard has curly black hair and “smoldering” dark-blue eyes. he also has a scar from temple to chin because a “tramp” hit him with a broken soda bottle.

- tim accidentally stepped on ponyboy during the rumble.

- all johnny had ever wanted was for dallas to be proud of him.

- bob had the same smile as soda.

- greasers don’t eat in the school cafeteria.

- curly fell off from a telephone poll and he broke his arm. the face curly made was the same as sodapop’s when darry and ponyboy were fighting.

- when ponyboy wrote his theme, it didn’t hurt to think about johnny and dally.

[zahri-melitor]

The Circus

Jack suggesting they take Tim to the circus when it came to town was a big ask. Performances usually took two hours or more. Even with an interval, they’d barely managed to take Tim to the movies yet without Janet having to take him out in the middle. And this was an environment where if she took him out it would still be overstimulating, with the carnival all around them.

Jack was an optimist. And not the one who’d be dealing with a screaming Tim, Janet thought grumpily to herself. But Jack was also all for it, telling her stories of his childhood memories seeing clowns and jugglers and lions roaring. And it was something they could do as a family.

Luckily, there was a tv special about circuses on that night, including footage of a number of acts. Janet set it up to record on a tape, so she could talk Tim through the process before they went.

*

Tim had been a warm lump buried into her side on the couch, fascinated by the recording. She’d skipped through the video, just stopping at each of the performances.

“We’re going to go to the circus, Tim, and see acts like these. Do you see the clown juggling? We might see that. Or here’s some trapeze artists, swinging like you do on a swing. Look at their tricks!”

“They go upside down!” Tim seemed entranced.

“Isn’t that clever of them?” And here’s an elephant. Look how big the elephant is!”

“Wooaaah.”

*

Janet’s preparation had worked. Tim seemed fascinated by the sights and sounds and smells of the circus, and didn’t hide behind her when they took him over to meet some of the performers before the show, to make everything feel easier to relate to. One of the acrobats had crouched down to Tim’s height and shook his hand, saying he’d look for Tim in the crowd, while Tim giggled.

“I told you this was a good idea, Jan,” said Jack, looking at Tim getting himself sticky on cotton candy. “It’s so much easier to be able to take Tim with us when we go out.”

“You were right. I was worrying too much,” conceded Janet, as she watched Tim try to feed some of the cotton candy to an elephant. “And it is nice to go places as a family.”

Things continued going really well…right up until the moment they didn’t.

As Janet carried a wailing child out of the tent, through the screams and the hysterics all around them, his snotty nose mushed against her shoulder, soaking through the fabric, she gritted her teeth. At least Tim was so small he wouldn’t remember. Or understand.

*

The night terrors had her up and resettling Tim down for weeks. It was the worst case of sleep regression she’d had to deal with since Tim was 6 months old. The parenting books had said this would stop happening now he was almost three. But eventually, as every other time, it passed, and Tim wasn’t climbing into their bed and clinging for comfort every night, and he (and Janet!) were able to return to sleeping through the night.

*

Later, when Janet thought about it at all, the idea that seeing a clown would be a happy bonding experience between parent and child made her shudder.

*

They were out of VCR tapes and going out for the evening, and she wanted to record Dallas. Janet sighed, and went to look at the pile of recordings Tim hoarded. Surely there was something in here that he’d outgrown and wouldn’t miss. If she asked him, it would become a whole drama as he insisted that every single tape was special and he couldn’t possibly give it up, but there had to be an old recording of Sesame Street buried at the bottom or so.

Crocky. Crocky. (Tim was still mildly obsessed with Crocky). A recording of Robin Hood. The Jungle Book. Mr Wizard. He-Man. Another Crocky… she stopped and squinted at the next tape. The spine label read ‘circus’ in her own neat handwriting, but Janet couldn’t recall any TV shows or movies that matched that, and she was sure she’d never seen Tim watching anything about a circus.

Janet inserted the tape into the VCR. It started halfway through, in the middle of an interview with some circus performers sitting to one side of a stage. The performers were wearing red and green leotards.

It clearly wasn’t anything that Tim would watch, and Janet wondered how on earth it had gotten mixed up in the pile of Tim’s videos.

He wouldn’t miss this one.

*

“Mom?”

Tim came up to her in the kitchen, as she was putting away some dishes. “Yes, sweetheart?” He looked distressed.

“Did you take one of my tapes? Only Dad said he didn’t and it’s missing…”

“Oh, Tim, I’m sorry. We were out of tapes and I’ve never seen you watch that one. Was it special to you?” It was important to acknowledge your child’s emotions, Janet repeated to herself, even if said child had never shown any attachment to the object right up until 30 seconds ago.

Tim shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “It’s just that that one was my tape. And now I can’t get it back.” His eyes started to fill with tears. Oh no. “You should have asked, Mom.”

“I am sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Tim stared at the floor, digging the edge of one shoe into a line of tile grout. “No. They won’t show that program again.” He sounded downcast. “If you’d asked I could have told you which tape was okay!”

“I’ll do that next time,” Janet promised. Tantrum seemed averted. Please.

*

Later that evening, Tim was sitting on the floor of the living room, playing with trucks, when Jack flipped over to the History Channel.

“Are you sure you want to watch ancient aliens again, dear?” Janet asked Jack. The historical inaccuracies grated at her, given her archaeological training.

“It’s hilarious, Jan. The people writing these shows have clearly never been to a dig in their life.”

Tonight however the next show wasn’t ancient aliens or Atlanteans or Bigfoot trackers; it was someone tracking their local cryptids and showing blurry video footage of various criminals and the Bat-Man. Jack was obsessed with this sort of thing, and was laughing at the grainy footage.

Janet saw Tim look up from his trucks for a moment and seem caught, eyes wide, the light from the television screen playing across his face, as he watched fast-moving costumes spin and flip across the screen.

[ambrozjas]

I get so excited when I see you post Dallas stuff, your fics are great! Could you do a fic where reader x Dallas celebrate their anniversary? And Dallas is pretty nonchalant and forgetful but he ends up still making it special? Thanks!

the moonlight only enhances your beauty ꨄ︎

dallas winston x reader

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

ugh i’ve been in such a funk i haven’t been wanting to write for a while and idk what’s wrong w me but i’m sorry guys!! i’ll try to keep up more, i’ve just been having to focus on my music pieces and festivals so i’ve been pretty busy :((

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

reader wears a nightgown, some cussing, literally a crap ton of descriptions of the moonlight and how it frames things bc i’m obsessed with describing it 💕

✧˖*°࿐ word count ᰔᩚ

1184 words, 6437 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“i don’t want to talk to you right now, dal.”

“c’mon!” he whined, dragging out the ‘n’ as his eyebrows raised and his eyes downturned in a puppy dog manner. you looked back at the clock, currently 11:47pm and you assumed maybe five minutes earlier those noises you heard outside weren’t stray cats fighting, it was dallas trying to get the ladder to come up to your window.

today was horrible, it was your anniversary, and he had the audacity to forget and then show up at your house begging for another chance to get you to go out with him? at eleven-fucking-forty-seven?

you had to admit, his brown eyes always made you give in no matter how stern you tried to be. whether they were slanted with a vindictive cat like stare, or big and dopey like a sad kicked puppy. you just couldn’t say no to them, even if you tried to put your foot down, this was still the case.

“dallas—“

he cut you off with a huff of your name, “just twenty minutes, that’s all i’m askin’ for, jeez.” you rolled your eyes as his facade dropped, the innocent act quickly shifting back to his regular curt tough nature. but nonetheless, you couldn’t say no. dallas winston always got what he wanted.

you walked away, dally’s eyes trailing after your figure as you walked into another room. your silk nightgown glowed in the moonlight as the creases took on a darker color as they shaded themselves, the blue-ish hue illuminating the rest of your body as you slipped away. dallas scoffed as he was about to climb back down the ladder before he head a faint, “wait.”

his eyes flickered back, watching as you emerged from the other room, only this time, with each step you took came a small clack sound. dallas looked down to see you in your shoes as you held up your jacket to show him.

“only twenty minutes, right?”

“yeah, yeah.” he muttered, watching as the bare skin was covered up by a dark coat of fabric, the zipper glimmering a bit as the moonlight shone on the silver lining before you turned around and made your way downstairs.

“so extra.” dally whispered before he climbed back down the ladder, careful to observe the ground and his feet while he stepped down each bar. the metal was cool beneath his hands, the warmth radiating off him instead because of how much he stuffed his hands in his pockets. the ladder’s paint was chipping off, revealing a silver coat underneath as it creaked with each movement dal made before finally, he spotted you coming out through the front door, back hunched as you tip-toed out.

“this better be good.” you mumbled, shaking your head as dallas carelessly left the ladder against your window and took you by the arm. he led you across town, and you thought to yourself that maybe you should’ve worn pants as you looked at your bare legs sticking out from underneath your nightgown.

with the cool breeze and your free hand—the one that wasn’t wrapped around dallas’ arm—clutching your gown so it wouldn’t fly up, it felt like you two had been walking forever. only the crickets and owls accompanied you with their songs sung in the night as you both walked through the empty streets of tulsa, careful to be on the lookout for any socs driving around in their pristine mustangs with their cigarettes hanging from their hand outside the car window.

you two finally made it to a small summer green turf, planted cautiously behind a few shops in the tall grass so nobody would steal it. “now wait ‘ere.” dallas told you, flicking the bridge between your eyebrows where your nose started as he jogged over to what looked to be a small blanket.

you cocked your head in bemusement, watching as he brought out his lighter and popped the cap open, trying to flick it on. a string of curses escaped his lips as it took a minute to start, but once it finally did he leaned down and positioned his back to light something you wouldn’t see. you stood on your tippy toes as you tried to see above before dallas snapped the lighter shut, shaking his hand once or twice to get rid of the burn from keeping the lighter open too long, and turned around to walk over and grab you by the arm.

you smiled once you took in the sight, already seeing what dallas was planning when he dragged you over there. it was a small blanket, one so small it probably wouldn’t even have enough space for the both of you, with two candles in the middle and a few snacks like cookies and packs of fruit around them. you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as dallas smoothed his hair back, licking his slightly chapped lips as he intently watched you for a reaction.

you simply glanced at him and nodded your head to the side, signaling for him to join as you took a seat on the blanket. it was just as you expected, barely big enough to fit the both of you on it, but you didn’t care. all the anger from the day melted away as you watched dallas twiddle his thumbs when he sat beside you, pressing his lips together awkwardly.

then the small candles blew out once a small gust of wind came over the two of you.

dally mumbled a few profanities as his hand made its way back in his hair, smoothing it out to get rid of the reminding feeling of how nervous—the slight sweat on his forehead making his hair stick to it.

but oh glory, when you let out a small laugh, the sound falling from your lips as smooth as honey, dallas could’ve sworn he had heart palpitations—even if he’d never admit it.

and when you looked at him, the blue moonlight shone on your face just right. the glossiness of your teeth and the highlights on your nose seriously made you look like a work of art, your eyes getting that small glimmer in them as their corners crinkled when you grinned. dallas almost died right then and there.

when you looked at him, watching as the corners of his lips—although subtle—twitched upwards at the sight of you, your smile just got even bigger.

it was comical to you. the man sitting in front of you was dallas winston. who would’ve known that when he wasn’t slashing tim shepard’s tires or stealing a few packs of kools from the convenience store, he would be sitting here in the moonlight on what his best affordable idea of a ‘picnic’ was with you. nobody could deny the fact that you had dallas winston whipped.

then you both proceeded to yelp as a stronger gust of wind started to blow away the small bags of cookies away, hurling yourselves over the blanket and clambering away to try to avoid the food flying off into the street.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ this request was literally adorbs omg 😭

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[compacflt]

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

[babybluebex]

The Dad!Eddie blurbs I’ve read today are making me BARK.

Could you please Eddie x pregnant reader because I’m in desperate need of comfort fluff and Dad!Eddie is DOING IT for me

i love dad!eddie so much eek

"C'mon," Eddie said, dragging you by the hand up from the couch.

"Oh my God," you giggled. "You can't wait for ten minutes? Dallas is almost over!"

"Fuck Dallas," Eddie said. "I need to talk to my baby."

In your six months of pregnancy, Eddie had started up this habit every night before bed: he would lay between your legs, settle his cheek on your thigh and his lips on your swollen belly, and he would tell your baby all about his day. Every little detail mattered: what he had for lunch, what music played at the record shop, what he wore, who he talked to. He gave little Osmond Edward Munson the full run down, and you loved it.

"Fuck Dallas?" you repeated. "Babe, I think they're about to bring Bobby back! I need to see it!"

"They'll play it tomorrow night, you'll live," Eddie said. "C'mon, please? Ozzy needs his daddy."

"I think it's Daddy that needs Ozzy," you chuckled. "Help me get up, and you can talk to him all you want."

Eddie was quick to grab both of your hands, and he tugged you up from the couch, grabbing onto your waist once you were up. Eddie followed you back to his bedroom like a little puppy, and he watched as you got yourself into his bed, settling a pillow under your back. Eddie kicked off his shoes and climbed up after you, and he took care to kiss your knee as he parted your legs.

"That feels familiar," you giggled, and Eddie rolled his eyes jokingly from the other side of your bump. Already, Ozzy was stirring and kicking up a storm, and he stilled only when Eddie placed his palm on your stomach, just over those stretch marks that Eddie loved to kiss.

"Hey, buddy," Eddie said softly, and he assumed the position, cheek on your thigh, lips touching your belly. His shoulders nudged at your knees, and you reached down to gently stroke Eddie's curls. "I missed you a lot today. So much happened, it would blow your tiny mind."

Eddie wriggled to get comfortable, and he flashed you those big chocolate eyes of his as your finger twisted in one of his curls. "I hope Ozzy looks like you," you whispered, and Eddie smiled.

"I want him to look like you," Eddie said. "But, jeez, bud, you missed a hell of a day at the record shop. Some girls came in, they were really young, maybe like junior high age? And guess what they asked for?" He paused, as if giving Ozzy a chance to answer, and he said, "They were looking for Metallica. It was the coolest shit, Oz, I showed them all of the Metallica records we had and-and my shirt, and they loved it, and they nearly bought us out. I can't wait to show you Metallica. Oh, and Black Sabbath. You're gonna hear a lot of Sabbath, buddy, get ready for it. You're gonna be the most metal dude at preschool."

"What else happened..." Eddie started, pouting his lips as he thought. "Mommy made me lunch to take to work, which was really nice. It was a ham sandwich with those salt and vinegar chips that kinda burn my mouth, but she put those bitches inside the sandwich! Total game changer! Can you make me another one of those tomorrow?"

It took you a second to realize that Eddie was now talking to you, and you blinked a few times to get rid of the trance that you were in. "Sure," you said. "Regular chips?"

"No, I liked the burning feeling," Eddie told you. "Went good with the ham. Anyway, Oz, I... God, I can't wait to meet you. I'm so excited, I can't wait to see what you look like and sound like. I can't wait to hold you, Ozzy. Feel your little hand grab my finger..." Eddie flexed his hand on your stomach, almost as if he could feel Ozzy's hand already, and you smiled.

When Eddie put his hand back down on your stomach, though, there was a nudge from inside you, and Eddie grinned as Ozzy kicked his hand. "He knows I'm here," Eddie whispered excitedly, and he said, "Hey, dude. Hey, buddy. God, I can't wait for you to get here."

"You're the most impatient person I've ever met," you chuckled, and Eddie laughed as his lips ghosted your skin.

"Just impatient to meet my baby," Eddie said, and he kissed your stretch marks. "Our baby."

[lushlovers]

Xbox Withdrawals, J Burrow

summary; the burrows decorating their beautiful home for christmas and dallas being the equivalent of the grinch :).

warnings; swearing, dallas the sass master, joe being sad for two seconds, tooth rotting fluffffff

word count; 1k

note; i hate this sm but i had to put out something. thank you all so so much for the recent love on my works, and for 55 followers on here?? if there's anything you guys have in mind that you want written send it my way, i need some ideas!!

"Alright, everything Christmas-ish is down from the attic, as requested, mama," Joe informed you, waltzing into the kitchen with a very unhappy looking Dallas in tow. He probably was put to the slightest work by his father, now he'll be a sourpuss for the rest of the morning.

Annika sat comfortably on your hip, staring up at her father with your same eyes. She was your twin and Joe loved it. The boys were spitting image of him, just with your complexion. He loved to see your little mini me's running around your house.

You hum in return, pressing a kiss to his cheek as a thank you, "ew," Dallas is always cringing at the slightest contact his parents make. Being like every seven year old ever. Geo comes in to see what he missed out on while he was watching his cartoons, "Mama, up!"

"I can't pick up both of you, baby. Anni's getting too big for that." He turns to your husband after your response, and he's scooped up before he even has to ask, but instead of Joe holding him, he sits him down on the counter, "My back is killing me," you groan, getting older is actually the worst thing ever.

"I can tell it's raining, my knee's killing me," Joe mentioned, stretching out his leg the best he could. After surgery it absolutely kills him in the cold.

Decorating in the house was an all day affair, no matter how fast you all tried to get it done, having a seven month old and a five year old running around was a challenge on the daily, let alone when there were glass ornaments sitting out as you placed them along the tree.

Unfortunately, baby Annika has figured out she can pull herself up on the coffee table in the living room and mess around with whatever may be on top of it. Once it's in her hand, of course it ends up in her mouth, some way somehow, especially since her gums bother her so much with teething.

Joe and Dallas had both volunteered to set up the lights on the bushes outside and around the trees, the rest up higher would be taken care of when there's no little ones around who could possibly climb up a ladder or something along those lines.

Going out and looking for a tree was probably the easiest part in all of this, the whole Burrow family got together and did it as a family. Having Joe's brothers and their wonderful families around to blend with your own was something beautiful to watch, especially seeing them all get to grow up side by side. You were the same way as a kid, always hanging out with your cousins.

Thankfully, today Annika has decided not to throw her tantrums or break something on the table whilst you decorate the tree, she even wanted to help the best she could. She reached out for the sparkly red bulb in your hand, to which you perched her upon your hip, taking her hand in yours and hooking it onto one of the beautiful branches.

Geo was hooking them onto it as well, pointing to each one he did searching for praise on the good job he was doing at being a helper, and you are quick to praise his skill every time just because it makes him smile. He's such a little bundle of energy and smiles no matter the time or place. Dallas too usually, but he's in a sassy era at the moment.

Speaking of, he comes inside, this time with Joe following him, kicking his shoes of with even more attitude than before, he'd gotten really accustomed to being on his Xbox all the time, but that was nipped as soon as he got too comfortable sitting around on it all the time. His playing hours are limited, especially when Joe's home. He loves spending time with the boys whenever he's capable.

"He's still mad about the Xbox?" You ask, already knowing the answer, of course he is. Joe only nods, flopping down onto the couch, Dallas had disappeared somewhere upstairs, most likely on his game despite him not supposed to be. "I just don't get why he doesn't wanna spend time with me," he muffles, but you understand what he said perfectly.

"He does, baby," you frown, sitting yourself down beside his head, "He talks about you all the time, to everyone. Even at school, all his teachers know who you are. It's just.. He's a boy in this century, thats all he does is sit on that game for hours." You're telling him the truth, that's all Dallas really likes to do.

"How about you go and join him, while us three finish the tree, then we can all come watch?" He lifts his head, smiling big and pearly at your great idea, causing his eyes to crinkle a bit. He nearly jumps up and trips over something on his way to the stairs. How had he not thought of this yet?

Geo had barely paid any attention to your conversation with your husband, only continuing to add the glittering tinsel along the tree, being sure to pick up the little pieces he'd managed to drop, "Mama, doesn't it look so pretty?" He's asking again for your validation and you happily oblige.

"It's gorgeous, baby. You did a great job helping mama."

[kenny-power]

Johnny cade x winston!reader where dal actually sees how happy reader makes him xox ❤️😘😝😍

How happy

J.C. x Winston!Reader (REQUEST)

Warnings: Language

Fluff, established relationship, word count: 1.8k

A/N - Hi babes! I hope I did this request justice <3 I accidentally made it a lil long, but oh well! Please please please send in requests, I love them!

✨✨✨

If anyone were to ask me to describe my brother, “understanding” and “patient” would not be words I would use. Now, “overprotective” and “irrational”? Those are words I’d use to describe him. 

Dallas Winston cares for only 2 things in his life; his baby sister and Johnny Cade. However, I don’t think he’d appreciate us being together. Which is why we have to sneak around behind his back. Dally just wouldn’t understand. 

So it’s totally not wrong to be climbing out of my window right now, with full intent to meet up with Johnny at the drive-in. Not wrong at all. 

Johnny and I have been dating for a few weeks now, but despite the relationship being new, the concept of us was not. Since high-tailing it out of New York with my brother, me and Johnny got along like fast friends. He was always the one who I went to when my brother did or said something to piss me off (which was often). Whether I was running from the cops or the socs, I knew I could always run to him. Likewise, anytime his folks were giving him a hard time, I’d be there. No matter the time, no matter where I was, I’m there for him. 

He’s been the love of my life since before I even knew what love was. 

And that’s why I just can’t tell Dallas. He wouldn’t understand. To Dally, I’m still the same 10 year-old kid that arrived in Tulsa with him, looking for a new start. Never mind the fact that I’m practically a grown-up now. I can legally drive and everything. Nope, to him, I’m still his kid sister who’s afraid of the dark and always asks for the extra pickle off his plate. 

Sure, life would be easier if I could tell Dal about me and Johnny. For example, I wouldn’t have to climb out of my window like I am right now in order to see Johnny. We would also be able to go on date, all proper-like, without Ponyboy as a chaperone to make it seem less date-y. But I can’t. Not only because Dally would have a conniption fit if he found out, but also because Johnny asked me not to tell. Not until he had at least a little time to work out a possible escape route. And who am I to tell Johnny ‘no’?

So, sneaking around is the only solution. And I’ve gotten pretty good at it, or so I thought. 

~

Johnny and I usually try to go to the drive-in for a date at least every other week. It’s not like we’re obsessed with watching movies, that’s more Pony’s thing, it’s just one of the only things we can do together without being too suspicious. Usually, Pony tags along with us, sitting a couple of seats away to give us at least a little bit of privacy. But Darry wouldn’t let Pony come out with us tonight - something about homework or studying, I don’t know - so tonight is one of the rare times that it’s just me and Johnny. I love nights like this. Nights where we can pretend everyone already knows about us and he can take me out like he wants and I can spoil him like he deserves. But for now, it’s still just pretend. I’m not really sure what movie is playing, some sort of western, but eventually I get tired of sitting around and get up to go get popcorn. 

“Hey doll,” Johnny protests when I untangle my arm from his, “where you going?” 

“Popcorn,” I say before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Wanna coke?” He smiles back at me, blushing. 

“Thanks baby.” He says. Leaving my coat in my seat, I make my way to the concessions stand. It was one of those nights where it started out warm but eventually got pretty cold. So, I brought a jacket just in case. 

The concessions line wasn’t too long, but it was still several minutes before I started to make my way back to ours seats. However, I quickly ducked behind a trash can when I saw my big brother making his way towards Johnny and the empty seat next to him. The seat that still had my coat on it. Well, shit. 

~

Johnny was sitting quietly in his seat, waiting for you to come back. This was his favorite kind of night - one where it was just you and him. Where you guys could just be a couple, without the fear of what your big brother would do. Now, don’t get him wrong, Johnny respects the hell out of your brother. How could he not? Dallas is the toughest greaser around who’s willing to do anything to protect his kid sister, even if that means thrashin’ someone who get a little too close to her. And that scares the hell out of him. 

It’s not like he wants to keep his relationship with you a secret. There’s just never a good enough time to bring it up. What’s he gonna do, waltz up to Dally and say “Oh, by the way, I’m madly in love with your sister and plan on marrying her one day.” Johnny doesn’t think he could even try to run fast enough to escape Dally’s wrath after saying something like that. 

But, if Johnny knows one thing, he knows that he loves you. More than life itself. He loves you so much that he’s willing to face the devil called Dally if that means you could be his forever. He’s just gotta work up the nerve to talk to Dallas. 

As if God (or the devil, depending on how you look at it) was listening to his inner thoughts, a heavy hand came down on his shoulder - shaking him from his reverie. 

“Johnnycakes! What a surprise, man. Didn’t think I’d see you here. I thought Pony couldn’t come out tonight?” Johnny nervously lifted his eyes and made saw the very person he was thinking about. Dallas. Well, shit. 

He cleared his throat nervously.

“H-Hey, Dal. What’re you doin’ here?” His was dry, the words sticking to the inside of his mouth. Dally scanned the crowd of other movie-goers before responding. 

“I’m lookin’ for my sister. Apparently she didn’t think she needed to tell me where she was tonight. So’s, I’m just lookin’ in all the usual places. Have you seen her-” Dally paused, clocking what was obviously his sister’s jacket in the seat next to Johnny. “Hey, man! Are you on a date?” Dal clapped Johnny on the shoulder appreciatively. “So, who’s the lucky broad? Where’s she at? Anyone I know?” He started scanning the crowd again, trying to find you. 

Johnny laughed nervously, “I guess you could say that.” He too began looking around, to warn you. 

Dal stopped looking around and peered at Johnny’s face, which he was sure was as red as a tomato by now. “Whaddya mean by that? You guess?” He squinted at him. “It’s not Sylvia is it? I told her me and Steve’d beat the tar outta her if she was sniffing around you again.”

“No, no!” Johnny said, a little too loudly. “It’s not Sylvia. Swear it, I wouldn’t ever mess with her.”

“Well, spit it out man. Why’re you bein’ so secretive?” Dallas leaned in closer to Johnny, fighting to keep the grin off of his face. 

~

I watch from behind the trashcan as my older brother starts to get in Johnny’s face. Not good, not good at all. So far, there hasn’t been any yelling or signs of anger from Dal, but knowing him, it was only a matter of time. 

Staring intently at the pair, I wait to make my move. (Whether that be high-tailing it out of there or going to rescue Johnny, I’m not sure yet.) Then, I make eye contact with Johnny and see him give a tiny nod. Guess that means it’s time to fess up. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the incoming conversation. This probably wasn’t going to be pretty. 

I walked up to the boys, carrying a popcorn and coke, trying to smile brightly (but it probably looks more like a grimace). 

“Hiya, Dallas. What’s new?” At the sound of my voice, Dal whips around and glowers at me. 

“Don’t give me that, you little shit. You snuck out. I’ve had enough with chasing you around town to make sure you don’t get killed or some shit like that.” Staring back at him, I don’t say anything. Instead, I move around him, put the food down, pick up my jacket from the seat, and sit down. Then, just because I could, I grabbed Johnny’s arm and put it around me. Not breaking eye contact with my brother the whole time. Johnny was tense beside me.

He clocked my intentions instantly. The bad part about growing up with him is that he is almost always able to read me to a T. 

“So,” he started, tensely, “so this is why you sneak out all the time? To hang out with Johnny without telling me? What, do you think I’m stupid, or something?” His voice was getting louder, anger increasing. Oh no. Maybe I shouldn’t have acted like that. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” That caught me off guard.

“Me?” I scoffed, incredulously. “Why am I an idiot?” Dal chuckled.

“You really think I wouldn’t notice my kid sister acting as if she was in love or something? Baby, I think I could pinpoint the exact moment you two started going steady.” I paled. Apparently I’m not as good of an actor as I initially thought.

“Are you mad at me, Dallas?” I asked quietly, looking up at him through my lashes.

“Aw, hell kid.” He sighed. “No, I’m not mad. I just wish you woulda told me. I can see how happy he makes you” He turned a pointed finger to Johnny, who was quiet and pale this whole time. “You. Have her home right after, no messing around, got it?” Johnny nodded.

“Ye-yes, I got it.” Dal smirked, satisfied. Reaching into his pocket, he fished out 5 bucks and handed it to Johnny. 

“Take her somewhere to eat after. Then, get some sleep. Cause in the morning, you and me are gonna have a talk.” Then, he turned to leave. I jumped up out of my seat.

“Dallas!” He stopped and turned back to me. I gave him a hug. “Thank you.” He ruffled my hair.

“Yeah, whatever kid. Go back to your boyfriend.” Pushing me off of him, he left. I made my way back to my seat. 

“I guess that wasn’t as painful as it could have been.” I said, tucking myself back under Johnny’s arm. 

“Yeah, that’s what you say. I’m the one who has to talk to him tomorrow.” I giggled and pecked him on the cheek.

“Oh my poor baby boy.” He blushed, but turned his head to face me. 

“You missed,” he whispered, and leaned his head in to kiss me deeply on the lips. 

[burrowingkelce]

Meet Your Mama pt2

Am I insane? Yes. Am I releasing this the same day as pt 1? Probably not. Will there be a pt 3? Most definitely. 18+ this time!!

You helped grab Travis 2 week of clothes from his dresser and closet, folded them neatly in his suitcase and zipped it up.

He came up behind you and gave your ass a swat.

"HEY!" you yelled. He only laughed before pulling you into a hug and kissing your head.

"Let me get these for you madame." He said picking up his bags.

"I was hoping you wouldn't make me carry them, their your clothes." You said following him out to your car.

He put his bags in the back of the car and opened your door for you.

"After you m'lady." He said with a goofy grin on his face

"Thank you kind sir." You said pinching his cheek before placing a kiss to the area.

"Your gonna make me blush Y/N." He said mocking your southern accent.

You couldn't help but cackle at how silly he sounded. You couldn't wait for him to meet your family and evidently, put him to some real work on the ranch.

He kept his hand on your thigh the whole way to the airport, stealing a kiss once and again at red lights.

Your parents would pick you both up at the the airport in Dallas once you landed. Travis still has no idea where your going. He's just happy to be with you for 2 weeks.

He parked the car, grabbed both of his and your bags and opened your door for you.

"Trav quit acting like my chauffeur."

"I just love you so much, I want to make you happy." He said smiling at you.

You went to take your bags from him but he quickly stood in the way.

"What do you want now Kelce?"

"Don't think I was gonna let you walk away without paying me." He said tapping his cheek, expecting a kiss.

You let out a sigh and payed him his due, and swiped your bags while he was distracted.

He laughed at the way you sassily walked away from him and hurried after you.

You sat with him, waiting for the call to board the plane. He had headphones on and thankfully couldn't hear when it came over the loudspeaker to board the plane headed to Dallas Love Field Airport.

You both stood up and walked to what he calls "the shutte". He put 2 bags in the overhead storage and you made sure to take the window seat. He settled into the seat next to you and started to doze off. You took the opportunity to nudge your way under his arm and take a nap too.

You woke later to him grunting, as he was just waking up too.

"Good morning to you too big guy." You said looking up at him, laughing a little.

"Mm, are we there yet?" He asked half awake.

"Yeah I guess." You were looking out your window now, getting ready to stand up. The other passengers were getting off, and Travis just wanted to sleep.

"C'mon Trav, we gotta get off." You said climbing over him to grab his right arm in an attempt to pull him up.

"Alright fine." He grumbled, getting annoyed with having to wake up and move.

You grabbed the luggage and Travis was close to follow. You spotted your mom and dad in the parking lot.

You dropped your bags and ran to them. They hugged you and told you how much they missed you. Then he was spotted. The 6'5 hunk you brought with you.

"Oh my god is that..." Your mom started

"Yep, I brought the one and only Travis Kelce with me." You said, pretty damn proud of yourself.

He said hi to both your parents, hugged your mom and shook your dad's hand. Your mom was still shocked as ever with the fact her daughter had brought this stud of a man with her.

They both drove you and Travis to the ranch and showed him around. They had set up another bed in your room for Travis, but you both knew they would be pushed together.

(Editor Ema here, I'm skipping a BUNCH at least to the spicy parts because I wanna include that right about now, so stuffs gonna go quick.)

As your family ate supper, you created small talk with your mom about your life in KC, while your dad talked to Travis about football.

Once you all finished eating, your parents went outside to run some yearlings and you ran upstairs to get changed into pajamas. Know and behold your new man was right behind you as you bent over to grab your jeans off the floor.

"Whew baby, that's one sight that should be the 8th wonder of the world." He said grabbing your ass and pushing lightly on your back.

"Unhand my ass Kelce before I donkey kick you." You said, trying to sound authoritative.

"Awww, pretty girl tryna act tough?" He questioned seductively.

"No, I'm telling you to let me go before you regret this."

"Oh I won't regret a thing sweetheart " he said before picking you up and throwing you on the bed.

You grunted at the impact. Trying to get up, but you felt his hand shove you back down and his large arms cage you in.

"I've waited for this long enough." He said before kissing you roughly. His hands grabbing whatever flesh he could before finally resting one on your left breast and the other on your lower abdomen.

You grabbed his shirt and started to unbutton it while he worked the buttons on your shirt too. Eventually, he got pissed at how long it was taking him, and ripped your shirt in half, discarding it somewhere in the room.

You pushed his shirt off and threw it somewhere and let your hands run over his chest and back. You were too dazed in the heat of the kiss and didn't realize your hand wandered to his crotch, but you knew you felt something hard.

"Watch those hands baby girl, you'll get it soon enough." He said letting out a slight moan before slipping a hand between your legs. He unbuckled his belt and took his pants off, leaving him in just his boxers.

"Take them off Trav." You said trying to catch your breath. He slid his boxers off, revealing his thick member which you immediately took in your hand. He moaned and you prayed to God your parents were still outside.

You took the opportunity to push him off you and get on top. He pulled your underwear down and slid into you. Both of you let out moans as you moved up and down his length.

"Fuck baby, that's so good. Your so good to me aren't you?" He started rambling but the little moans he was letting out were so hot you didn't even want to tell him to stop.

"God Trav this hurts." You said slowing down your pace.

He flipped you both over, hoping to make it easier on you.

He started off slow to let you adjust more, and once you did he picked up pace. Before you knew it he was pounding into you with such force you knew you were going to feel him for weeks.

"OH MY GOD TRAV!" you screamed, gripping his shoulders, hoping to ground yourself.

"I got you baby, I'm almost there." He said with a few hard thrusts before you let out a loud moan and your eyes rolled to the back of your head and he leaned over you more.

A few more brutal thrusts and he was coming with you. Both of you were sent into a drunken daze of lust and passion.

You both came down from your high, and he laid next to you. He faced you and smiled.

"God Y/N, I don't know what was better, winning my second Super Bowl or this."

You laughed and kissed his cheek, "Well Trav, I don't know what was better, seeing your ass earlier or this." You grabbed his ass before giving him another kiss.

He pulled you to him and grumbled against your cheek.

"You better stop that or your gonna get it Y/N."

"I wouldn't complain one bit Travvy." You said before wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on him before drifting off to sleep.

Omg this was a piece of work that's for sure 😅. I never wrote smutty stuff like this so if it's weird, please don't hesitate to let me know. I PROMISE rancher Travis is in the next part, I really wanted to dip my toe in smut and I'm not really sure I like how it turned out. Anywho, I've been dealing with another illness, I was 90% sure it was COVID, but I have my taste and smell, just can't breathe in much or it hurts. This is my 3rd time being sick since December. Everything is okay with me and my mom, just hoping my grandma doesn't get it this bad. She's already showing signs of it and I can only help her and pray. Anywho, toodaloo lovelies, off to write pt 3 where we put Sir Travis on a horse 😂. This is gonna be fun.

Here are the @'s for this fic: @elovesjm and @godsfavoritebabe

And the hashtags:

[shroomsroom]

could you please write a dallas x fem! reader smut were it’s their wedding night? With praise and stuff like that <3

btw I totally understand if you do not feel comfortable writing this!!

loving this, i feel like dally doesnt have a big like lover personality so i'll be channeling some yung gravy into this <3 smut yay

the nerves settled as soon as you got into the hotel room, but then at the sight of your new husband, the butterflies started. his hair slicked back in his usual way, but instead of grease, it was normal hairgel. your parents, chipped in to make your wedding perfect even if they had no idea that you palmed all the cash you needed from them. dally's face was slightly pink from the garter removal. as he climbed under your skirt to take off the small piece of fabric you deliberatly placed so high up on your thighs, his fingers grazed your thighs making you shiver. the tension in between you two since that moment made the build up to the wedding night euphoric. all you wanted to do was throw yourself at your gorgeous man and have him take you back to the comfort of your hotel bed. when you finally stepped foot into your room dally nearly pushed you in. "come on doll," he smirked at you. "whats the rush" you teased, "you knew what you were doin' placing that garter up so high huh?" he gently tugged you on to the bed, turning you face down. "why would you accuse me of that dear" you turned your head and smiled at him as he unzipped your wedding dress. "you little fucker" he grinned before pulling your dress off and kissing down your back. the shiver you let out from the built up tension and the cold air only made dally want to see you react more. dally let his fingers dance around your bra strap before removing it and turning you over. your bra was now on the floor and replaced by dallas' cold hands. you let out a mewl as dallas pinched the buds and rolled them in between his fingers, he leaned forward and pressed kisses on your collarbone while his knee lifted up to grind against your core. you moaned out his name and his hands drifted down to your core, already a bit wet. "please," you moaned out grabbing his biceps to steady yourself as he prodded your clothed core. "whatever you want doll" he smiled at you.

[jaidens]

Can I have a Steve Randle x reader fic where the reader has a horrible home life and after a big fight with her parents, she runs away with Steve right after high school

But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant

pairing [s] : steve randle x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : fighting, yelling, hitting, abuse | mentions of : getting drunk, arguments, crying |

a/n [s]: I completely apologize about how long it took to get this to you. requests are open.

Whenever the school bell rang, signalling the end of your eleven years in school, you were quite delighted. Steve had failed his past years of school and had chosen to stop showing up halfway throughout the year. You chose to work hard for your highschool degree, as the plans you and Steve had been working up to since you were fourteen years old had been set in stone.

Your home life was quite horrible. A drunk for a father and a rude and nasty woman for a mother. You were hit on occasion during arguments that had gone too far. Whether it was an accident or not, you stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Randle most of the time as you hoped to get away from everything. Steve didn't like his life much either, feeling trapped in his Greaser mind and Soc lifestyle his parents had. Steve had a plan for how you would live after high school. Your parents decidedly told you you would be kicked out as soon as you finished school and to find somewhere else to live.

You would run away with him and start a life with saved up money and an apartment you had bought over the phone in Dallas, Texas. Steve was supportive of your decisions, as when he found out he held you in his arms and cried when you told him you wanted him to come as well. You see Steve from across the room in his cap and gown as he laughs with Two-Bit.

You pick up your gown and run over to Steve with a huge smile plastered against your face. You shout his name and jump into his arms, he laughs and gives you the hardest hug you've ever had. “M’ so excited.” Steve giggled and gave you a long kiss against your lips. You pulled the cap off the top of his head and stared at his messy hair underneath it. “Tonight, we can go. I'll be at your house at twelve okay?” Steve whispers in your ear and you nod.

Two-Bit smacks the back of Steve's head and pulls him away to get one last prank against the teachers before you two leave. You're left in the corner of the gymnasium that gives you nausea as you remember everything that had happened in the past four years. You decided to go home and see if all of your stuff had been ready for leaving.

—

When you get home your parents have already started to yell at you. Your mother and father both smell like booze and cigarettes, with a side of disrespect and anger. “Where have you been?” Your father asks as he slams down his glass bottle against the table. “Graduation party.” Loud footsteps begin and you turn your face whenever your father puts his hand on your shoulder and rips you around. “Look at me when I'm speaking!”

When you look at him, his hand slides across your face and you run away from him. Tears well up in your eyes as the top of your feelings had been shaken up and had exploded inside of you. Years of abuse, yelling, and hatred for being you had finally taken over. You grab your packed bag , and everything you decide to take as well to shove it into a bag.

You wipe away tears from your face and open up your window. You throw your stuff to the grassy ground below and start climbing out, holding onto the emergency ladder that was made outside of your window after a fire that happened years before on the house before.

You run until your legs burn and feel numb when you walk, as you look at the medium sized house in front of you, with Steve's window lit up with the small lamp he chose to keep on when he reads books. You chuck a small pebble at his window and see the blinds crack open and him smile.

You nod at him and the light flickers off, signaling he was ready to leave. The sudden feeling you had against it disappeared when Steve ran around the corner, an unbuttoned striped shirt and jeans. His hair is wet against his forehead as he runs into your arms and kisses you tightly.

“Is it happening now?” You nod and he shakes his keys. That's where you left Tulsa and all your problems, letting the wind flow against your skin and feel everything slip away from you. All you had been with was Steve, the love of your hopeless young life.

[dreadfutures]

Loving LUMO: 2018 to Present :)

Just up in my feelings about my dog today. He's doing great! I love my dog! I just wanna talk about him. A lot. :) Like this is looooong.

I got my dog at the end of my senior year of undergrad, after I knew I got into a PhD program. I knew I couldn't make it through alone so I wanted a dog.

When I was young, I wanted a wolf! I wanted big fluffy scary looking dogs. Then I wanted a pretty, fluffy, exotic dog. But as I grew older and actually MET dogs (I didn't have a lot of them in my life before), I realized that those weren't the dog breeds for me. I wanted a dog that fit my lifestyle, but also a dog that NEEDED a home, and love. And I wanted to make an impact, rescuing a breed that was often found in overflowing shelters in the US.

Why coonhounds? **mentions of animal abuse, skip to the next section

In California, shelters are primarily full of huskies, chihuahuas, german shepherds, and pitbulls. Since I didn't know where I was going to live or what the ordinances would be, I reluctantly decided I couldn't get a pitty. Many of the chihuahuas, huskues, and GSDs in shelters have serious health problems, probably coming from puppy mills and unethical breeding situations. I knew that any dog could develop an expensive health condition (foreshadowing) but I wanted to find a breed where that was less likely to happen.

I had read that the less "pretty" working dogs are usually better bred. They're smart, learn quickly, and (many hunting dogs) are content with long lazy seasons on the couch. I also learned that hunting dogs are abused and abandoned after hunting season, especially when people get "hunting breeds" and assume all the complex training of hunting is instinctive--it's not, it must be trained. But these "Defective"/"Failed" hunting dogs are let go to freeze and starve, and shelters can't take all of them. Someone called them the chihuahua of the south lol.

“It is sad when they treat these dogs as ‘tools’ they can throw away, instead of treating them like family members.”

Whether dumped or lost, these hunting dogs end up in local shelters, if they’re lucky. Many times they end up shot, hit by cars, or die of starvation or disease.

Believe me I read up on all the downsides of adopting a rescue vs. getting a purebred puppy from a breeder. I read up on all the downsides of hunting breeds. And even so I knew this was probably going to be a good fit.

I also found Maddie on instagram, who is a gorgeous redtick coonhound and possibly the most well-trained dog in the world. I was convinced and turned to a national Coonhound Rescue that takes coonhounds from the south and moves them across the country to be loved in places where they're not so common.

Finding Lu

I originally did want a female redtick that looked like Maddie, so I put in an application for one. The rescue called me and said they had another dog in mind for me and my lifestyle, "But he has a lot of skin! That means he drools A LOT."

His name was Dallas.

Dallas is a handsome 2 year old American English Coonhound being fostered in [city]. He enjoys the simple life and loves nothing more than a warm, comfy place to sleep. He is housetrained, cratetrained and leashtrained; also good in the car. He would do well in a home with slightly older children and would make an excellent companion. This boy wants a loving and consistent family or person to show him how great his life can be. He weighs about 55 lbs and also does well with cats and other dogs.

This is the photo I was sent. :) I fell in love. This was going to be my dog! MY DOG. My first dog. Mine.

I was told he had been found on the streets, emaciated and sick, and that he had become an absolute counter surfer and couch potato in his foster home. And he could climb 10 ft fences if he saw a cat lol. They said he had "anxiety," but as I learned it was severe, severe PTSD from abuse.

I was originally going to name him Mo. For "Mopey." He had the saddest brown eyes and emo eyeliner, it seemed to fit. But "Mo" sounds a lot like "No!" and I soon realized they weren't kidding about hounds being independent and strong-willed. I still wanted "Mo" to be part of his name, but decided on LUMO as a chemistry reference since it was very relevant to my subfield I was going into. So he became "Lu."

The very first day I took him home, he had explosive diarrhea all over the car and there were no dog bathing places taking walk ins, so I had to haul his 35 pounds of skin and bones into the bath. Intense bonding experience to be sure.

He was so, so skinny. You can see in the photos how knobby his tail is, and how you can count his spine, and how all his ribs and his hips stick out. People would come up to me at restaurants and YELL at me "don't you FEED YOUR DOG?????? how can you be so cruel?" as if there wasn't a possibility that I was rescuing an emaciated and abused dog?

I thought he was skinny because of his past on the streets, and I think that was part of it for sure. But what I learned was that he wasn't just having digestive issues because he was "adjusting to his kibble" -- he's actually allergic to chicken, and he was on a chicken diet.

He was losing a lot of weight from the diarrhea, and he was SO itchy, and he had constant infections in those big, soft ears. We did a lot of elimination to figure out his allergies and he's actually allergic to a lot of things, but chicken is by far the worst.

As soon as I switched him to salmon, he started gaining weight really well, shooting up to a healthy 50 pounds. He also stopped getting constant ear infections!

The trauma

So the thing about Lu is that he isn't just "anxious." Anxious doesn't describe him:

He was terrified of blond men with sunglasses. Like just wanted to melt into the ground and phase through walls levels of terrified. My best friend and room mate was a blond man who wore sunglasses all the time. Fortunately he had grown up on an Estate with a whole bunch of working dogs and was so good at helping me get him over his fear. He was afraid of strangers in general, but none as much as blond and bald guys.

He was GREAT on leash from the start! But randomly, he would just...stop. Freeze, plant his feet, stare glassy-eyed into the distance at nothing at all. Nothing in particular triggered it. Not sounds, not anything I could identify in common. Just sometimes...he'd just freeze and shut down. I had to carry him sometimes as far as a football field to get home. Often it was right in the middle of the street. :( After ten or so minutes of staring, he would come-to, and he would sit down and look around all disoriented.

Also I had been warned about how some dogs "pull" on leash. It turns out that most people are talking about pulling...ahead. And training a dog who pulls ahead is WAY different than a dog who tries to pull backwards. Lu was so skinny that he could slip out of his harness, no matter what size of his harness. I quickly learned there was no tying him off and going into restaurants by myself, because he could EASILY chew through any leash in a few seconds, and he could slip right out of his harness and just DIP. But even on walks, during his PTSD flashback moments, he could pull back so hard his arms would come up by his head and he'd just noodle out of his harness.

He was terrified of stairs. Going up and down. My bedroom was on the second floor. The beach was down a steep flight of stairs.

He had no idea how to play with other dogs at all.

He was scared of grass. It was as if he had never stepped on grass before and thought it was lava. I'm suspicious that he might have been trapped in a concrete outdoor dog run or kennel for most of his young life.

He had persistent UTIs... and he counter surfed and ate a whole stick of butter, and went into acute pancreatic failure.

He had some sort of paw trauma. it was impossible to touch his paws, let alone clip his nails. No matter how skinny and weak he was, it took more than 5 people to hold him down long enough to clip his nails. He was terrible at the groomers. Dremels weren't any betters.

Pretty early on I had to settle for "progress" over "perfect."

We took baby steps together. From May to August, he became so much more outgoing. He fell in love with my two tall blond sunglasses guy friends. He started learning to get excited about toys. And we developed a routine so he wouldn't destroy my room when I left him alone.

I had to respect that he definitely, 100%, always knew what I wanted him to do when I gave him commands. And when he refused and said "No," there was no food, no toy, no incentive I could give him to get him to do it. At least not that time.

When I first moved to grad school that September, I had a lot of people in my cohort come over to my apartment. Lu hid under my bed the whole time and wouldn't take any treats to coax him out. We lay a whole pack of turkey in front of him and he wouldn't come out. :(

But within a few months, he had a growing circle of human friends that he was comfortable with. And honestly even by October of that year, if a new stranger came to the apartment, all they had to do was get up on the couch and offer him a Merrick toothbrush treat and he'd be in their lap.

Here he is with his companion cube in early 2019. He loved that suede couch lol.

Health issues :(

So because he ate a whole stick of butter and went into acute pancreatitis, we started monitoring his blood levels. They got better after treatment--but never back to "normal." They remained at the "hmm this looks like renal failure, Cirrhosis, or hepatopathy" levels, which was weird, because he was constantly getting happier and acting healthier every day!!

Eventually a vet suggested we see an internal medicine specialist. Turns out.... Lu's liver is like. Tiny. Like puppy sized. He has had this disease since he was a baby, which is why he's never known he was sick lol.

After about 9k of imaging and stains and biopsies, we learned:

He has copper hepatopathy, which today my new vet's jaw dropped as a like "WOW we HEARD about this in vet school but I've NEVER actually seen it! It's so rare!"

His liver is tiny, full of fibrosis, cirrhotic, tons of remodeling (in the bad way). His liver is ORANGE from how much copper is in it. The damage is completely irreversible. I have a copy of the biopsy & lab results and I can just imagine the scientist at the research institute they sent the samples off to, their voice as they wrote this report. It screams "HOW IS THIS DOG ALIVE?"

I just find it so funny, as another analytical scientist.

The other funny thing is that they prescribed him chelation therapy to help him get better (it didn't help and he doesn't get worse without it, so we have since stopped that; it was expensive). My PhD thesis is in metal chelation lolololol of Ni, Co, Cu. lololol

So that was an expensive process. He has to have a prescription low-copper diet, which has stopped most of his symptoms of this disease, and we have to do expensive blood tests to make sure he doesn't get worse.

And then he became a sock eater.

He passed the first few. Then he got sick. With the vet's help, he was able to pass it without surgery. And then the next time, it was life or death.

The vet I went to was so unethical and immoral but it was my only fucking option. I wouldn't have my dog here if my best friend at the time hadn't been wealthy enough to give me the 13k I needed on the spot, in cash, to save my dog's life with surgery.

In the hospital, the fucking awful vets:

claimed to use dissolving stitches. I don't think they did; I still feel them! 4 years later!!!

let him get a skin infection all over his body that made his paws swell up and bleed, and his paw pads fall off and bleed. It was terrifying. And cost me more money of course. It was so evil. He still has scarring all over his legs from it where fur hasn't grown back :(

He has bad teeth but according to the vet "not the worst! :)"

He expresses his glands in his sleep sometimes. UGHHHH they don't tell you that about dogs lol.

He still is terrible for claws. It's been worse and worse lately, to the point where I worry about how long his nails are and whether it will be bad for his joints. But it's the only thing he's really ever been aggressive for. :( I really worry about him. I have trained him to scratch a board of sandpaper to file them down, but they get sharp that way too lol.

Progress, not perfect. He lets me give him paw massages and check his nails and manhandle him, but just. Not clippers or dremel. :( Not there yet.

Anyway, he has been super healthy for many years now. He's got lumps and bumps and skin tags. The vet thinks he's about 9 years old, and definitely a senior. ;_; <3

Things I Love about LUMO

His ears are, I'm not kidding, the softest material in the world. And so warm. He loves it when I stick my finger in his ear and tickle his brain. He loves an armpit scratch. His tail used to be like, stuck, in such a sad position and I never thought he'd wag his tail and now it waves high all the time.

They told me he would probably never be a dog who plays. But when I got him, within a few weeks, I found the puppy inside of him. He runs like a silly rocking horse, completely uncoordinated and flopsy. He'll do fetch. He loves surgically disemboweling stuffed animals. He throws around his XTREME CHEW PLASTIC ANTLER and plays fetch with it with me.

He has several "spots" where I can get his leg thumping when I scratch him. He loves to be wrapped up in a burrito of blankets and sit in a sunbeam.

He leans on me and looks up at me with those big brown eyes and there's no fear or sadness in them anymore it's just sweetness and silliness.

He is so smart. He's attended a bunch of PhD level classes, and he's developed his own language. He's so smart. He knows how to tell me what he wants, he knows the rules and knows how to push them right up to the limit. He loves his sweaters. He will tell me what he wants by tapping on things with his paw. He knows that if I hold out my left hand it's to hold his paw and do a shake. If I hold out my right hand it means wait. He knows that the camera I have can see him and he'll knock it over so he can do mischief.

He loves his velvet chaise lounge. He loves his memory foam ultrasoft velvet bed. He loves his goose down comforter. He loves to sit on my pillow and fart. He basks in sunbeams and curls up in a tiny tiny little ball and he shrimps and sucks on his toes. He's basically a cat. He doesn't really want to go on walks, he pulls me back inside as soon as he's done his business. Except for when we have company--he loves walking with a pack of people.

When he talks to me, like just having a conversation, he sounds like a seal. Like a tortured seal. Or like a crying baby. He's never really figured out how to be a dog or sound like a real dog but we understand each other that's what matters.

He absolutely takes advantage of this to complain when I am not giving him what he wants. He'll roll over on the ground like a drama queen and wail and cry like I'm abusing him and it's because I'm across the room holding a pork chop that's just for me.

Today in the car he was WAILING like a seal, which usually means "LET ME OUT I NEED TO POOP" but after 3 or 4 tries to walk him, he made it clear that what he ACTUALLY meant was "PEDAL TO THE METAL GIRLS LET'S GO WHY AREN'T WE MOVING WHY IS THERE NO WIND ON MY FACE OR FLAPPING IN MY EARS MOOOOOOOOOVE."

For a while he was 69 pounds (NICE) but he's back to 64 lol. He stays between 63-70 pretty much depending on how active he is.

Anyway I have been reminiscing a lot because I figured it was time to add him to the "happy endings" page on the rescue website and I was going down memory lane.

Looking at the photo I took on the day I brought him home, and a photo I took last month, you can see his white face is spreading.

The defined white bit on his nose that whispers between his eyes has now spread to both his eyebrows, and his cheeks are getting quite white. But his eyes are bright and his ears are perked up and he is safe and warm and loved and stinky and soft. He gets fresh treats all the time (he loooooves celery, and pears, and sometimes carrots and sweet potatoes. and tortilla chips. and salmon oil.). He loves his prescription kibble and our routine. He has lovely friends and lovely car rides and he is just the best dog I could have asked for in my life when I got him and every day.

I've had to be so patient and calm and kind even when I was scared and angry, with his stress and his ptsd and his destructiveness and messiness. All he deserves and needs is love and he knows what's wrong and what isn't, sometimes he just can't help himself, and we move on together. He made sure I had a reason to come home and not sleep in lab during my PhD. He made sure I had a reason to get out of bed during my PhD.

And now we're just living our best lives together. :)

[silverskye13]

Silver I know next to nothing about the alien franchise and movie, I am giving you full permission to use this ask as an opportunity to spread propaganda to get me (and anyone else) to finally watch it

So it's, so like, the thing is, right. I'm not a movie tech kinda person [though it is technically impressive, the funny little tricks they did, like not having the budget for a Big Space Ship Derelict so they are a scaled down model that the director's kids in space suits walked up to so it would look bigger, and it was shown to the audience on a shitty CCTV because they didn't do a big matte painting of the set they filmed the tiny one, projected it onto a wall, and then filmed that.] So my rant isn't going to be about how technologically cool the movie was for 1979 on a less than optimal budget. But what I do like, what I excel at, is breaking down themes and tropes. And my god. My god. Just. Ugh. [Flails my arms.]

So a basic rundown for the movie, spoilers ahead, and my analysis of how fucking cool it is:

Basic gist of the movie: The crew of the commercial mining vessel Nostromo are awoken halfway through their trip back to earth by a mysterious signal, calling for help on a far away planet. Upon going down to investigate, one of their crew members is attacked by a strange alien parasite which attaches to his face. This kicks off a tale of increasing horror as the new alien kills off the crew one by one, culminating in Ripley [the main character] blowing up the ship and fleeing in an escape pod, not sure if she'll ever be picked up in the vastness of space -- with the ships cat, who miraculously also survives. [We all know Jonesy is the real main character 💜.] Along the way a plot by the Weyland-Utani corporation is revealed, one of the crew is discovered to be an android, and there is a lot of alien screeching.

Now! The themes that I go absolutely feral over can commence.

The horror of the movie, the reason why the alien is scary, and lethal to humans specifically, is it is a creature built for efficient survival, and this is a trait that Ash, the ship's science officer [and resident hiding android] highly praises in the critter. He describes it as beautiful, elegant, pure in its efficiency. The perfect organism. Efficient.

Humans, by comparison, aren't efficient. We are social. And efficiency preys on social needs. For example:

The xenomorph eggs can survive for ages [in the derelict they're found on, the dead alien who drove the ship is described as fossilized. These eggs have been here for thousands of years. But they activate immediately when a curious human pokes around them. It isn't a fast process. Kane is poking around for a few minutes, looking at the movements of the creatures in their eggs, making observations. Curious. Curiosity is an inefficient trait -- he would have survived if he had climbed out of the hole the eggs were in and left, or even waited for the rest of his team to enact quarantine and investigation procedures.

Speaking of quarantine! When Dallas and Lambert bring Kane, newly infected by an alien parasite, back to the ship, Ripley locks them in the airlock. There are quarantine procedures. We can't risk the whole crew. But they are scared for Kane's safety. He might die without help. They break quarantine. If they hadn't broken quarantine, the baby alien would've been born in the airlock, where it would get spaced the moment it was born.

When the face hugger parasite dies and Kane seems to return to normal, what they should have done to attempt to reinstate quarantine was put him in hyper sleep. His body would have been frozen in a stasis which might have frozen the parasite or, if it hadn't, would have left the new baby alien trapped in a stasis pod. But Kane, haggard and scared from his ordeal, asks can we please have one more meal together before I go to sleep? And that one meal is long enough for the new xenomorph to be born, and release terror on the ship.

There is more. Parker would have lived if he hadn't gone to find the cat by himself, leaving the safety of his group. Dallas would have lived if he let Ripley go through the vents, but he was the captain and he didn't want to risk someone else's life so he went instead. Brett would have lived if he'd left Lambert behind when she was being attacked, or if he'd hit the xenomorph with the flamethrower instead of insisting Lambert get out of the way first. And Lambert would have lived if she'd run instead of being paralyzed in fear by the creature killing her friends. And the xenomorph? Wasn't even eating it's kills. No gore. Little blood. It was killing them because it knew they would kill it, and it was neutralizing threats. Efficient.

The xenomorph is very clearly engineered for survival, and it's survival depends on killing the inefficient organisms around it. Even it's acid blood is described as a survival mechanism, not an offensive mechanism.

Okay Skye, we hear you talking about how scary the critter is because it's not a social creature. That's an interesting observation, but it's still just a monster story, right?

Well, let me tell you an alternative story. Just a little to the left of the original, but one I would argue is still very very canon.

You are an android built by Weyland-Utani, a company which is jealously hunting alien tech to use for its many space programs. You are placed on the Nostromo because there is a known anomaly in the area, and they want to find it. Your job is to get a specimen back to the company, all other protocols expended.

You are programmed to be efficient, so you get to work.

You wake the crew when you find the signal. You give them only the information they need to investigate: it is a signal that repeats every 12 seconds. You let them make the conclusion it is an SOS. Humans are social creatures. They want to help other social creatures in need. There is some arguing about whether they should go, but in the end an extra push from you sends them. Ripley, one of the more efficient members of the crew, keeps asking you why you haven't decoded the message.

"Mother [the super computer running the ship] is still working on it." This is true. She has only translated part of the signal. By the time Ripley realizes it's a warning, the crew is already on the way to the derelict. You tell her if she walks out there, they will have already figured out if it's a warning or not by the time she makes it to them. She agrees.

When they return with a specimen, Ripley [efficient, following protocol] doesn't want to let them on. But Ripley doesn't know you're an android, so when you break quarantine, and you tell her you just wanted Kane to be safe, she begrudgingly believes you.

When the alien is loose, it is easy for you to keep them from killing it. Humans are social, inefficient creatures, and you feel no empathy for their deaths. You do pity them though. Between you and the alien, their chances of survival are slim.

If only they were more efficient.

The horror in Alien is not the xenomorph. The horror in Alien is when anything, primal creatures, androids, a particularly greedy corporation, preys on human social needs in order to get what it wants. There is significance in that Ripley, despite everything, chose to save the cat. She needed companionship. All humans do. She needed to save that cat. A cat that was cantankerous and mean, and hissed whenever it was held, was better than the cold efficiency of empty space.

Any system that prioritizes absolute efficiency will be inhospitable to human life.

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

ON THE CONTRARY OF THAT ONE ASK—

Comically tall m!soc with the gang?? M!soc is one of the only nice socs and is pretty polite (bro was raised in a hella dysfunctional family but they had manners)

lowkey a pussy. Cannot fight for the life of him and has chronic back issues from how often he slouches to make himself less intimidating. He actually rlly likes poetry too, and tries to bond with pony over it (he fails. Miserably)

Honestly a beanpole. Mans is all height, no width. Roughly 6’4 if you want a proper visual

LMAO I LOVE THIS YAS ANONthis is gonna be hilarious (why is this loser my type)

Tall Wimpy M!Soc x The Gang + Shepard Boys

Ponyboy Curtis

-I don’t feel like he’s really decided how he feels about you

-Like he appreciates you trying to bond with him

-but he cringes when he looks back on that memory

-he does think it’s kind of funny that you’re so scary but you’re an absolute wimp

-Teases you about whenever you ran away, screaming from a rumble

-I feel like the gang would’ve kind of picked on him at first, but then kind of grown to like him because of how polite he is

Johnny Cade

-man, you’re so not tough

-he thinks it’s nice that you’re so polite

-you’re kind of the gang‘s pet in like a different way than him

-The gang knows that Johnny can hold his own if needed

-You legitimately need protection from like almost everything

-I think you are kind of funny together because Johnny is more small but better than you and you look tougher but you’re not

Sodapop Curtis

-he’s also generally polite

-And admires the fact you’re a Soc

-And not stuck up

-sure maybe you’re a bit wimpy and can’t fight for shit

-but hey, at least you’re baseline polite

-he would use you as a human body shield in a rumble though

Darry Curtis

-I honestly don’t think he can stand you

-I don’t know why I just think that he doesn’t.

-He just can’t stand people like you.

-he doesn’t understand how someone of your size could possibly not fight to their advantage

-because when you’re a greaser you take every little bit and scrap that can be used to your advantage

-so we can’t comprehend how you aren’t doing that

-Then again, he didn’t grow up as privileged as you

Dallas Winston

-he just thinks your existence is hilarious

-Probably just laughs at you💀

-Picks on you the hardest side of the gang

Two Bit Mathews

-“Hey, how’s the weather up there big guy?”

-“Can you kiss the moon for me?”

-“ Yeah, you could climb Mount Everest in two steps”

-“ Did ya have fun chasing Jack down the beanstalk?”

-and as soon as he finds out how much of a wimp you are

-you know he’s making fun of that too

-“Careful, don’t punch him. He’ll fall over like a pencil”

-“ Careful running sweetheart the stick that keeps you standing straight might fall outta your ass.”

-he never lets you live it down whenever you run away from a rumble screaming

Steve Randle

-like Darry I feel like he’s also a little bit annoyed at you

-Doesn’t really understand you

-but also like sodapop he’s definitely using you as a human body shield

-he’s kind of coldly neutral around you

Tim Shepard

-pretty similar to Dallas

-He doesn’t really care that much about you

-but if you guys grow to become friends, he would protect you

Curly Shepard

-based on how he kind of likes picking on anyone who is below him to make himself feel bigger in canon

-I’m guessing he’s probably beat you up before and you two aren’t on talking terms

-Gets really mad when you’ve managed to outrun him

[notnaturalanahi]

Imagine this…

White knuckles tight around the wheel. 11 size brown leather boots flooring the pedal. Hazel green eyes not leaving the road.

Baby's engine roars so loud it sounds like a T-rex, no, like a fuckin Indominus. And that bitch is wild!

With some effort you sit up in the back seat, beauty nap disrupted. Wishing you'd take your butt's of steel sessions a bit more seriously, you hold on to that leather in front of you with one hand while the other one takes your headphones from your ears, one at a time and slides them into your jeans pocket.

"Woah there!" You finally managed to produce sounds. "Have you considered the possibility that perhaps you're speedin-" You can't say anything else, and much less point to the speed limit sign that comes and goes in the blink of an eye; Dean's sudden swerve knocks you down.

This is what it must feel like you plummet down one F-14 you think as the G force knocks you down again. You could laugh but it's physically impossible for you to do it and sit up at the same time.

"Aren't you gonna aren't you gonna ask Toretto to slow down?" You tap the younger Winchester's shoulder while using your outside voice.

"Normally I would, but- Sam moves, his big right hand detached from the roof long enough for you to glance at his wrist watch. yeah like you can read the time that fast - we can't afford to miss this appointment."

“The last time we did” Dean interrupts himself, pursing his lips as he maneuvers so he doesn't run over a pack of dogs that decided they needed to cross the street right at that moment. You don't fall back this time, but you might have strained your knuckles. “Mother fu-” he mumbles to himself.

"Yeah last time we missed it we ended up waiting six months," Sam finishes his brother sentence as Dean focuses on the road again.

"HA!" He lets out a single cackle. "Remember that place in Dallas, Sammy?"

Sam face metamorphoses into a big grin, "I remember you almost crying over your uneven sideb-"

"Everybody shut up! We're almost there!" Dean's loud and sudden announcement silences his brother's comment and you make a mental note to ask about it later, it's business time right now.

There's no time to park, Dean stops by the sidewalk and as he turns around to look at you he checks the time on his watch. "4:15 right on time"

"Can I trust you to carefully take care of her?"

"You betcha!"

Sam's already out and striding towards the crystal doors, the bell rings and the spinning sign trembles as he walks in. You pull the back door open and step out on the street both feet at a time when a big shadow lurks over you.

"I'm just asking you to park the car, okay?" Dean's tone is menacing, making your body tingle.

"Of course big boy!" You're climbing into the driver's side, closing the door and adjusting the big bench seat before making Baby roar.

"Hey! No" Dean shouts as he follows his brother's steps.

"You just worry about those lovely sideburns!" You wink and grin.

The wheels squeal,you adjust the rear view mirror and laugh as you watch Dean Winchester walk into his fave barbershop.

[kaz-playz]

ok, who is your favorite city to write about? (or cities, if you can't choose) and what are your favorite headcanons for them?

also, if you headcanon the state they're in as their parent, do you think they have a good parent (or parents)?

:D

My Favorite cities to write for are Chicago, NYC, Houston, and Austin! Ty for asking

My favorite Chicago & NYC HCS as siblings is basically what ive said in the past but

Younger sister chicago, big brother NYC brainrot.

Chicagos best friends are Wichita, Kansas and Texarkana!!

NYC just hangs out w his cousins (mainly the maine, mass, and jersey kids)

Chicago loves people, which is why so many people end up missing after she comes home crying from a bad date. (NY and his mini are a terror to the streets proffesional gardeners.)

Friends with Houston and Austin soley because Houston will NOT leave them alone and the vibes are off without her now. Austin bcs HTX and ATX are a package deal.

I think Illy and York are great parents, and their kids talk to them openly about most of their problems.

Houston and Austin (outside of sys hcs, they have their own bodies.)

People constantly assume austin is older bcs hes taller than houston. And cuz hes the capital

Houston will crash capital meetings bcs "she was capital FIRST"

Houston likes to climb people. Which if you ship Texlaska, is wonderful for the big guy /s

Houston loves to commentate on anything and everything. When shes bored she'll sit in on meetings and fan the flames.

Austin tries his best to be nice to the youngest of the trio, Dallas, but Houston is lowk a bully. (Its ok tho bcs dallas is a little asshole.)

These two are at the center of a lot of chaos involving the cities. Houston likes to organize schemes and plans.

Texas is a good parent, but he for sure has his moments. He wasnt always the best parent, but his kids are comfortable enough to hang around and annoy him, and hes working on being more involved and keeping his promises. (He needs to work on his expectations and not letting his values affect how he treats his kids)