#but if you have never lived in texas or never lived in a southern state don’t speak on it

[steveharrington]

i am surprised you are proud to be from texas but i am glad you like it there

yes i am proud to be from texas and i’m going to get defensive for a second (sorry if you didn’t intend for this to come off negatively but this is the second ask i’ve gotten that seems to imply being from texas is like Scornful) texas as a state is not defined by the harmful legislation that we live under or the bigots who happen to live here. this is the only state i’ve ever lived in, therefore it’s the state where i’ve met and lived in a community with diverse groups of people, where i’ve met other lgbt people, where i went to a gay bar for the first time, where i went to a protest for the first time, etc etc etc. i’ve seen the ways people in my community respond to the oppressive legislation we live under, i’ve seen the ways we help each other when our senator fucks off to cancun during a natural disaster or when our cities flood and our most vulnerable citizens are ignored by the government…..is all of that meaningless because we live in the south? because we live under a republican majority? i’m so tiredddd of northerners implying that everyone who lives in a southern state should be grouped in with our bigoted neighbors bc ykw there are bigots in your states too! and we suffer the direct consequences of living in a red state every day! but the true genuine spirit of texas is to be welcoming and friendly and loving to everyone, and i’ve seen that firsthand from at least one person in every town i’ve been to here, no matter how tiny or rural. idk like am i supposed to overlook all the firsthand experiences i’ve had with humanity and compassion and love here just because our government is trying to take it from us? that doesn’t make sense to me.

[mickandmusings]

i. true blue

part one of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: The summer he turned nine, Jake was convinced he'd spend it like any other summer: riding his bike down dirt roads with all the other kids, lending a helping hand on the family farm, and brushing up on his backyard football. His life hits a tailspin when a new family moves into the house just down the road, leading him to a friendship and feelings he never saw coming.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: cute childhood friends to lovers, small sections of angst, tragic backstories and southern traditions. primarily self indulgent. this is written by someone from the most southern small town imaginable, so it's written with love as an ode to my own hometown, enjoy. <3

-

In the great state of Texas, just a few hours south of Austin, sits a small town called Haven. It was a fitting name for a town so picturesque-miles and miles of endless farmland, stunning sunsets and sunrises, and the beauty of the state's flora and fauna. However, in all it's Southern small-town glory, it was home to little else. There was the hub of activity 'downtown'-the one school system, a family-owned restaurant, a convenience store, the First Baptist Church of Haven, and a hair salon. On the outskirts of Haven sat a large patch of barbed-wire fenced farmland, one that spanned most of the remaining parts of the small town, more than the eye could see. It was large enough to have its own unpaved road-Seresin Farm Road-and was home to only one house, the Seresin family house.

The Seresin family had owned the land long before the turn of the century, and had been passed down from generation to generation ever since. The Seresin's owned much of Haven to begin with, their farmland excluded. Most of the businesses rented their buildings from Jacob Seresin Sr., with the exception of the school system and the church. Despite their seemingly looming hand of ownership, you'd never know they held power at all. Mrs. Janet Seresin-first lady of the Seresin estate-was known as the town egg lady, always more than happy to pass out dozens of Styrofoam cartons free of charge. She held the unofficial prize of having the best homemade ice cream in all of Haven, and anyone in the small town would attest. Jacob Seresin Sr.-head of the Seresin farm and Janet's husband-was regarded in the same warm fashion. You could find him driving up and down the main street in his trusty red farm truck, often loaded with feed or some kind of good necessary to keep his place up and running. He'd stop and talk to anyone and everyone, literally everyone, he knew. He had been the one to help nearly everyone in his community rebuild after natural disasters, always willing to help someone in need, never asking for anything in return. The Seresin's were Haven's unofficial first family, leaders of sorts, in the small town.

Their son, Jacob Seresin Jr., was elusive and a topic nearly everyone knew to avoid. He had been raised on the family farm, attended the local school, lived and breathed the same life as everyone else, but found himself itching for more. He quickly fell into trouble with the local law, and with a last name like Seresin, he got away with mostly everything, which, perhaps, was his greatest downfall. He had gotten his high school girlfriend-a sweet local girl named Georgia Joann Smith-pregnant their senior year. When she broke the news, he'd taken off in his truck to Kentucky, where it was rumored he still was, looking for something he could never find. Nine months later, Jacob Thomas Seresin III, or 'Jake' as he preferred, was born, healthy, all ten fingers and toes. Just hours after birth, his mother fell gravely ill, and made her own swift exit in death. She left behind only one thing-her son. Jacob Sr. and Janet took him in with no questions asked, raising him as any grandparent would. Jake, luckily, seemed to inherit more of his mother than his father. His blonde hair gleamed in the Texas sun, turning almost gold in the heat-filled summers. His green eyes held his kindness-a sharp contrast to his father's dark brown eyes that seemed to only hold his anger. Jake bore Georgia's gentle soul, her wide smile and her witty personality, she lived on in Jake entirely. So when the new family moved into the empty house at the end of Seresin Farm Road, Janet had zero hesitations in sending Jake down to welcome their new neighbors to Haven. She'd spent the entire morning making homemade bread, having to occasionally swat away Jake's hands from the counter or tell him to completely get out of the kitchen while the loaves cooled. After lunch, she handed him a well-wrapped loaf and gave him instructions to take it to the newcomers, which Jake did without complaint. He'd placed the bread into the metal basket attached to his royal blue bike, trekking down their long and winding driveway. When he'd arrived nearly ten minutes later, he had parked his bike on the edge of the lawn, against a towering oak tree. He made a point to kick the dirt off his shoes, not wanting to track it onto the seemingly freshly painted, white wrap-around porch. He lifts his first to wrap against the door, one with a glass cut-out, much different than the screen door on his farmhouse. He fixed his windswept hair in the reflection of the window, remembering Granny's words of always looking well put together when meeting new people. The door's lock clicked, and when Jake looked up to see the man or lady of the house, he instead had to look down, finding a girl who couldn't be much younger than him. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at him, hair pushed out of her face with colorful butterfly shaped clips. Her eyes were captivating, and all of Jake's intended Southern charm had flown out the window. She smiles shyly at Jake, wondering why this stranger was on her porch.

"Uh, this is for you-or,uh-your parents," his arm extends the bread as he stammered. "My Granny made it, we live at the farm on the end of the road, we-uh, she-wanted to invite you to the neighborhood. I'm Jake."

Jake stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake, and winced internally. His Pawpaw would be reprimanding him if he saw this-it wasn't polite to make a lady shake your hand. Shaking hands was for business deals, and Jake had just shook her hand like she'd bought his show heifer. Jake's mind was clouded for a reason he couldn't explain, and he wasn't thinking straight. The girl blushed and smiled slightly.

"I'm Honey," her voice was quiet but pronounced. "That's not actually my name, but everyone calls me Honey, so, you can call me Honey. Um, is your house the one with the big magnolia tree in the front?"

Jake nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, shimmering with something Jake couldn't make out. Quietness settled over them before Honey spoke again.

"Is that your bike?" Honey points at his bike leaning against the tree.

"Yeah! Most kids ride their bikes everywhere here."

"C-Could I ride with you, maybe?" Her voice was suddenly shy, no longer meeting Jake's eyes. "It's just summer and I-I don't know anyone yet and-"

"Yes!" Jake cut her off, and mentally scolded himself, but as Honey flashed him a wide smile he couldn't find himself caring. She tossed the bread on the table just inside the door, slid on her purple jelly sandals and shut the door behind her. She led Jake to the empty garage, only full of empty moving boxes and a bright yellow bike. As she led them out of the garage and towards the edge of the yard, Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

"Shouldn't you let your momma know you left, leave her a note or somethin'?"

Honey's eyes cut to her feet, her smile fading.

"She won't care, I'll be back before she will. S-She's a nurse, works the night shift at the old folks home in the next town over."

Jake nodded but said nothing, pedaling off on his own bike to lead her back down to his farm.

From that moment on, Jake and Honey were practically inseparable. The entire summer was spent with a blue bike parked next to a yellow one, swimming in the creek behind Jake's house, and running around the farm with nothing but their imagination and makeshift stick swords. Jake's Border Collie, John Wayne, became a frightening dragon of their imagination, and Honey taught Jake how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers in the fields. Janet had grown fond of looking out her front window to see Honey sitting next to Jake under her magnolia tree, reading her Boxcar Children book as much as she could with Jake chattering next to her. Even when Jake was busy with his farm chores, Honey would sit placidly under the tree, enjoying the occasional breeze as she read her book of the week. After the long summer, Jacob Sr. had started referring to it as "Honey's tree," and he'd laugh to himself every time he saw the girl sitting quietly under it. Both Janet and Jacob Sr. loved having the sweet but shy girl around, especially when they found out that she spent most of her time alone in that house down the road. On the last night before summer ended, Jake and Honey sat under the tree, swatting at mosquitoes as the Texas sun set. Jake looked over at Honey, who had finally put her book down, and asked:

"Why do you like this tree so much?"

She smiled a smile that Jake knew to be half-hearted and brought her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps.

"It reminds me of home."

Honey had moved from her tiny town in Mississippi that summer, and she often talked of her home there, the friends and family she'd left behind, how her mother had left when her grandmother died, looking for a fresh start.

"My Gram had a tree like this in her yard, and she'd babysit me when Mom worked," Honey's eyes rested on the ground, where she was picking grass from the ground around her bare feet. "She'd read to me a lot, and it was my favorite place in the world. Sometimes when I read here it sort of feels like I never left."

Jake simply nodded, thinking of the mother he'd only met in pictures, and the grandparents he wouldn't trade for the world's richest man. Neither of them spoke a word about the statement she made, but they understood what it meant to both of them. Even at age nine, Jake was in love with the girl next door, even if he didn't know it yet. From the first year they met and every year after, Jake and Honey found themselves under the magnolia blossoms. Well, almost every year...

As the budding teens entered into their freshman year at Haven High School, the differences between their personalities became more apparent than ever. Jake was the ideal all-American southern boy: athletic, outgoing, someone who guys high-fived in the hallway, and one that girls would be late to class just to get a glimpse of. Jake was never one to let the attention get to his head, at least not too much. Sure, he enjoyed the feeling of being liked, and, sure, he could be cocky at times, but he was never the one to bully those completely different from him. Someone like Honey. Honey had always been quiet, shy by nature, and the very definition of an advanced student. She was beloved by her teachers, but not as well received by her classmates. With a town as small as Haven, it was either incredibly easy or incredibly hard to make friends, and for Honey, it seemed to be the latter. It wasn't as if Honey was perpetually odd-she wasn't homely or weird, just quiet. Jake was the only one who knew about her boisterous laugh that could be prompted with his corny jokes, or her wild streak, like sneaking into his bedroom window after she and her mother got into yet another fight.

At the beginning of the school year, she spent her breaks talking to Jake, and she sat next to him at lunch. He'd let her ramble about her current read, and he'd talk about yesterday's football practice. She'd leave with the promise to come around for dinner, Mrs. Janet was making her favorite. However, when football season started, and Jake had made an infamous saving play at one of the first few games, he had peaked in popularity. Honey found herself on the outside of his swarm of new friends, listening to him talk to his football buddies while the girls that followed shot her sympathetic or lethal glances. She'd ignored it at first, simply enjoying her paperback until Jake could spare himself a minute to talk to her. Eventually, the bell would sound before she even got the chance to say 'hello' to him, and, with her heart suddenly heavy, she'd make her way to class. The routine lasted for weeks and she'd find herself waiting by the phone, figuring Jake would call her after football practice, but she'd only be greeted with silence through the night. After the second week of no contact, she decided to leave Jake and his new friends to their own devices, opting to sit in the library for breaks, taking her lunch in the empty courtyard. It was like Jake hadn't noticed her absence at all, at least in her mind, but Jacob Sr. and Janet noticed immediately. They had missed her bright aura that lit up their farmhouse, watching as she greeted the dogs as she parked her now lilac bike in the driveway. Janet missed her companionship as Honey would watch her sew patches onto Jacob Sr. and Jake's clothes, and her husband missed catching up with her over dinner. The only time they'd see her anymore would be on Friday nights, at Jake's games. She'd sit in the bleachers with them, decked out in her navy blue and gold, watching intently as the boys in jerseys made their way up and down the field. At the end of the game, she'd say her goodbyes before Jake would find his grandparents and they wouldn't see her until the following Friday. In typical grandparent fashion, Janet had assumed Jake had done something. Her grandson was kind, gentlemanly, but he also had a sharp tongue and a big head, which he sometimes used in malice. So, over dinner one Thursday, Janet finally dipped her toes into the water.

"Maybe you should talk to Honey after the game tomorrow, she always seems to slip away before you two get to catch up."

Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he wiped his mouth, looking up at his grandmother.

"Honey? At a football game? Granny, I don't really think that's her scene. She hates when we have a pep rally at school, I don't think she's going to a football game voluntarily."

Jacob Sr. and Janet give each other a knowing look across the table.

"How blind are ya, son?" Jacob Sr.'s voice is accusatory.

Jake looks up from his plate, looking over at his grandfather with a confused look.

"She's been at every game this season, Jake," his grandmother's voice speaks, much softer than her husbands. "She sits next to us in the stands. When was the last time you two talked? Just the two of you?"

Jake scoffs at his grandmother's accusation, his head shaking as he tried to wrack his brain for the last time he'd talked to his best friend.

"Maybe a week or so ago, I-I can't remember."

"That's a damn shame," Jacob Sr.'s voice grumbled. "She's a sweet girl, smart too. I know she doesn't run the same circles as you and your new buddies, but she's a good friend Jake, and you're treatin' her as if she doesn't exist. She still comes to all of those games. I'm not tellin' you what to do, but maybe give her a call, and pray to the Lord above that she wants to talk to your dumb ass."

Jake's heart sank as he carried out his nightly farm chores that night, thinking of how he had treated Honey. He knew what the other girls in the group said about her, how she was 'quiet' and 'weird,' often making comments that were completely false or disrespectful. Jake always shut the comments down, but found himself not bothering to talk to the one person who had always been there for him. Was it his fear of his new friends thinking he was weird? Did he think he wouldn't be surrounded by his football buddies if they saw him talking to someone like Honey? As Jake shut the barn door, he sighed, deciding he didn't care about either. Honey had been his friend for years, long before high school or popularity, or stupid teenage rules. She'd never changed, she was still the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. That night, as he sat by the phone thinking of what to say, he'd heard the faintest knock on his door. He figured it was his Granny coming to tell him goodnight, so he made quick work of making his way to the door and flinging it open. Instead of his grandmother, Honey stood in front of him. She held an algebra textbook in her arms, her eyes never meeting his, her arms crossed protectively. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks staining her cheeks. She'd been crying, and Jake knew Honey all too well, her tears had nothing to do with the algebra assignment. Something had happened to her.

"Uh, hey, I-I know it's late, and I didn't want to bother you, but I've been workin' on this stupid algebra assignment for three hours, and i-it's not making a lick of sense. You-You're the only person I know who could help me, so if you could just show me how to do one, I'll be out of your hair. I know you have a game tomorrow, and you should really sleep-"

Honey was rambling, picking the skin around her fingernails, she was nervous. It shattered his heart in his chest, he could never remember a time when she was nervous around him.

"No, no, you're fine, Honey. C'mere."

He opened the door wide for her to come in. She nodded in thanks, hovering awkwardly in the space between his bed and his desk. Any other time she'd plop herself down on his plaid comforter, all but curling into the sheets and falling asleep. Now, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and he was different now. He wasn't just Jake, her Jake, he was Jake Seresin, up and coming star of their hometown football team, someone that a person like her should avoid in the hallway, someone that shouldn't even be talking to her.

He pushed the chair of his desk out for her, figuring she'd feel more comfortable there. She laid her textbook and notebook out flat, opening the book to the dozens of equations she couldn't make out. Honey was incredibly smart, but as her math classes advanced, she found herself staring at her own notes in utter confusion.

"Um, so, this is on polynomials," she started. "But I couldn't even tell you what a fuckin' polynomial is and I'm starting to lose my mind."

Jake quickly noted the physical manifestation of her worry-her hair messy with the way she had been running her hands through it, the chipped nail polish on her nails, and her chewing on her bottom lip. His heart ached, how had he not noticed her struggling? They were in the same class, she sat two chairs in front of him.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

She didn't even spare him a look.

"It's not your fault I'm stupid, Jake."

Jake took her arm in a light hold, turning her to look at him.

"I'm not talkin' about algebra, and you're not stupid, first of all. You're one of the smartest people I know. I'm talkin' about the way I've been actin'. It's not fair to you, I've been an ass. I've been ignoring you at school, treatin' you as if you aren't even there. You've come to all my games and I didn't even know. Thanks for that, by the way, but, I mean it, Honey. I'm sorry."

Honey shrugs, her face sprouting a faint pink blush.

"'S fine, people grow up, move on. You don't have to apologize for leaving me for people more like-minded. I get it, I don't necessarily fit the mold of your new friend group. It's okay. They seem to really like you though, and you seem happy. Plus Sam is...she's pretty. I get why you wouldn't want me hanging around."

"Sam?" Jake's voice was confused. Sam was a cheerleader, and she was friends with the girlfriends of his teammates. They had a passing conversation from time to time, but they weren't dating. "What're you talkin' about?"

Honey's brow furrowed, tapping her pencil's eraser against her book.

"Sam Vance told me like the third or fourth week of school that you were together, around the same time we stopped talking. I just assumed that was why you didn't want to talk anymore. It's sort of the reason I've kept my distance."

Jake's blood boiled, he was not dating Sam Vance. She was heinously mean, even to her own 'friends.'

"Honey," Jake started, his eyes full of sympathy, his flash of anger flickering. "I'm not dating her, not by a long shot. I don't know why she lied to you, I've never said more than a few sentences to one another, she's...mean. She's vicious, I'm sorry."

Honey's head only shook in a nonchalant manner. She was good at this, pushing people away, Jake had noticed it over the years. After years of practically raising herself, those she loved either abandoning her or leaving her in death, she expected everyone to leave. Honey herself knew that someday Jake would leave her, just like everyone else, so when he pulled away, she didn't bother trying to stop it, no matter how it hurt.

"Stop that. I know what I did was shitty, and it seemed like I didn't want you there, but this isn't me dumping you off, Honey. I swear. And I know something's wrong, you're not crying because of a homework assignment. If it's because of what happened between us, I'll do anythin' to make it up to you-"

Honey's bottom lip trembles, her eyes lining with tears as she shakes her head. She looks up at Jake, pain clouding her usually kind eyes.

"You don't have to worry about me, Jake."

"No I don't," he stated honestly. "I want to, Honey. You're my best friend, and you're hurtin'. You may not need me, but I want to help you. I know I haven't been a good friend, the worst actually, but talk to me, please."

Honey looks at her lap, bringing her knees to her chest in an action of protection Jake was familiar with-every time she has to get vulnerable, it's her defensive action, as if curling up in a ball would save her from hurt.

"For what it's worth," Honey started, her voice small and quiet. "I really don't understand polynomials, like, at all. But you're right, it's more than that." She pauses and takes a deep breath, Jake's heart shattering. Her inability to speak freely, the bags under her eyes, her nervous habit at the forefront-he'd never seen her so tired, so heavy.

"About a week ago, I came home and all of my mom's stuff was gone. I mean, all of it, her bedroom was completely empty. She left a note on the kitchen table." Her eyes focus on the Cowboys poster on the back of Jake's door, her eyes dulling. "She decided to move in with her boyfriend, and he-he doesn't even know she has a child, so she left the house for me. Which is fine, we never got along anyway, it's just been...lonely. She pays the bills and leaves money, so it's not like I'm fending for myself, but, it just really sucks she doesn't really care about me. I guess it shouldn't, but-" She pauses, eyes dazed out, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Sorry for the soapbox, I just, it all is piling up, and now I'm crying over polynomials." She laughs dryly. "Just, God I've missed you, Jake. I sort of pushed myself away from you because I thought you'd found people you'd rather spend your time with. I'm nothing like you interest wise, and-"

"Stop putting yourself down, I won't stand for it." Jake looks at her as she laughs in a quiet manner, hands wiping away her silent tears. Jake moves directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I mean it. You're ten times cooler than any of them. Most of the guys on the team, pretty laid back, cool, but all they ever want to talk about is football and how hot so-and-so is, and their girlfriends? Worse, by a thousand, at least most of them. I'd like to think I'm not that shallow, right?"

Jake Seresin was a lot of things, but shallow was not one of them.

"Please hang out with me tomorrow? I'll have Granny pick you up for school. You and I are going to talk until the bell rings, you've got to catch me up on that Scarlett girl in that book you were reading last time we talked. I'm sitting with you at lunch because Granny made me promise to bring you lunch, and you gotta catch me up on last week's Dawson's Creek episode. Then I'll see you at the game, and we can swing by The Burger Basket, you, me, burgers, fries, a strawberry shake for you and a chocolate one for me."

Honey laughed, nodding her head, her heart warming as she heard Jake ask for the things she thought he found annoying-her ranting about the books she was reading, or the TV shows she was watching. She wiped her tears, standing and hugging the blonde boy who knew her better than herself sometimes. Her chest felt lighter, it felt good to be known so incredibly well. He squeezed her tight before she let go. (Jake never, ever, let go first.) She sits back in the desk chair, sliding in next to Jake, her head falling on his shoulder.

"So," she spoke after a moment of silence. "Polynomials?"

Jake chuckles.

"Let's make a deal, Hon. I explain to you how to solve these equations, and you explain to me what the hell Shakespeare is talking about in those English assignments for Mrs. Elmer's class?"

Honey laughs, she and Jake were both good students, but in two very different subjects.

"You've got yourself a deal, J."

Jake smirks, taking the pencil that sat in the crevice of the book, his scratchy handwriting across her paper as he attempted to explain. In a matter of minutes, Honey began to understand, a smile forming as she grasped the concepts. Jake's green eyes met hers in the light of his desk lamp, glimmering, and the breath in his chest catches, his heart hammering. His palms sweat around the pencil and he can't look away from her.

"You alright, Seresin?" Honey's voice is laced with humor, and it snaps him out of his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

Jake had lied, he had just realized, for the first time since Jake had known Honey, he was beginning to see her as something more than just his best friend. When he looked at Honey, he noticed something he'd never noticed before, she was beautiful.

-

[dontknowwhatyouheard]

Sweet ★

Pairing✨: Southern Natasha Romanoff x fem reader

Summary✨: You and Natasha have been known eachother for five years. It wasn't until recently that you've been having some not-so-innocent thoughts.

Warnings ✨: 18+ series

Texas heat was nothing new to Nat. You have been living in Texas for around five years now, and yet you still can’t seem to take the blazing heat. Natasha always said city folk ain’t tough for nothing. And as you lay on her couch in extra short, shorts and a crop top she bought you when you first moved out here, you’re starting to think she was right. 

“Nat, I think your AC is broken!” You shout down the hall. 

It takes a while for Nat to answer, so you get ready to get up and see where she is. As you turn to put your feet on the ground, you hear Natasha’s feet patting towards you. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” She states this calmly as she enters the foyer, focusing on the tools in her hands. 

You don’t bother looking up; you could never make eye contact with her when she calls you that; instead, you try and give your most convincing damsel in distress performance in hopes that she will take pity on you. “Natasha, it’s sooo hot, and I don’t think I'll survive this time. That’s why I need you to fix the AC, so you don’t have a criminal charge on your hands.” And just for good luck, flick some sweat off your brow for the extra dramatics. 

Nat laughs you off and walks to the kitchen for a drink of water. “I already told you I’m not turning the AC on. That's extra I don’t need to spend. Besides, it's only like 75 degrees right now; that's not bad.” She waits for your response, when she hears nothing, she continues. “And your mother would probably kill me before they even got the chance to charge me.”

“But there's nothing to do, Nat.” You whine out like a child. At this point, Natasha had found her way in front of you. You look up and see her with that cocky smirk of hers, and it almost makes you wanna look away. But the glass of water in her hand is too enticing. 

You quickly reach for the glass in her hand, not caring if it is for you or not. Before she can speak, you throw your head back, moaning in delight as the ice water slowly slides down your throat. 

Natasha stared in awe. She opened her mouth to speak but immediately shut it; suddenly, she was entrapped by your beauty. Her eyes traced a line from your lips to your throat. No matter how hard she tried to look away, her mind seemed to betray her. Without her permission, her breath followed the bob in your throat as you drank. At this point, Natasha wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. You have been teasing her like this for all of 5 years, even if you weren’t aware. 

-

When you and Natasha first met, it was when your car broke down during the last stretch of your 26-hour road trip from New York to Texas. It was the middle of the night, and she was taking a joy ride in her all-black Cadillac Escalade, and suddenly she saw you all alone at the side of the road, with your hood popped. She did not let you go any farther alone that night. And since then, you’ve been friends. 

-

Finishing off the water, you look back towards Natasha. And when you look into her eyes, it's like a switch goes off in her. Her eyes dilate as she watches you swallow. She retraces the same line she traced with her eyes going down. Slowly, they go from your throat to your lips to your eyes. When they reach their destination, it's like her mouth moves on autopilot.

“Let me take you on a date, sweetness.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @badbitchbecs @simpforlizzie @dorabledewdroop

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

A Southern Myth

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“God sent him, it is His gift to us.”

“We must act quickly, the end is nigh”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he remembered something from mass he attended,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Lord, for this blessing”

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

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

It only made you shiver and writhe in disgust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forgive me, my children!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[soup-mother]

*american voice* "it's literally always the exact same season everywhere in the world always, the southern hemisphere does not have different seasons, and the way america determines seasons is universally used everywhere.

timezones do not meaningfully exist and Australians are literally foreward in time. if someone is speaking English they are american, if they're not american they're british.

everyone knows exactly where you live and what you mean if you say the name of some major city in Europe but mean your tiny town in texas named after that city. everyone knows that "state of Georgia" means the american state and not the nation state of Georgia, and that IND means indiana and not india, the country with the highest population in the world (and over 100 million of whom speak English)

never say you live in america even if it's for a shipping address, everyone will just naturally know, because they're also always American. never specify prices are in american dollars, and assume anything with a dollar sign means American dollars, and conversion rates don't exist. any temperature is in farenheit even if it has °c after it. the euro currency sign is the sign for american cents.

republicanism universally means exactly the same thing as it does in america and is always bad, and liberal universally means the same thing and is always good.

if someone's talking about something that seems to indicate a wider world existing that you don't know about, they're lying to you. if someone is black and complaining about America, they're either a russian bot or in the FBI"

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden Embers

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Summary: Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

A/N: Hello strangers, haven't seen you in a long long time. This is something that's been on the works for months now. Ideally, I wanted to put this series out when I had a good enough chunk of the story finished since I'm the most undecisive person ever. However, I wanna start posting some chapters on here as I go and then post the full completed thing on AO3. I will warn you though, it is very likely that as I write the story, I will keep on making some changes to previously posted chapters just so in the end it all makes sense and it's cohesive, I will let you guys know whenever there has been a major change. Take this as me asking the tumblr girlies to beta read this series before i publish it over on AO3. In any case, I hope the ones who decide to start reading here instead of waiting for the full thing enjoy it very much, I'm very open to suggestions, opinions and constructive critisism. :)

Warnings: Age-gap (Reader is 22, Joel is 46), Dbf!Joel, mommy issues

It was your first summer back home after graduation. The relentless Texas heat was bringing memories from your childhood that had been buried away until now, some of them felt more like dreams at this point. You had never been too good with the heat, but spending four years in chilly, gloomy New England had certainly birthed a new appreciation for it.

You weren’t sure you wanted to come back and stay for the entire summer, but your southern-to-the-core mother has a knack for getting her way. Something about “You were away for four whole years, I’m sure you can spare us a couple months before you jump right into a job in god knows where. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up moving back and finding something around here, a nice guy to settle down with and finally get your life going.” 

God forbid. 

Naturally, in true southern fashion, your parents had to make your graduation celebration a neighborhood affair. A big barbeque, with all the nice people your parents grew up with, went to highschool and college with, who married and had kids with each other. People who haven’t, a day in their lives, given a single thought to what might exist outside of their perfect suburban bubbles. 

You weren’t trying to act ungrateful – it was a celebration of one of your most important milestones after all. People were coming together to congratulate you and your achievements. But if it were up to you, none of them would have been invited and you wouldn’t have celebrated it like this. Honestly, you missed the trips you used to take with your dad as a kid, all the way out in the countryside. Just the two of you for a week during the summer, staying in an old cabin that creaked and shook whenever your steps were too heavy. You don't remember why you stopped going, but you wished you still did. It would have been a much nicer celebration.

None of today’s guests knew you as anything other than your parent’s daughter, the shiny new thing your mother was choosing to show off. You knew that’s how it was gonna be the second your mother told you there was no point in attending your college’s graduation party, why would you when they could make you your own celebration back home with all the nice neighborhood people instead of a room full of strangers?

Your dad had good intentions, you knew that… deep, deep down. But it had always just been the three of you, and even when it was blatantly obvious your mother was in the wrong, even when there was no way of justifying her behaviors, he still stood behind her, echoing her words. 

And that's how you ended up here, prepping food for your own graduation barbeque, decorating your own garden, cleaning up your own house so it would be sparkly clean for people you hadn’t seen in well over a decade. It’s what a “Do it for me, i’ll make it up to you I promise. The community is just really important to your mom” from your dad gets out of you. 

You had probably been looking at yourself for a good twenty minutes now. Nothing you tried on felt quite right. It was either too formal, too casual, too revealing or too childish. This was a direct consequence of moving out of the south at the ripe age of 10; No one in Virginia taught you how one was supposed to dress for a neighborhood barbeque. 

Last minute you land on a blue sundress, delicate white flowers scattered around, long enough to cover your knees but not long enough to make you look like you just walked out of Sunday school. You took that as a win. 

At the sound of your mother loudly complaining about no one in the household ever helping (a comment undoubtedly directed at you), you decide to drag yourself downstairs. The sooner you get this party started, the sooner you could be done with it.

Rushing down the stairs, distractedly gathering your hair up with a tie, you unexpectedly bump into something – or rather someone.  

"Easy. Watch your step, kid. Where's the fire?"

That familiar voice… same old Joel Miller. A few more grays overpowering the darkness of his hair, a couple more wrinkles here and there and a deeper tan painting his skin a more caramel-y shade. But it was still him. 

You knew very little about Joel, just that he was your dad’s best friend for as long as you could remember. The periodic phone calls they filled with hour-long football discussions, the christmas cards exchanged and birthday wishes texted. You remember him being around the house a lot before moving out of Texas, although the specifics of it escape your memory.

Now he’s standing right in front of you, firm hands holding you by your arms to make sure you won't lose your balance, and you’re faced with the fact that twenty-two-year-old you might be seeing Joel Miller through a different lens. 

Your brain isn’t really doing what it’s meant to do, which in this exact moment would be produce an acceptable response for the six-foot-something man with broad shoulders, dark brooding eyes and a musky, woody scent that made you wanna… No. Focus.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even see you there… I didn’t think anyone would arrive until five.” you finally reply to his expectant stare. 

“No need to be sorry.” He says back, letting go of your arms once he’s sure you’re able to stand on your own. “Well, welcome home. Haven’t seen you since you were running around in mermaid tees” 

Yeah, now seemed like the right time to look for a hole in the ground to crawl into. 

“Oh, that’s not fair, I grew out of my mermaid phase long before we moved.  I was well into boyband territory last time you saw me” you try to joke your way through the conversation, hoping the burning sensation crawling up to your cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. 

The embarrassment of the moment would have churned your insides for much longer if Joel's mouth hadn't quirked up in a charming smirk, so captivating it was hard to believe he wasn't aware of its effect. 

That on its own was already causing some conflicting feelings to boil up inside you, but then he had the nerve to let out a small chuckle he seemed to have been trying to hold back. He was chuckling... Texas’ resident grump was chuckling at your joke, which wasn't even that funny if we’re being fully earnest. Why did you like that thought so much?

You were about to say something, anything really, in a shameless attempt to see if you could earn one more of those, when your mother's approaching voice snapped you out of the haze.

“Are you gonna make me drag you in here, or will you do me the courtesy of helping out... Oh, goodness me! Joel! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re here early.” She switched gears faster than a professional racer. Suddenly, she was back to being the neighborhood’s sweetheart, her voice dripping with that sickly sweet drawl.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the intrusion,” Joel replies, slipping back into his usual, almost stiff demeanor. Whatever new side you had seen of him a second ago was quickly gone. “Hank asked me to drop by a bit earlier to bring him the grill. Said mine’s better suited for the amount of meat he’s buying.”

“Oh, how that man refuses to listen. I told him we didn’t need that much meat. I'm making a whole lotta side dishes,” she whines, waving her hand dismissively. “Well, I guess everyone will be taking leftovers home then. Hank went over to the store to grab me some stuff I was missing. He should be back in a heartbeat.” She glances back at you and, in that passive-aggressive tone that almost anybody else would miss, said, “Well, sweetheart, don’t just stand there. Go help Joel unload his grill and show him what a good host you are.” 

It was only your third day back home. Somehow, four years of freedom had made living in this household even more unbearable. 

Smile, turn around, walk away. Choose your peace, choose your peace, choose your peace.

Heavy footsteps echo yours all the way to the garage, where Joel's truck waited. You let him walk past you to unlock the tailgate. “Your mom hasn’t changed one bit, has she?” Joel says distractedly while grabbing some metal pieces that looked like parts of his grill. 

“Oh, if you only knew.” you say back, trying your best to conceal the sharpness of your tone. 

He hands you the cold metal parts, surprisingly lighter than you anticipated. You were convinced he only made you carry them to let you feel useful. “Believe me, I know. Known your mom since way before you were even a thought runnin’ through her head.” 

Right. ‘Cause he happens to be your parents’ age and over twice your senior. One of the many reasons why getting distracted by the way his muscles flexed while picking up the grill was so beyond wrong. 

“You uh… you still live a few houses up the street?” You asked, trying your best to redirect your reckless thoughts. 

“Same old house.” He replies with a slightly strained voice from carrying the weight. Once he set it down in the backyard, he turned around to take the pieces you were holding onto. “Renovated some of it, built a new pool out back.” 

“That sounds nice, might have to check it out sometime.” You said it without even thinking much. What compelled you to think it was acceptable to tell a man you haven't seen in over a decade you would like to ‘check out’ his pool, was beyond you.

You thought Joel would chuckle it off or maybe not even acknowledge it, which he would’ve been well within his right to do, but he looked up to you from his leaning position next to the grill and said “Yeah, I think you might.” 

You couldn’t shake off Joel’s words throughout the whole afternoon. 

First chance you got to zone out in between introductions, awkward small talk and getting asked the same thing for the thousandth time, your mind drifted back to Joel’s words. 

He was just being polite, right? He has always been a gentleman after all. Maybe it was just the southern hospitality in him, maybe he didn’t even mean it and was just trying to be nice.

Yeah, I think you might

You were most probably just reading too much into it, but the way he said it seemed like a lot more than just being polite. Or, and this is a very big possibility, it’s been way too long since you’ve let anyone take you to bed and you’re latching onto the first man who looks your way. 

You try to distract your brain with the old lady in front of you instead, who’s been chatting you up about her four cats for over fifteen minutes. She’s surprisingly nice but you think you’d be enjoying her chatter a lot more if your mind wasn’t so distracted.

She notices as much.  “You doin’ alright there, sweetheart?” 

You  brush it off as best as you can. “Oh, I'm alright. I just think the trip and the unpacking is finally catching up to me.” You stand up from the lawn chair you’d been lounging on. “I’ll go grab myself a drink, can I grab you anything?” 

She smiles sweetly up at you and replies “No, sweetness, you go ahead.” 

The chatter outside dulls out as you close the glass doors behind you. You don’t bother turning on the kitchen overhead lights, relying only on light seeping in from the back yard.

The chill from the fridge hits your chest as you crack the door open to grab a can of coke. Just as you pop the tab, a shadow leaning against the door frame makes you jump. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning.” you say bringing your hand to your chest trying to slow your heartbeat back down. 

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.” Joel's voice comes from the shadow

Oh, this man was actively trying to kill you. 

Darlin’ ? Lord, were you screwed. 

You hoped the dim lighting was doing enough to hide the burning red that was probably staining your cheeks already, especially since Joel was pushing off of the door frame and walking over to you. 

“Needed a break from the crowd too?” you ask softly, cutting through the quiet.

The corner of his lips curves up in one of his killer smirks and you can already tell that’s gonna be one of your favorite things about him. “You readin’ me like a book.” 

You give him a tiny smile and take a sip of your Coke, the cold liquid a welcome distraction. “I thought you’d be manning the grill.”

He grumbles softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “Hank’s got it covered for now. Figured I’d come check on you.”

You look up at him confused. “Check on me? Why?”

He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. This can’t be easy, coming back after all this time.”

More than the charming smirks or the pet names or the indecipherable jabs, this knocked the air out of your chest. You were so used to everyone telling you how lucky you were, how your parents were wonderful and how great it was they could put you through college, how you had a perfect life and how easy it seemed for you to deal with it all. You get it, that’s how it looked from the outside and you didn’t blame people for thinking that. But the truth was you had just become shockingly skilled at hiding your struggles, pretending you had everything under control and plastering a big, dazzling smile on your face.

Somehow, in the few hours that Joel has been around you, at least in this past decade, he managed to see right through this smoke screen you’ve been building your entire life to keep people from seeing what’s going on inside. 

It leaves you speechless for a second. “Oh, um…” you can’t take your eyes off of him now, far too unconcerned to notice if you’re staring. “It’s been… exhausting and a bit hectic but, you know, I’m alright. Thank you for asking, Joel.” His name slips out of your lips so easily, like you could picture yourself saying it over and over again without ever burning out. 

He looks down, almost like he isn’t used to doing this either, like he’s searching for something else to say. Then his hoarse voice breaks through the silence “Well, if you’re not, you know where to find me.” 

With one last glance, a lingering one at that, Joel turns back and leaves where he came from. Like he didn’t just tip your entire world out of balance. 

And you’re left there in the dark, trying to figure out what the hell this feeling on your chest is and why, on god's green earth, your father’s best friend won’t leave your head. 

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me 🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, i think thats all

all of the songs and celebrities mentioned in here are from the time periods this was written if you are confused🩷

Chapter 1

It was 1956. I was living with my family at the Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, where my father, then Captain, Joseph Paul y/ln, a career officer, was stationed. He came home late for dinner one evening and handed me a record album.

“I don’t know what this Matt guy is all about,” he said, “but he must be something special. I stood in line with half the Air Force at the PX to get this for you; everybody wants it.”

I put the record on the hi-fi and heard the rocking music of “Blue Suede Shoes.” The album was titled Matt Sturniolo. It was his first.

Like almost every other kid in America, I liked Matt but not as fanatically as many of my girl friends at Del Valley Junior High. They all had Matt T-shirts and Matt hats and Matt socks and even lipstick in colors with names like Hound Dog Orange and Heartbreak Pink referencing names of his songs. Matt was everywhere, on bubblegum cards and Bermuda shorts, on diaries and wallets and pictures that glowed in the dark. The boys at school began trying to look like him, with their fluffy hair and turned up collars.

One girl was so crazy about him that she was running his local fan club. She said I could join for twenty-five cents, the price of a book she’d ordered for me by mail. When I received it, I was shocked to see a picture of Matt signing the bare chests of a couple of girls, at that time an unheard-of act.

Then I saw him on television on Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey’s Stage Show. He was sexy and handsome, with his deep brooding eyes, pouty lips, and crooked smile. He strutted out to the microphone, spread his legs, leaned back, and strummed his guitar. Then he began singing with such confidence, moving his body with unbridled sexuality. Despite myself, I was attracted.

Some members of his adult audience were less enthusiastic. Soon his performances were labeled obscene. My mother stated emphatically that he was “a bad influence for teenage girls. He arouses things in them that shouldn’t be aroused. If there’s ever a mothers’ march against Matt Sturniolo, I’ll be the first in line.”

But I’d heard that despite all of his stage antics and lustful, tough-guy looks, Matt came from a strict Southern Christian background. He was a country boy who didn’t smoke or drink, who loved and honored his parents, and who addressed all adults as “sir” or “ma’am.”

I was an Air Force child, a shy, pretty little girl, unhappily accustomed to moving from base to base every two or three years. By the time I was eleven, I had lived in six different cities and, fearful of not being accepted, I either kept to myself or waited for someone to befriend me. I found it especially difficult entering a new school in the middle of the year, when cliques had already been established and newcomers were considered outsiders.

Small and petite, with long y/hc hair, y/ec eyes, and an upturned nose, I was always stared at by the other students. At first girls would see me as a rival, afraid I’d take their boyfriends away. I seemed to feel more comfortable with boys—and they were usually friendlier.

People always said I was the prettiest girl in school, but I never felt that way. I was skinny, practically scrawny, and even if I was as cute, as people said, I wanted to have more than just good looks. Only with my family did I really feel totally protected and loved. Close and supportive, they provided my stability.

A photographer’s model before her marriage, my mother was totally devoted to her family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to help her with the kids. After me, there were Don, four years younger, and Michelle, my only sister, who was five years younger than Don. Jeff and the twins, Tim and Tom, hadn’t yet been born.

My mother was too shy to talk about the facts of life, so my sex education came in school, when I was in the sixth grade. Some kids were passing around a book that looked like the Bible from the outside, but when you opened it, there were pictures of men making love to women, and women making love to each other.

My body was changing and stirring with new feelings. I’d gotten looks from boys at school, and once a picture of me in a tight turtleneck sweater was stolen from the school bulletin board. Yet I was still a child, embarrassed about my own sexuality. I fantasized endlessly about French-kissing, but when my friends who hung around our house played spin the bottle, it would take me half an hour to let a boy kiss my pursed lips.

My strong, handsome father was the center of our world. He was a hard worker who had earned his degree in Business Administration at University of Texas. At home he ran a tight ship. He was a firm believer in discipline and responsibility, and he and I frequently knocked heads. When I became a cheerleader at thirteen, it was all I could do to convince him to let me go to out-of-town games. Other times no amount of crying, pleading, or appealing to my mother would change his mind. When he laid down the law, that was that.

I managed to get around him occasionally. When he refused to let me wear a tight skirt, I joined the Girl Scouts specifically so I could wear their tight uniform.

My parents were survivors. Although they often had to struggle financially, we children were the last to feel it. When I was a little girl my mother sewed pretty tablecloths to cover the orange crates that we used as end tables. Rather than do without, we made the best of what we had.

Dinner was strictly group participation: Mother cooked, one of us set the table, and the rest cleaned up. Nobody got away with anything, but we were very supportive of one another. I felt fortunate to have a close-knit family.

Going through old albums of family photographs showing my parents when they were young fascinated me. I was curious about the past. World War II intrigued me, especially since my father had fought with the Marines on Okinawa. He looked handsome in his uniform—you could tell he was posing for my mother—but somehow his smile looked out of place, especially when you realized where he was. When I read the note on the back of the picture about how much he missed my mother, my eyes filled with tears.

While rummaging through the family keepsakes I came upon a small wooden box. Inside was a carefully folded American flag, the kind that I knew was given to servicemen’s widows. Also inside the box was a picture of my mother with her arm around a strange man and, sitting on her lap, an infant. On the back of the photo was inscribed “Mommy, Daddy, y/n.” I had discovered a family secret.

Feeling betrayed, I ran to phone my mother, who was at a party nearby. Within minutes I was in her arms, crying as she calmed me and explained that when I was six months old, my real father, Lieutenant James Wagner, a handsome Navy pilot, had been killed in a plane crash while returning home on leave. Two and a half years later, she married Paul y/ln, who adopted me and had always loved me as his own.

Mother suggested I keep my discovery from the other children. She felt it would endanger our family closeness, though when it did become known, it had no effect on our feelings for one another. She gave me a gold locket that my father had given her. I cherished that locket and wore it for years and fantasized that my father died a great hero. In times of emotional pain and loneliness he would become my guardian angel.

By the end of the year, I’d been nominated to run for Queen of Del Valley Junior High. This was my first taste of politics and competition and it was especially trying because I was running against Millie Collins, my best friend.

We each had a campaign manager introducing us as we went from house to house knocking on doors. My manager tried to talk each person into voting for me and donating a penny or more per vote to a school fund. The nominee who collected the most money won. I was sure that this competition would jeopardize my friendship with Millie, which was more important to me than winning. I considered quitting but felt I couldn’t let my parents or my supporters down. While my mother was out looking for a dress for me to wear to the coronation, my dad kept reminding me to memorize an acceptance speech. I kept putting it off, certain I was going to lose.

It was the last day of the campaign, and a rumor began circulating that Millie’s grandparents had put in a hundred-dollar bill for their vote. My parents were disappointed; there was no way that they could afford to match that much money and even if they could, they objected on principle.

The night they announced the winner, I was all dressed up in a new turquoise blue, strapless tulle net formal that itched so badly I couldn’t wait to take it off. I sat beside Millie on the dais in the large school auditorium. I could see my parents with happy, confident looks on their faces though I was sure they were going to be disheartened. Then the principal walked up to the podium.

“And now,” she said, hesitating to heighten the suspense, “is the moment you’ve all been waiting for  . . . the culmination of a month of campaigning by our two lovely contestants: y/n y/ln  . . .” All eyes turned toward me. I blushed and glanced at Millie. “ . . . and Millie Collins.” Our eyes locked for a brief, tense moment.

“The new Queen of Del Valley Junior High is  . . .” A drum roll sounded. “ . . . y/n y/ln.”

The audience applauded wildly. I was in shock. Called up to the stage to give my speech, I had none. Sure that I was going to lose, I’d never even bothered to write one. I walked, trembling, to the podium, then looked out at the crowded auditorium. All I could see was my father’s face, growing more disappointed as he realized I had nothing to say. When I finally spoke, it was to apologize.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not prepared to give a speech, as I did not expect to win. But thank you very much for voting for me. I’ll do my very best.” And then, looking at my father, I added, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

I was surprised as the audience graciously applauded, but I still had to face my father and hear him say, “I told you so.”

Being elected Queen was a bittersweet victory, because the closeness that Millie and I once shared was restrained. Still, to me that crown symbolized a wonderful, unfamiliar feeling: acceptance.

My newfound tranquility ended abruptly when my father announced that he was being transferred to Wiesbaden, West Germany.

I was crushed. Germany was the other side of the world. All my fears returned. My first thought was, What am I going to do about my friends? I turned to my mother, who was sympathetic and reminded me that we were in the Air Force and moving was an unavoidable part of our lives.

I finished junior high school, my mother gave birth to baby Jeff, and we said our goodbyes to neighbors and good friends. Everyone promised to write or call, but remembering past promises I knew better. My friend Stephanie jokingly told me that Matt Sturniolo was stationed in Bad Neuheim, West Germany. “Do you believe it? You’re going to be in the same country as Matt Sturniolo,” she said. We looked at a map and found that Bad Neuheim was close to Wiesbaden. I said back, “I’m going over there to meet Matt.” We both laughed, hugged each other, and said goodbye.

West Germany

The fifteen-hour flight to West Germany seemed interminable, but finally we arrived in the beautiful old city of Wiesbaden, headquarters of the U.S. Air Force in Europe. There we checked into the Helene Hotel, a massive and venerable building on the main thoroughfare. After three months, hotel living became too expensive and we began looking for a place to rent.

We felt lucky to find a large apartment in a vintage building constructed long before World War I. Soon after we moved in, we noticed that all the other apartments were rented to single girls. These Fräuleins walked around all day long in robes and negligees, and at night they were dressed to kill. Once we learned a little German, we realized that, although the pension was very discreet, we were living in a brothel.

Moving was out of the question—housing was too scarce—but the location did little to help me to adjust. Not only was I isolated from other American families, but there was the language barrier. I was accustomed to changing schools frequently, but a foreign country posed altogether new problems, principally that I couldn’t share my thoughts. I began to feel that my life had stopped dead in its tracks.

September came and with it, school. Once again I was the new girl. I was no longer popular and secure as I’d been at Del.

There was a place called the Eagles Club, where American service families went for dinner and entertainment. It was within walking distance of the pension and soon proved an important discovery for me. Every day after school, I’d go to the snack bar there and listen to the jukebox and write letters to my friends back home in Austin, telling them how much I missed them. Drowning in tears, I’d spend my weekly allowance playing the songs that were very popular back in the States—Frankie Avalon’s “Venus” and the Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do Is Dream.”

One warm summer afternoon, I was sitting with my brother Don when I noticed a handsome man in his twenties staring at me. I’d seen him watching me before, but I’d never paid any attention to him. This time, he stood up and walked toward me. He introduced himself as Steven Wright and asked my name.

“y/n y/ln,” I said, immediately suspicious; he was much older than me.

He asked where in the States I came from, how I liked Germany, and if I liked Matt Sturniolo.

“Of course,” I said, laughing. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m a good friend of his. My wife and I go to his house quite often. How would you like to join us one evening?”

Unprepared for such an extraordinary invitation, I grew even more skeptical and guarded. I told him I’d have to ask my parents. Over the course of the next two weeks, Steven met my parents and my father checked out his credentials. Steven was also in the Air Force and it turned out that my father knew his commanding officer. That seemed to break the ice between them. Steven assured Dad that I’d be well chaperoned when we visited Matt, who lived off base in a house in Bad Nauheim.

On the appointed night I tore through my closet, trying to find an appropriate outfit. Nothing seemed dressy enough for meeting Matt Sturniolo. I settled on a navy and white sailor dress and white socks and shoes. Surveying myself in the mirror, I thought I looked cute, but being only fourteen, I didn’t think I’d make any kind of impression on Matt.

Eight o’clock finally arrived, and so did Steven Wright and his attractive wife, Carole. Anxious, I hardly spoke to either of them during the forty-five-minute drive. We entered the small town of Bad Nauheim, with its narrow cobblestone streets and plain, old-fashioned houses, and I kept looking around for what I assumed would be Matt’s huge mansion. Instead Steven pulled up to an ordinary-looking three-story house surrounded by a white picket fence.

There was a sign on the gate in German, which translated as: autographs between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. only. Even though it was after eight o’clock, a large group of friendly German girls waited around expectantly. When I asked Steven about them, he explained that there were always large groups of fans outside the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt.

I followed Steven through the gate and up the short pathway to the door. We were welcomed by James Sturniolo, Matt’s father, a tall, gray-haired, attractive man, who led us down a long hallway to the living room, from which I could hear Brenda Lee on the record player, singing “Sweet Nothin’s.”

The plain, almost drab living room was filled with people, but I spotted Matt immediately. He was handsomer than he appeared in films, younger and more vulnerable-looking with his haircut. He was in civilian clothes, a bright red sweater and tan slacks, and he was sitting with one leg swung over the arm of a large overstuffed chair, with a cigar dangling from his lips.

As Steven led me over to him, Matt stood up and smiled. “Well,” he said. “What have we here?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just kept staring at him.

“Matt,” Steven said, “this is y/n y/ln. The girl I told you about.”

We shook hands and he said, “Hi, I’m Matt Sturniolo,” but then there was a silence between us until Matt asked me to sit down beside him, and Steven drifted off.

“So,” Matt said. “Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, about a junior or senior in high school?”

I blushed and said nothing, not willing to reveal that I was only in the ninth grade.

“Well,” he persisted.

“Ninth.”

Matt looked confused. “Ninth what?”

“Grade,” I whispered.

“Ninth grade,” he said and started laughing. “Why, you’re just a baby.”

“Thanks,” I said curtly. Not even Matt Sturniolo had the right to say that to me.

“Well. Seems the little girl has spunk,” he said, laughing again, amused by my response. He gave me that charming smile of his, and all my resentment just melted away.

We made small talk for a while longer. Then Matt got up and walked over to the piano and sat down. The room suddenly grew silent. Everyone’s eyes were focused on him as he began to entertain us.

He sang “Rags to Riches” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and then with his friends singing harmony, “End of the Rainbow.” He also did a Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation, pounding the keys so hard that a glass of water he’d set on the piano began sliding off. When Matt caught it without missing a beat of the song, everyone laughed and applauded except me. I was nervous. I glanced around the room and saw an intimidating life-size poster of a half-nude model on the wall. She was the last person I wanted to see, with her fulsome body, pouting lips, and wild mane of tousled hair. Imagining Matt’s taste in women, I felt very young and out of place.

I glanced up and saw Matt trying to get my attention. I noticed that the less response I showed, the more he began singing just for me. I couldn’t believe that Matt Sturniolo was trying to impress me.

Later, he asked me to come into the kitchen, where he introduced me to his grandmother, Minnie Mae Sturniolo, who stood by the stove, frying a huge pan of bacon. As we sat down at the table, I told Matt I wasn’t hungry. Actually I was too nervous to eat.

“You’re the first girl I’ve met from the States in a long time,” Matt said, as he began devouring the first of five gigantic bacon sandwiches, each one smothered with mustard. “Who are the kids listening to?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?” I said. “Everyone listens to you.”

Matt seemed unconvinced. He asked me a lot of questions about Fabian and Ricky Nelson. He told me he was worried about how his fans would accept him when he returned to the States. Since he’d been away, he hadn’t made any public appearances or movies, although he’d had five hit singles, all recorded before he’d left.

It felt like we’d just begun talking when Steven came in and pointed to his watch. I had dreaded that moment; the evening had gone so fast. It seemed I had just arrived and now I was being hurried away. Matt and I had just started to get to know each other. I felt like Cinderella, knowing that when my curfew came, all this magic would end. I was surprised when Matt asked Steven if I could possibly stay longer. When Steven explained the agreement with my father, Matt casually suggested that maybe I could come by again. Though I wanted to more than anything in the world, I didn’t really believe it would happen.

a/n - thoughts on this story so far? all the fashion and technology and things is still based in the time period its set in but i promise it gets better as the story goes on! i know the age gap is crazy but back in the day it was normal and its the age gap in Priscilla’s book so i just stuck with it. I in no way support this at all🎀

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

[tightjeansjavi]

𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖 𝕛𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕟’𝕋𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚

♡ 𓃗 ♡

Pre! Outbreak Joel x horseback riding instructor f!reader

A/N: I did not plan for this to be over 4k words. LOL enjoy ♡

~word count : 4.3k~

Summary: Joel Miller, single father; total soft dad has an astronomically enormous crush on you, his daughters horseback riding instructor.

Warnings: soft! Joel, shy! Joel, fluff, flirting, slow burn, eventual established relationship, single! Father Joel, protective! Joel, he’s so sweet your teeth will hurt! Joel, eventual smut, some angst, no y/n, +18 minors dni !

blue jeans playlist:

Austin, Texas

It was around 2:30 the next afternoon that Joel Miller had given you a ring. You were on your well deserved lunch break after Javi P put you through absolute hell. Why you thought it was going to be an easy hack session with him, was beyond you. Javi P never made anything easy, but you were determined to show this horse some good in his life. He’d been through hell in the racing industry, and it left a bad taste in your mouth just knowing how disposable he and his brother were to their old owners.

When your ringtone blared, you nearly lost hold of your sandwich as you grabbed your phone, answering it on the second ring.

“Hey darlin’ it’s Joel; Joel Miller. The uh–the guy who called ya yesterday about getting his daughter some ridin’ lessons?”

You honest to god thought it was fucking adorable that Joel even thought for a minute that you weren’t gonna remember him. You most definitely had not been thinking about this man all day after your phone call. No way, that definitely wasn’t you.

“Hey, Joel! I take it I left a good impression on you yesterday?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he was parked in front of Sarah’s school, waiting for her. “Yeah, you uh–most definitely did. Anyway, i’m waitin’ to pick my daughter up and then we were gonna head over, if that still works for you?”

“Oh, perfect! Yeah, that still works for me! I’ll meet you out front when you get here, and then we’ll do the tour, sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Just wanted to y’know check in and make sure that I wasn’t inconveniencing you or anythin’ like that.”

“Well, I appreciate you calling, but I hate to break it to you, I don’t do much around here for you to be inconveniencing me.”

“I’m sure that ain’t true. You seem to uh–really enjoy what you do, which is hard for a lot of folks to say. Don’t sell yourself short, and just from our conversation yesterday, can tell that you really care about the horses, even when you’re threatenin’ to turn one of ‘em into glue.”

You let out a light laugh, biting the tip of your nail because woo doggy, Joel Miller was a total fucking sweetheart in your books, and you still hadn’t met this man in person.

“Thanks, Joel. I appreciate you saying that. You’re not gonna let me live down the glue thing, huh?”

“Anytime, darlin’ and oh, no I will not be letting you live that one down.” He looked out the driver side window when he saw Sarah walking up and he reached over, unlocking the passenger side door for her. “Hey, Sarah just got outta school, S’okay that she’s not like in uh–proper ridin’ stuff?”

“Oh, yeah that’s fine! Jeans and a t-shirt are the most comfortable option. We’ll get her fitted for a helmet as well, if you guys end up choosing our place that is.”

“Oh, sweet. Didn’t know if there was like a strict attire or anythin’ like that and I got a good feelin’ that we’re gonna be seein’ a lot more of each other.”

“Nah, we’re not like the hunter jumper barns. As long as she has closed-toed shoes, she’s good.” Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat when Joel Miller casually stated that he had a feeling you were going to see each other a lot more. Damn these southern charm Texas men.

“Alright, awesome. Pickin’ her up now, see ya in a bit!”

“See you in a bit, Joel!”

He hung up just as Sarah had climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself in.

“Who were you on the phone with?” She took notice that her dad had a slight blush to his cheeks and she couldn’t help but grin and give him a little shoulder punch.

“Just got off the phone with your potential new ridin’ instructor. I think you’re really gonna like her, kiddo. She seems pretty cool.”

“You’re blushing dad, you know that? Right here!” She playfully poked his dimple.

“Am not! Just a little hot in here. Sweatin’ bullets.”

“Sureeeee it’s just the heat, you’re so right!”

He gave his daughter a playful warning look while he reached over and ruffled her head of curls.

“I ain’t blushin’ I don’t blush!”

“Okaaay dad, whatever you say!”

Joel Miller was not blushing. Like he said, he doesn’t blush. It was just the hot Texas air that had him feeling all flustered.

You quickly finished what was left of your sandwich, checking the time as you tidied up your desk. You grabbed your phone and slipped it back into your jeans pocket as you headed out of the makeshift office, and into the aisle way of the stalls.

“Listen up fellas, we have a potential new client coming through in about 20 minutes, and i’m expecting all of you to be on your very best behavior.” You looked directly at Javi P as you spoke. “Yeah bud, I'm talking to you specifically. We are NOT biting any kids today, alright?”

Javi P looked displeased, and if horses had hands, he would most definitely would be flipping you off right now.

You spent the next 20 minutes sweeping the aisle way, wanting everything to look presentable as possible. You heard the sound of truck tires under loose gravel and you just had a feeling it was Joel Miller.

“Alright boys, it's showtime!”

Sarah was telling her dad another horse fact from her book when they were getting out of his truck. “Dad, this one is super cool! Did you know that horse hooves are made from the same protein as human hair and fingernails? That’s one big finger nail!”

Joel had let out a laugh, his eyes crinkled up a bit in the corners as he shook his head. “Think that protein is called keratin? Sounds about right to me.”

“Keratin! Yeah, that’s what it's called!”

He observed the area then and took notice of the blooming flowers in the front of the stables, and the overall comforting vibe this place had. He could hear the familiar sound of a horse whinnying. The distinct barn smell didn’t even have him turning up his nose, and in a way, he found it oddly comforting.

His head turned in the direction of the door opening as you stepped outside. You were wearing light washed jeans that definitely were well worn, a loose graphic tee, Star Wars to be specific. The fabric was faded, but he could make out the image of two X-Wings. So, you were a nerd too, just another added bonus.

Your jeans were a bit dirty from your fall off of Javi P earlier, and you were certain that your hair probably looked insane, but Joel wasn’t expecting you to walk out in a mini skirt and stilettos, that was damn sure.

“Joel? Hey, nice to put a face to the name!” You held your hand out to him and he grasped it in his larger one. He had a firm grip, and his palms were well worn, a little calloused. Not that you were paying attention to those little details or anything.

He was undeniably handsome. A tall fucking glass of water, as you would describe him to your friends later over drinks. He had deep, warm, inviting brown eyes, a good structured jaw, and a killer smile. One that would definitely make any girl weak in the knees.

Joel already knew what you looked like from your bio on the website, but in person? You were even prettier. Joel had been so focused on his job, and caring for his daughter, that he never really saved any room for himself. He hadn’t gone on a proper date in god knows how long, but he just had a feeling that maybe you were gonna change that for him.

He smiled as you shook hands before he gestured to his daughter, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, nice to meet ya! This is my daughter Sarah. Newly horse obsessed as you already know.”

Sarah swatted at her dad’s arm playfully and stuck her tongue out at him. “Dad, don’t embarrass me!”

You couldn't help but laugh as you watched their interaction. It was clear Joel and his daughter were very close. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about kiddo. I, too, am horse obsessed. Would even go as far to say that I am horse crazy.”

Sarah let out a huff, crossing her arms over her chest with a small smile. “Yeah, okay. Guess there is nothing to be embarrassed about. Horses are pretty freaking cool!”

You nodded. “They are super freaking cool! You guys wanna head in and I'll give you a tour?”

Sarah was already grabbing her dad’s hand as you led the dad daughter duo inside the main building.

“We’ve been in business for a little over a decade now. We’re family owned and a non-profit and all of the horses here were rescued from various situations. We focus heavily on good horsemanship skills, positivity and creating a safe, judgment free zone. We currently have 6 horses at our facility. All at different skill levels, but 5 out of the 6 are extremely beginner friendly.”

Joel had his hands shoved in his jean pockets as you spoke, he was attentively listening to everything you were saying.

“Did you rescue them all yourself?” He asked.

“Yep, every single one of them. Not all at once, but I'd get a tip from someone in the business about an upcoming auction, or abandoned barn, and I'd be there. I’ve traveled across the country for a couple of them, and I wish I could rescue every horse, but I do what I can y’know?”

“I understand. It’s great that you’ve given ‘em a second chance at life and a fresh start.”

You held the door open for them as you led them into the aisle way where the stalls were located. “Yeah, I agree with you. They deserve so much more than to just be thrown away like that. These boys are some of the luckier ones.”

All 6 of the horses had stuck their heads out of their stall doors to see who was coming and Sarah’s little heart was already melting.

“So like I was saying, we have 6 horses currently. Their names are Frankie, Dieter, Whiskey, Javi P, Javi G, and finally, Ezra.”

You brought them over to the first stall which was Frankies. He was a bay, tobiano paint. He had one blue eye, and one brown eye. You leaned against the side of his stall door as he peeked his head out over the side, nickering softly at you.

“This is Frankie, he’s our newest recruit. Just actually picked him up from Utah a little over a month ago.” You gave him a gentle pat on the neck. “He’s about 20 years old, in horse years and he’s a sweetheart. He was a little girl’s birthday present and he was well loved up until he spooked one day. She fell off and broke her arm and her parents deemed him to be ‘unsafe.’ He would have been on his way to Mexico if it wasn’t for me. I’m working on doing some desensitizing training with him as he doesn’t handle loud, sudden noises very well. He loves kids though.

Sarah frowned as she listened to you talk about Frankie and what would have almost happened to him.

“It wasn’t his fault that he spooked, right?”

“No kiddo. It’s never the horses fault and we gotta remember that their prey animals. If they feel like they’re in danger, or threatened, their natural instinct is to run.”

“Can I pet him?”

“Course you can. Here, he’ll love you forever if you give him one of these.” You reached into your pocket, pulling out a carrot and snapped it in half, handing her the one piece. “You’re gonna want to hold your hand out flat, tuck your thumb under your fingers cause you don’t want him accidentally biting them.”

Sarah nodded as she walked to his stall door, holding the carrot out to Frankie like you said and when he had licked her hand as he grabbed the carrot, she let out a soft giggle.

Joel had the softest fucking smile on his face just from seeing his baby girl happy like this.

“Next we have Dieter. This guy? He’s a little trickster and he’s pretty damn good at it. Loves to steal things out of your pockets if you’re not careful. I’ve caught him nearly escaping at least a dozen times. Had to really get creative with the locks on his stall. He used to be a lesson horse at a hunter jumper barn not far from here. The schooling shows really started to wear him down and they felt like he was useless after that.”

“Woah, he has a mohawk! That’s so cool! What kind of horse is he?” Sarah asked.

“He’s a Norwegian Fjord. He’s in between the size of a standard horse and a large pony. They typically have longer manes but due to the weather, we keep his trimmed so he doesn’t overheat. Plus, I think he enjoys having a mohawk, wouldn’t you say?”

Sarah didn’t hesitate to give Dieter a soft stroke on the side of his neck and she looked back at her dad with a small grin.

“I think he looks very punk rock, whad’ya think dad?”

“Very punk rock. He pulls it off pretty well I think.”

Whiskey, who’s stall was next to Dieter’s, was pawing impatiently at the ground.

“Ahh yes, good old Whiskey boy. He can be a bit of a handful at times, but he has a super smooth gait due to his breed.”

“When you talk about a horse's gait, are you uh–are you talkin’ about their movement? What makes him different from the rest?” Joel asked.

You looked over at him with a smile and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Their gait is their natural movement. Whiskey is a Tennessee Walking Horse, and his natural gait differs between a flat walk, running walk, and a canter. He’s best suited for the trails and easy flat work. This guy was rescued from the ‘Big Lick’ industry. His gait is naturally high stepping but to enhance it for shows, trainers would use chains, heavy boots, and chemicals on his fetlocks in order to have him step higher. The practice is considered cruel, for obvious reasons, but people get away with it often. He went lame at one point and was thrown into auction.”

Joel had frowned as he listened to Whiskey’s story. It left a bad taste in his mouth that people could be so cruel to an animal like that.

“So, these guys really have been through hell, huh?”

“Unfortunately they have. Trust me, I get angry just thinking about what they went through.”

“Well, they’re certainly lucky that they have you, darlin. I like his coat color. That’s the proper term ain’t it?”

You almost felt a blush creep up your neck when he called you darlin again. At least you could blame it on the sweltering heat. Not because of Joel Miller and his smooth Texas drawl.

“Coat color is the correct term, yeah. He’s a dappled palomino. I call him honey sometimes because of his color, and because he’s as sweet as honey. A little bit of a flirt as well, a ladies man you might say.”

“He definitely gives off the ‘pretty’ boy vibes.” Joel said with a chuckle.

Before he, or Sarah could walk to the next stall, you put your arm out in front of them protectively, just as Javi P had lunged his head out, with his ears pinned back against his head, baring his teeth.

“I told him to be on his best behavior but I swear, this horse never listens.”

Joel was more focused on your soft grip on his bicep to even process the angry beast in front of them.

“Is this the horse you threatened to turn into glue yesterday?” Joel asked in a joking manner.

Sarah let out a shocked gasp.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I wasn’t actually gonna turn him into glue. He just isn’t the friendliest as you can see.” You gently released Joel’s bicep from your grip. “This is Javi P, he’s an OTTB, better known as an off the track thoroughbred. He was gonna make it big in Kentucky and would have sold for millions if it wasn’t for his accident. His jockey was well known for, to put it lightly, and please excuse my French, an asshole. This guy was too young to even be on the track. His bones weren’t even fully formed, nor able to withstand the pressure. He wiped out on a mud track a year ago, and knocked his jockey out. If they would have given him more time, and switched Jockey’s, he probably would have had a successful racing career.”

“I take it he doesn’t trust humans very well because of that? I mean, I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

“He’s incredibly weary of men especially. It’s really unfortunate because I know underneath all his meanness, there’s a really good horse. I’ve just been trying to chip away at his rough exterior, bit by bit. He threw me off earlier this morning, but it was my fault. Lost my footing in the stirrup and he flipped.”

“Jesus, are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, yeah I'm good. I’ve experienced a lot of falls in my life. Just comes with the job honestly.”

“Just about how many times have you fallen off? If ya don’t mind me askin’ that is.”

“Oh gosh, uhhh I'm not sure if I can count them on both hands. At least 20. Maybe a little less than 50. It happens but the main thing is, I've gotten back on everytime.”

“Woah, you’ve fallen off that many times and you aren’t scared or anything? Okay, my dad was totally right, you are so cool!”

Now you were actually feeling flustered, and Joel might have been as well but you couldn’t exactly tell. “I was definitely scared the first few times and I was afraid to get back on, but I pushed through it. What’s this about me being totally cool? Your dad is right on the money with that one, I am the coolest.”

Joel cleared his throat a little while he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Alright, I will admit that I told Sarah you were cool. I mean, you left an impression on me after our phone call, and you know so much about horses so yeah, I’d say you’re pretty cool.”

Sarah gave her dad a funny look then, only one that he could see.

“Is Javi G related to Javi P?” She asked, walking up to the other chestnut thoroughbred and he had lowered his head down towards her, brushing his soft, velvet nose against her palm.

“Yep, they’re brothers with totally opposite personalities. Javi G was let go because he was deemed to be too “sweet” for racing. He’s honestly a huge goober. If you give him kisses, he gives them right back.”

Sarah had given his nose a quick peck and he returned it against her palm, licking her hand.

“See? Told ya, he gives them right back!”

Sarah giggled as he licked her palm. “That tickles!” She wiped her wet palm on the side of her jeans. “I think I like him the most so far! Or Frankie, he was very sweet.”

“I think Whiskey is my favorite so far. I’m Jealous of how fantastic his hair looks.”

“Dad, it's not his hair, it's his mane!”

Joel held his hands up in defense with a small grin on his lips.

“Ohh, my bad for not gettin’ the term correct, my deepest apologies!”

“Yeah, Joel! Get with the program!” You chimed, your tone light and playful as you stopped at the last stall. Ezra was already nuzzling his nose into your shoulder, giving you an affectionate push.

“Oh, wow. He’s so pretty! It looks like he has a heart on his head, you see that dad?” Sarah pointed to the heart shaped star on Ezra’s forehead.

“Oh, yeah he does! Recognize him from the photo on the website.” ‘Yeah, the one that you have been staring at for the past 24 hours, Miller.’ He thought to himself.

“This is my boy, Ezra. He’s a 16 hand high Hanoverian and he was making it big in the hunter jumper world for a few years. He used to compete all through the country and was well on his way to competing in Europe.” You gave him a pat on his neck, pulled out the other half of the carrot and fed it to him. “Sometimes horses give you signs that they’re tired, that they don’t want to work anymore. Ezra was giving all those signs and his owner refused to see them until it was pretty much too late. He passed out during a show from exhaustion and being overworked. Now, he gets to live comfortably and he enjoys being ridden again.”

Joel could tell how much these horses truly meant to you, just by the way you spoke about all of them. He admired your passion for giving them a second chance at life. This just confirmed to him that he definitely would be seeing a lot more of you.

After the tour, Joel felt comfortable leaving Sarah to spend some time with Ezra while you and him talked over the logistics.

“I gotta say, you really sold this place for me darlin’ and I think Sarah would be absolutely lucky to be trained under you. Y’know I'm usually super critical over these things, for obvious reasons, but I trust you already and I know she’s in good hands.”

You were in disbelief as you walked alongside him.

“Really? Well, I gotta say, that's a relief. I got a little worried that maybe I was taking it too far with telling you guys about each of the horses stories but honestly, it's necessary. I can’t tell you how many potential clients have rolled through here and lasted maybe a day before switching to a hunter jumper barn. So I truly appreciate you saying that. I think Sarah is going to love it here, and I would be more than happy to be her instructor.”

“Honestly? I’m just relieved you didn’t try and sugar coat anythin’ I appreciate the fact that you didn’t try to make yourself, or this place sound like somethin’ it's not. If that makes any sense? You’re just, uh–very personable? I apologize if i’m oversteppin’ with ya darlin’ I don’t mean to ramble.”

You laughed as you looked over at him and nodded. “I totally understand what you’re trying to get at Joel. So basically, I’m not a snobby asshole that’s just in it for the money?”

“Well, that is one way to put it. I could also tell by your shirt that you weren’t gonna be the prissy type. Can’t stand those kinda girls honestly. You’re definitely in it for the horses, and the experience.”

You were feeling flustered by this man’s words, and there was no way you could hide it. “What about the shirt you gave me away? C’mon, I'm curious to know what your first impression of me really was.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was the two X-Wings on your shirt? Just a simple observation. Gotta ask, what’s your favorite of the franchise thus far?”

“Damn X-Wings giving away all my deepest, darkest secrets. Oh man, probably the Empire Strikes back or Return of the Jedi. The new episodes have potential though. I do like the Pod racing in The Phantom Menace.”

“You walked right on into that one darlin,’ and those are pretty solid answers. Me personally? I like the Empire Strikes Back the most. Although, they’re all good.”

“I think I respect you just a tad bit more than I already did, Joel Miller.”

“Well, I must be doin’ somethin’ right huh?”

Oh, he has no idea.

“Anyway, let’s get you situated with the paperwork and figure out a good lesson schedule?”

Joel nodded and you left his side to go and grab the paper work, waiver and other forms along with a pen and after he signed everything, you went and retrieved Sarah, who was still loving on Ezra.

You stood just outside the door of the main building, waving to Joel and Sarah as he pulled out of the parking spot.

“Well, kiddo. Your first lesson this Saturday! Signed the paperwork and everything. You excited?”

Sarah looked over at her dad with a big smile as she buckled her seatbelt. “You like her, don’t you?”

Joel stumbled over his words as he looked over at his kid momentarily.

“Now what would make ya think that? Wait, was it that obvious? Shoot! You were not supposed to hear me say that. I don’t like your riding instructor sweet pea. I just think she is a cool person ,and she definitely knows her horse stuff.”

“I knew it! You do like her! Dad, you are terrible at making things not obvious! She’s like super pretty so I totally get it! I am going to tell uncle Tommy that you have a crush!” She giggled.

“Sarah–honey, are you feelin alright? The sun isn’t gettin’ to ya is it?” He looked absolutely mortified when she said that she was going to tell his brother. “Absolutely not, you do not speak of this to uncle Tommy, ever! I ain’t got a silly little crush, kiddo. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t say anything to uncle Tommy. I pinky promise! You do have a crush though dad. It’s okay, your secret is safe with me!” She held her pinky out to him.

“I ain’t got a crush. Silly talk, sweet pea. That’s all I'm hearin’ right now.” He linked his pinky with hers.

Alright, so Joel maybe had a teeny tiny crush on his daughter’s horseback riding instructor. Just a small innocent crush that would never turn into anything..right?

Part 3:

[dawnbreakerluna]

johnny probably chatting up a girl sitting at the bar he frequents, but he doesn’t recognize her face. he’s never seen her around any part of newt, or the entirety of texas for sure. she doesn’t seem southern — come his presence to keep her company a moment later, he finds out she’s definitely not.

she’s visiting from out of state, reconnecting with long distance friends from high school. they all went their separate ways for college, and it’s spring break. she’s from the less bleak and more bustling california, full of oceanic cities and many hot spots for people of hers and johnny’s age.

he’s drawn to her in a way that is… unfamiliar. as he listens to her talk, getting all these important yet vague details about what she’s studying, how she’s graduating soon, her favorite authors to look for in bookstores and her favorite records from his favorite bands… johnny doesn’t want to hurt this girl.

and that makes him sick. he’s memorizing every feature of her face as she’s lively in their conversation, noticing the little habits in how she speaks and presents herself.

johnny wants to fucking hurl. he wants to tear his own heart out with his knife, and plate it before her—

“…you really should come to california, the boulevard on hollywood—oh! sorry, i— my friend just walked in.”

johnny smiles at her, shaking his head as he lifts his hand up in retreat, “don’t even worry ‘bout it. go on, hope y’all have a good time.”

she smiles back at him, prepared to walk off, but hesitates for a second.

“it was really nice talking to you,” she says. “hope i see you around? maybe in san francisco?”

they both chuckle.

as she walks away, johnny’s hand tightens around his glass of whiskey. he barely drank anything. his jaw hardens as his shoulders tense. he looks down at the barely touched drink she ordered — he assumes she probably isn’t much of a fan of alcohol.

still, he lets go of his glass, setting it beside hers with a space in between.

johnny reaches into his back pocket, a few crumpled bills in hand. he sets the cash in that empty space, whistling to the bartender.

“for the girl’s drink too.”

he walks out of the bar, not looking back. the sound of the girl’s hearty laughter is all he needs to encourage him to walk away.

maybe in san francisco?

johnny considers it on his drive back home.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Your countries are being invaded and your too blinded by accusations of "Bigotry" and "Racism" to actually do anything about it. What am I talking about?

-

Let me explain something to the left and any moderate that might have an issue with my framing. These are not people seeking asylum because of persecution. These are economic migrants trying to extract from our countries while their first act in flooding here is economic instability and eventual collapse. It has nothing to do with cultural dislike, or racism of any kind.

Fact is most people in most places hate how their governments are run. The US Gov I can actually weigh in on, because we have sent billions in tax dollars to Ukraine and foreign interests. We have spent millions if not billions on homelessness yet still have a huge homeless issue in places that claim to care about it more than anywhere else.

But what's the issue. 80%-90% of the people coming are military age men. In some cases that percentage is north of 98%. Meaning there are almost never any women or children coming here. And at least in the US they are coming here with their fist act as breaking US law. I live in Texas. This state is heavily affected by illegal immigration. Hard part is, most people don't tend to see the effects until it's too late. The more people that flood your country, the worse the economy in your country will be. Slow trickle can be handled. What we are experiencing can't be. Why?

So not to be the "THER TAKN OUR JUBS", but in reality they are. They will work for lower wages. They don't care if they get healthcare. And the employer does not have to care about the red tape hiring them. They get the profit with almost none of the other complexities that come from hiring a legal citizen. What's more, we barely have enough jobs for the people that live here and yet we flood millions in through the southern border every single year. Functionally, this is an issue. We might be a melting pot, but what happens when our cultures are deleted outright because the flood gets too big?

And this is a real risk. Cultural decimation. These people don't care about their own countries. What makes you think they care about yours? They will extract. Destroy. And they will move on. They don't realize they are doing it have the time but consider the fact that the UN has not helped in this at all. Consider the fact that the WEF has not at all helped in this. The US can hold the population of the world sure, but fact of the matter is that should not be our goal. There are too many cultures, and there are too many offset forms of belief.

We can barely keep our own country working properly and inflation is the worst it's been in almost ever. We can't take care of our own and yet the bleeding heart class in the US just expects us to take in everyone from everywhere at all times. Economically we can't handle this. Socially and culturally we can't handle this. People need to go to countries through the proper sources. They need to do it legally. But what's more, these countries are losing their working age and military age men. IN THE THOUSANDS and MILLIONS. What is the result to the country these people are leaving? What of the women and children left behind?

No one wants to have this conversation because they are scared of being called a xenophobe or a racist. But having love for your country and wanting it to continue to function, and not have your culture crushed under the weight of actual invaders, isn't either of those things. And before you go, "Oh well how dare you call them invaders ~" here is the definition for you.

Look at the second listing. I understand the idea behind wanting others to be happy. I understand the idea behind wanting people from other places to not suffer. But these people are leaving their countries, rather than fighting for them. They have abandoned their mothers, daughters, wives, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers in most cases.

Most of you need to face the reality that the real world is not a fair place. But if you want your country to thrive and survive there needs to be a process in which it functions. These people are ignoring that entire process. If Italy can't deport the people that just arrived on that ship, outnumbering the entire population of the island they just landed on, there will be consequences. And they will not be good. The language will start to shift. The religions in the area will change. The entire culture will change. Then at some point, they will decide, "This is our land now, and it's always been ours". It's objectively conquest by sheer numbers. And while they might not individually have any ill intent. That won't matter in the long term.

This isn't a conspiracy. It's not bigotry. Open a history book and read. I'm pro immigration. 100% I'm for it. But how long are the lines for the people coming here legally? How many people have been denied citizenship over BS reasons? And not only are we allowing illegals in at a more than alarming rate (specifically in the US), but we are spending tax dollars on giving them roofs over their heads, and handouts, and in some places they are even getting monthly allowances.

Explain to me how we are doing this for people with no respect for the country, or it's laws, and yet you can't solve homelessness? You can't make a VA that actually functions properly? You can't get out out of inflation? So to the people cheering on illegal immigration, you are voting for your own demise. And every penny spent on them, is not one spent on a legal immigrant. Every penny spent on them is not spend helping the homeless. Every penny spent on them is not spent on healthcare.

This might be a controversial post and some people may even block, mute or unfollow me for it and that's fine. But history speaks for itself. And every country that has dealt with this for too long has collapsed over time. Pretty much every single time.

You should be concerned. Before you end up as the one who's displaced, and is fleeing.

[rotten-corpses-blog]

Slasher men with a southern reader

Hey! so something is up with my tumblr, I started writing someone's request, saved it to drafts and now its gone...

So I wrote this, because i'm a little southern girlie (Help i'm dying down here) If, you aren't southern, or are and don't have the same experience as me, that's ok. I'm writing this from what I delt with as a kid living in the Southern United States.

Characters: JD, Billy Loomis, Stu Matcher..... Content Warning: mentions of bigotry, and republicans, poverty and food insecurity mentions

JD

 JD is actually from Texas, so I don’t think he would really have a problem with any accents or anything of that nature.

 Depending on where you are from in the south is also important, he understands Texas culture… not any other parts of the south. (yes there is different culture depending on where you are, some parts use different words and phrases than others, food is also different) 

He would be understanding about family who have… different political opinions and all that.

He gets the poverty and food insecurity, because he saw that stuff traveling around from place to place.

Billy

Billy is from California, he grew up with none of the stuff you did so he’s not going to get it, he’s not an asshole, you just have to explain it.

He probably won’t understand any type of southern accent, even if you feel it’s mild, he still can’t understand you sometimes.

After awhile he will pick up on some of your speech patterns and start saying y’all and ain’t

If you grew up in poverty, he will kinda be weirded out. He’s a rich kid from California and has never experienced, or maybe ever saw poverty.

If your family is anything like mine, they will bitch and moan about him being from California. He doesn’t see it as a big deal, it’s not like they have to learn a new language.

He will be kinda shocked when he meets them. “Y/N… your uncle is crazy!” “No, he’s just like that, don’t worry Billy.”

Stu

If you thought Billy was bad, Stu is worse.

Not only will he not understand anything, he most likely grew up thinking all southern people were cowboys or farmers.

He grows to love southern food and will ask you to make him something almost everyday.

He’s even richer, so he seriously thought for a while that everyone had houses like his and designer clothes. 

Again, he’s a Cali boy. You couldn’t pay him to set foot on a farm or anything like that. “Y/N, we pay people to do our yard work, That’s why it looks so good!”

He loves your conservative relatives, he thinks they are so funny. I mean, we all love a good conspiracy theory on and again.

[cowgurrrl]

Kiwi

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: as I was writing this, I proclaimed in the most southern accent, “now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil!” so do that with that

Summary: Joel goes home for a month. You stay in California to work. What could possibly go wrong? [3.8k]

Warnings: HEAVILY implied casting couch culture, brief allusion to creepy Hollywood producers, yearning, I can’t think of anything else!!

Boarding my flight now.

Thanks for letting me know?

Well, I texted my mama to let her know, and she told me to text "that girlfriend of mine."

Doesn't sound like she's a huge fan.

She'll live.

You like the message and go to put your phone away when it buzzes again.

Is it weird that I kinda miss talking to you?

You smile and ignore your name being called over the intercom for another beat.

There are a lot of weird things about you, Joel Miller, but that one feels the most normal.

Text me when you land in Austin. Tell your mom I said hi.

You tuck your phone away, fighting the stupid smile on your face, and look up to see a pissed-off PA walking towards you. You apologize and half jog to the sound stage where Ryan is waiting. 

"The perfect punctual queen is late for once? Is the world going to shit?" He asks, and you slap his arm.

"People are allowed to be late."

"Does your lateness have anything to do with your boy toy?"

"Are you ever gonna call him by his name?" You ask. He senses that you're stalling his question and take a deep breath. "Joel is flying home to Texas today to visit family and get some work done. He'll be gone for a month."

"Oh, how will you ever survive?" He pouts, and you give him a look. The director calling for places stops you from responding, but you threaten him with the promise of picking up the conversation later. 

You don't ever get to tell him off for suggesting that you can't live without Joel being in the same state because of how late shooting goes. It might've been exhaustion, but you swore that you saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon by the time you finally got to leave. You knocked out a good chunk of the scenes you were still working on, which is great news, but you were mentally and physically drained. You slept most of the next day and missed Joel's messages from one whole time zone away. 

Landed.

Jesus Christ, I forgot how hot it is here.

My mama told me to ask you if you go to church since she doesn't believe me.

Attached: Two photos

You laugh as you sleepily scroll through his texts when you wake up mid-afternoon, feeling a little bit better from your long night. One of the pictures he sent is of him sitting in the cab of an old truck with the caption, "This was my first car. I can't convince my dad to sell the damn thing." The second is a blurry photo of a blue-looking weed on the side of the road surrounded by what looks like thousands of other blue weeds. "Turns out the state flower will literally grow anywhere besides in a pot in my house."

A) I'm glad you made it in safely. B) Isn't Texas the armpit of the South? C) I don't go to church, and I never have, but please feel free to lie to her. D) I can imagine a young, emo Joel Miller driving it now.

He reads your messages almost as soon as they deliver, and your screen lights up with his initials as he calls you. You yawn as you pick up and hear chatter in the background of wherever he is.

"First of all," he starts in a determined tone. "Texas ain't the armpit of the South. That's South Carolina." He says. He hasn't even been in Texas for forty-eight hours, and his accent is already thick again.

"My mistake," you laugh. "Did you have another point, or was that it?"

"Second of all, why d'you sound so tired?"

"Obviously, I was out partying with strange men all night."

"Really?" He asks, and you scoff.

"No, Joel. Filming went really late yesterday. I don't think I got home until six this morning."

"Sounds intense." 

"Not as intense as being interrogated by your mother," you say, and he hums. You hear someone laughing in the background and relish in the joy that you're not there to witness. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and you wonder if the line dropped, but when you pull the phone away from your face, you see the call is still active. "You really miss me so much that you called me just to sit on the line?"

"Maybe I did." He says. You take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. He's two hours ahead. The sun must be setting by now, casting gorgeous rays onto his skin and making his eyes look amber. You wonder what Texas air does to Joel's soul. Maybe it soothes him like only an old baby blanket can. Maybe it makes him jumpy, like he's waiting for a clap of thunder that never comes. Maybe it makes him wonder why he left in the first place. You wish you could be there to read his expression and try to decipher what he's thinking. Someone calls Joel's name in the background, and you hear him shuffle with the phone, probably covering the microphone with his hand because the voices become muffled. When the phone comes back to his ear, he takes a deep breath, and you do the same. "I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?" He asks. 

"I'm counting on it, Miller." You say, and he laughs before mumbling a good night and hanging up the phone. 

After that, it becomes a habit for Joel to call you every day from Texas. He'll tell you different stories about his parents, how Austin has changed since he left, and update you on how the newest album is coming. He listens to you rant about work, how tired you are, and how frustrated you always get toward the end of a project. Sometimes the conversations last ten minutes, and sometimes they last hours. One night, you fell asleep on the phone with him because he was trying to get your opinion on a new song, but you had spent the day filming the scene of your character giving birth, which was tiring in its own right. He doesn't chide you for it. He just sends you a goodnight text and promises to call you the following night.

You hate to admit it, but production speeds up with Joel out of town. You end up wrapping your scenes a week early while Ryan still has another couple of days of filming his scenes. You'll probably get called back in for reshoots in a few months, but you feel really good about the work you put out there, and you finally get the chance to rest before Melanie sends you more scripts to read over. You send Joel a photo of your open laptop and a glass of wine next to it as the California sun sets over your balcony. 

Wrap parties are looking different as I get older.

Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still be a drunk, no matter how old.

Asshole.

Lashing out is the first sign of a bigger problem. I think I should call Melanie.

You laugh and search for the middle finger emoji when he sends you another text.

Paul got me on the list for some charity event this Saturday. Want to come with me? He said it'd probably be better to get some more dates in sooner rather than later.

The reminder that this is all fake shifts your entire mood. Of course, it's always lingering in your mind, but the texting didn't feel fake. The late-night calls didn't feel fake. He didn't feel fake. In fact, this is the first time you feel like you have a sliver of an idea as to who Joel Miller actually is when he isn't selling out world tours and recording platinum albums. It's stupid for you to feel this way. You have no reason to. No right. You take a deep breath and type out a message.

Sure.

On Friday, you drive to the airport to pick Joel up, creating an over-the-top scene of you running and jumping into his arms. His hat falls off his head and onto the ground as he catches you and kisses you sweetly. When he sets you back on the ground, he doesn't let you go right away. He lingers in your arms, and even though your feelings are still hurt and you're still trying to remind yourself that this is all fake, you let him. He smells like a detergent you don't recognize, but underneath that, you catch a whiff of the cologne he always wears. You rub his back as you hold him in the middle of the airport. 

"'S really good to see your face," he says into your neck, and you nod. 

"You too."

As you drive him home, he brings you up to speed on how the album is coming along and how different Texas was when he was there. You tell him about the last few days on set and an upcoming press junket in New York City. He lights up when you tell him the dates as you maneuver through LA traffic.

"I'm scheduled to go to New York to work with my sound mixer that same time. He's got his own studio out there now and knows more about it than I do," he says. "Maybe we can fly together? Make it look like a couple's trip?"

"Sure," you say. He furrows his eyebrows at your lack of excitement, and you scramble for something else to talk about. "How are your parents?" You ask. The rest of the ride to his house goes off without a hitch, and he kisses you again as he gets out of the car, both of you highly aware of the car full of paparazzi that's been tailing you since you left the airport. He promises to pick you up at five the following night, and you just nod. When you get home, you walk calmly into your house, lock the door, and scream.

Joel's hand is in yours as you wait for your turn to walk the carpet. You're not sure why there's a red carpet at a charity event, but you're not about to throw a fit about it. Joel is wearing a sleek black suit, and you're matching with a long black dress. It's a low-cut backless dress, and a sparkly necklace your stylist picked out rests against your sternum. Joel taps your hand, and you look at him.

"You okay?" He asks. He looks worried as he steps between you and the wall of photographers waiting for you to stand and pose perfectly for their photos. "You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm still recovering from that last week of filming." 

"Are you sure you're not gettin' sick?" He asks, raising his other hand to your cheeks like he's checking your temperature. You smile half-heartedly and swat his hand away.

"I'm sure," you say. He tries to say more, but someone with a clipboard gets your attention and asks if you're ready. You nod and step onto the carpet, holding Joel's hand. The press erupts into a cloud of noise, startling you and making Joel laugh. You slap his chest and plaster on your rehearsed smile. You do your best to look where all the photographers are yelling at you to look and try different poses so they can get what they need. Everyone has to make a living, you suppose. You just wish their salary wasn't at the expense of your privacy. 

You get halfway down the carpet, taking pictures as a couple and some solo shots, before one of the photographers yells a new command. "Can we get a kiss?" He shouts. You pretend not to hear him and show off how the dress dips down your back, hugging you in all the right places. Still, the photographer is demanding a kiss, and now others have joined in too. It feels very "dance, monkey, dance," but you do your best to grit your teeth and smile. You catch Joel staring at you when you turn. It could be the flashing bulbs of cameras or how he's looking at you, but his eyes are sparkling, and the creases in the corners make you melt just a little. 

You hold out your hand for him to join you, which he happily obliges, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. "You alright?" He asks against your skin as you rest a hand on his chest and look up at him. You nod and glance between his eyes and his lips. The chorus of people practically begging for a picture of you two kissing is growing, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"You gonna keep them waiting, or are you gonna kiss me?" You ask, the playful lilt reserved for him returning to your voice. He gives you a look and smirks before leaning down a pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Everyone ooh's and aw's at you two, but you only care about how fast his heartbeat is against your palm. You want to blame it on the anxiety of walking the carpet and having people scream at you to do whatever they want. No, you have to blame it on that. There's no other option.

When you finally get inside, Joel gets you a glass of wine and a mixed drink for himself. The event is sweet and goes by quickly as you listen to people talk about something they're so passionate about. You decide to donate some money under an anonymous name once you are all excused to the reception, where there's food, more alcohol, and dancing. Joel leaves your side to catch up with some musician buddies, kissing your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. 

You nurse your wine as people you've never met start conversations with you. They're all polite and ask about your newest project, how LA's been treating you, and what's up next for you. You can't reveal much due to the NDA you signed at the beginning of shooting, but you tell them how excited you are for them to be able to see it and admit you've got some auditions lined up in the coming weeks. You've probably given the same answers to a handful of different people when you realize you're out of wine and Joel is still missing. You scan the room for him, but you can't find him. That's fine, you think. It's not like he's obligated to stick to my side at all times. He can have his own life.

You sigh as you belly up to the bar and order another glass of wine. You almost make it a double when someone taps your arm, making you turn. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you look exquisite tonight. I just thought you should know," ultra-famous producer Richard Pike tells you. You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up with the fact that one of the men who's made the most award-winning films in the past twenty years just noticed you. "I know everyone has probably told you that tonight, but-"

"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm sorry. I was just a little starstruck right then," you apologize before holding your hand out to introduce yourself. He takes your hand and kisses the top of it. It's very dramatic, but this is Hollywood we're talking about. Your glass of wine arrives, and he pays the bartender before you can even reach for your purse. 

"Women as gorgeous as you should never have to pay for a drink. Ever." He says, and you laugh.

"I mean, I won't argue with you on that," you say, taking your glass in your hand to clink it against his glass of scotch. "Thank you, Mr. Pike."

"Please, call me Richard," he insists. "You just finished another movie, didn't you? You're a very busy girl."

"Yes, sir. I'm already looking for new projects to audition for." 

"Oh, I remember when I had actors audition. See, that was before I started writing roles for specific actors. Some people call that crude or playing favorites, but it hasn't failed me yet." 

"No, sir, it hasn't."

"So formal! Yes, sir! No, sir! Are you like this with everyone?" He asks as he takes a big swig of his drink.

"Just people who can cast me," you say. You're partially joking, but it's enough for him. He laughs, and his hand lands perfectly on your exposed back as he cackles loudly. You force yourself to laugh along with him and suddenly get that sinking feeling in your chest. Everybody seems to strategically look away from you two at the bar, and you want to be anywhere but here. 

"You know, I've seen a few of your movies," he says, getting close to your face like he's telling you a secret. "I think you've got a lot of potential. With just a little coaching and one great role," his hand dips lower down your back, and you freeze. Ice water runs through your veins, and everything is screaming at you to run away, but your heels stay planted against the expensive hardwood. "We'll make an Oscar winner of you yet."

"Excuse me," a familiar drawl says behind you. You both turn and make eye contact with Joel. "May I steal my girlfriend for a dance? I promised her one on the way over." He asks, but he's already wrapping an arm around your waist, ready to pull you away. The hand on your back disappears and claps Joel on the shoulder.

"Of course! You take good care of this one!"

"Yes, sir," Joel says as he pulls you to the dance floor. Your heart is still beating in your throat, and you feel like you could cry, but Joel's looking at you with such kindness. You find safety in him as you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly sway with him, the soft material of his dress shirt calming you down. He waits until Pike is out of earshot to lean down to talk in your ear. "Now, I know you don't need me savin' you like that. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"He's one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He could tank my career in a single email. You want to be the one to yell at him?" You ask. "If I said or did something, he would've doubled down, but he respects you more. He backed off because, in his mind, I belong to you."

"How do you know?"

"I've dealt with people like him before. They're all the same old men who think they can offer you a legacy on a silver platter if you fuck them. I've gotten enough advice from other actors to know how to handle them. Let them get touchy but find an out before it can go too far. Stroke their egos so they feel good about themselves. Basically, do whatever to keep you and your career safe."

"I thought stuff like that didn't happen anymore."

"You and everyone else in the world. Things don't just magically change because one guy goes to jail." You sigh. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and you shake your head. 

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It was one of the first things people told me when I started. They said it was something I might just have to… endure but that the weight would get easier to carry. One actress even told me that it was the price we have to pay because everyone wants to be us," you chuckle. He doesn't interrupt you; he just stares at you with apologetic eyes like he would take this burden from you if he could. You almost believe him. "I don't think that's true. I think most people would hand this lifestyle in the second it got too real."

"What would you do if you weren't an actor?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I always thought about being a teacher. Sure, the pay is shit, and the work is thankless, but kids are our future, you know? There's something really special about shaping young minds."

"Sounds nice."

"What about you? What would you do if you weren't doing this?"

"Probably something with my hands. I worked as a mechanic for a while, and I really liked that. I liked how it was a big puzzle that needed to get sorted out and fixed up."

"Why'd you stop?" You ask. 

"I needed to grow up. My dad owned a contracting company, so I worked with him until I saved up enough to record my first album. And that was that."

"It's crazy how we fought so hard to get to where we are, and now that we're here, it's..." You trail off, trying to figure out what you want to say.

"Terrifying?" He suggests, and you nod. "Yeah, I'm terrified every second of every day."

"You don't act like it." 

"I don't act like a lot of things that I should," he says. He stares at you so intently that the rest of the world fades away. You don't hear the song die down or the applause erupt around you as the band takes a bow. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You know how crazed it is. He wets his lips before stepping back and trailing his eyes down your dress and back up to your face like he's taking you in for the first time. "You really do look beautiful tonight." You swallow around the lump in your throat and smooth your hands down your dress, suddenly self-conscious. 

"Thank you." You mumble. 

Pictures of you two kissing on the carpet and dancing inside are circulating online before you even leave the event. You wake up to a huge batch of texts— one from your mom, two from Joel, six from Ryan, and one from Melanie about your trip to New York that you barely read. You would've stayed in bed wallowing in your own bad luck if there wasn't a sharp knock on your door. You groan the whole way down the stairs like it will help you greet whoever has decided to show up at your house at eight in the morning, but nobody's there when you open the door. 

Instead, a bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase sits on your mat with a note sticking out. You glance down your street and barely catch a delivery truck turning down the block. You carefully take the flowers into your kitchen before plucking the note between the petals. 

Pretty flowers for a pretty girl - JM 

(PS bought these of my own volition)

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath as you think about his lips on yours, his soft shirt, and his stupid fucking, "I don't act like a lot of things I should."

[tomorrowusa]

Texas gives us a peek at what the US would be like under a Trump dictatorship. Check out the authoritarian Texas Republican platform.

The Texas Republican Party approved its new platform at its annual convention last week. It reflects the hard-right stances of its members, with reiterations of Texas’s “right to secede,” demands for bans on quarantines during future pandemics, calls to investigate “unidentified aerial phenomena,” and more. Tucked in between these more outlandish provisions is an ominous one that would effectively end representative democracy in Texas—and keep the state firmly in GOP hands even as it becomes increasingly diverse and urban. The platform calls for the establishment of what can best be described as an electoral college of sorts for Texas statewide races. “The State Legislature shall cause to be enacted a State Constitutional Amendment to add the additional criteria for election to a statewide office to include the majority vote of the counties with each individual county being assigned one vote allocated to the popular majority vote winner of each individual county,” the new plank declared.

The Texas state electoral college would essentially give Loving County (population: 64) equal representation with Houston's Harris County (population: 4,780,913).

It is hard to imagine that such a system as the Texas GOP has proposed would comply with the one-person, one-vote principle, to put it lightly. Texas has 254 counties, some of which are extremely sparsely populated. Loving County, which is on the state’s western border with New Mexico, counted only 64 residents during the 2020 census, making it the least populous county in the United States. Eight Texas counties are home to fewer than 1,000 people, and an additional 86 counties each have fewer than 10,000 inhabitants.

I'm sure Justice Alito and Justice Thomas wouldn't stand in the way of such a warped and undemocratic system.

In a decision last month on a racial-gerrymandering case from South Carolina, Thomas once again called for those precedents to be overturned. He argued that the Constitution gave the federal courts no role to countermand how states draw their political divisions, even if they do so to weaken or eliminate Black electoral power. Thomas even expressed doubt about the validity of the high court’s efforts to enforce Brown v. Board of Education in the face of widespread resistance to desegregation from Southern states.

Republicans are making no secret about their opposition to democracy in America; they are downright blatant about it. They love Russia which is run by a dictator chosen in sham elections with economic power in the hands of billionaire oligarchs. Outside the largest cities, Russians live in poverty with a quarter of the rural population still using outhouses. That is what Trump really means by making America "great".

The national election is five months away. There's plenty of time to avoid a Russia with a Texas accent type of government. But you need to make a commitment to be more politically active in real life, contribute more to counter the tens of billions raised by Trump, and to light a fire under political slackers you know personally. Like illness, politics almost never gets better without proper care.

[p-redux]

Everyone from that boat were at the same hotel. Please investigate better. It was a corporate event and all were there. Does that mean he is dating every woman on that boat? No.

I am all for your side of this fandom, but your “detective” work needs work!

Ohai shipper in disguise...hahaha

The one who needs to investigate better is YOU. My Peak Challenge is based in Los Angeles. The staff is based in Los Angeles. Yes, it was a staff event, but since they live in Los Angeles, there was NO need for anyone who lives in L.A. to stay at a hotel. DOH. The ONLY ones who stayed in a hotel were the out of towners: Sam Heughan from Scotland and Susie Evans from Texas.

Let's look at some of the main guests on the Marina Del Rey boat video posted a few days ago with the My Peak Challenge crew.

I won't post a pic of Alex Norouzi because everyone already knows he lives in Los Angeles.

But here is Melanie Raymond, the woman who posted the Marina Del Rey video on her Tik Tok account. This is her role in My Peak Challenge 👇

Here is her Tik Tok account. Where does she live? LOS ANGELES. 👇

Even Sam's long time Scottish friend, Marina Campbell, who was also on the boat NOW lives in Los Angeles aka in SoCal aka Southern California. 👇 Kudos to her for talking like a native now. As an aside: People outside of SoCal say Cali. People in SoCal NEVER say Cali. You can tell someone IS NOT from California if they refer to it as Cali. It's SoCal, dudes. Or I guess if you're in Northern California, it's NorCal. It might as well be a different state though. Now you know.

Here is Melissa Polson, the ONLY one that was on the boat that follows Susie Evans. And she ALSO lives in Los Angeles. Here she is at SoFi Stadium, yes IN Los Angeles. 👇

Here is another MPC crew member who was on the boat. Guess where he lives? LOS ANGELES. 👇 Anon, are you seeing a pattern yet?

My Peak Challenge crew live in Los Angeles. None of them stayed at a hotel, let alone Shutters On The Beach in Santa Monica, one of the MOST expensive hotels in Los Angeles. The MPC crew drove from wherever they live in L.A. to Marina Del Rey where the boat was docked, partied, and then drove home...in Los Angeles.

The only ones who were not from Los Angeles and stayed at a hotel were Susie and Sam. And as I said in a previous post, there is NO reason for Susie to have stayed in a $5,000 a NIGHT suite all by herself. If she was visiting L.A. for whatever reason, and was friends with one of the MPC crew, she would have stayed at one of their houses OR stayed at a $200 a night hotel, like a normal person. But NOPE, our Texas darlin' most definitely stayed in The Beach House $5,000 a night Suite at Shutters On The Beach in Santa Monica 👇 And so did...

One fine, golden, delicious Scotsman named Sam Roland Heughan. 👇

There's the detective work, my friend. 🤷‍♀️😘

[drill-teeth]

I'm gonna be mean for a second. I get really really fucking sick of queer folks who live in northern states whining and sniveling and shaking in fear over being in a southern state for two goddamn seconds.

I grew up going back and forth between the Chicago Illinois area and different parts of rural Texas. And you wanna know where I met the most outspoken transphobic and homophobic person who scared the shit out of me? A boy at the fucking liberal Chicago suburb highschool I went to. The people who were least disrespectful and invasive about my gender? My coworkers at the Whataburger I worked at in Texas. Like believe it or not even folks who still had iffy views of queer folks there had bigger things to worry about than what pronouns I use.

I know it sounds crazy to people in the the north but the southern states aren't this lawless wasteland crawling with hicks with shotguns ready to blast the nearest person with a pride flag pin.

And I'm not saying it's not scary to live in southern states while queer. Especially now. As we're seeing more and more transphobic and homophobic legislation take hold. Book bannings. HRT restrictions. Laws designed to redefine existing as trans in public as illegally pornographic. That is fucking horrifying.

And honestly I don't want to hear any whimpering from folks who've never had to drive to a planned parenthood in Texas and slink past anti-abortion protestors to get a testosterone prescription at MINIMUM. Especially if the only resources they offer are ones in northern states and the only thing they seem willing to do to combat anti-gay and anti-trans laws is to tell southern queers to just Move.

Man they shouldn't fucking have to, actually. You should care about fighting for their queer rights where they fucking live. Queer people LIVE IN SOUTHERN STATES BTW. Just so you KNOW. God.

[oldbaton]

coming from a southern state is really hard because you have to constantly live with the fact that you have been totally culturally rejected by the state that you called home. like DAMN i could never live in texas again and that's damn sad.