#but instead its like nah my moms dying my managers at work are being fucking weird and i keep finding new ways to lose more hope than

[enevera]

sorry abt the complaining tonight i have a headache and ibuprofen did jack shit so im like a little irritable

[humanemotionssuck]

Hello 2021

January 2, 2021

I should’ve put these thoughts into words on the first day of the year but then again, I felt so lazy given this bed weather we are currently having. By far, I think I experienced the coldest temperature here in my hometown (21 degrees baby) and I’m sure not liking it as I prefer warm days.

I actually do not know how to start. I feel it’s necessary to check on how I am doing lately. Write the things I experienced last year and reflect on the lessons it taught me.

I could probably kick things off by remembering how 2020 started for me. I have a bad memory but I’ll try my best to recall them.

January

Broke up with J (yes this is probably one of the major and heartbreaking events happened to me). To sum it up, I realized that the relationship does not have growth anymore, and I am slowly drifting to follow my own path, which is to focus on the plans I want. I haven’t thought deeply the lessons I learned in my past relationship yet but one thing is for sure, I changed and I want to explore more of what I can do or what I’m missing out in life. Which brings me to attend seminars on how to work/study abroad. I attended a couple (e.g Fortrust Makati) and I also realized how costly it will be and I’m probably not yet ready esp. on the financial aspect.

February – March

Highlight on these months was I got back to dating apps again. I know it was a complete dick move. I haven’t moved on yet and here I am in the pool again. I met 2 guys from this app, Coffee Meets Bagel (which btw I uninstalled few months after). The first guy was the introvert but funny type and also VERY sexual. I got along with it, tried to do the deed but failed cause the guy hasn’t moved on from the ex yet. (Sucks right). And so I met this second guy and he is decent but we really had completely different personality. I believe this guy is also rich (he came from a Chinese family and I went to his house and saw the maid and his stuff). Can you also believe he already introduced me to his mom (no dad cause broken family), uncle and grandma. Pressured si ate gurl syempre cause it was really too early to do that step since we’re just dating but March was the most difficult month because…

START OF LOCKDOWN. PH was in state of panic after the government announced a nationwide lockdown due to increased COVID-19 transmission. I immediately went on a bus to the province fearing to get stuck in Manila.

April

Nah this was just a typical month. Summer vibes all over but since we cannot go to the beach we just setup an inflatable pool in the house to get soaked. I finally posted a pic wearing a swimsuit again. My stagnant IG feed came to life lmao

May

Oh boy. This month sucks so much. I got typhoid fever. Which I thought was COVID already cause my fever just won’t stop. My mom didn’t want me to get admitted in the hospital in the fear of being infected so I was hooked in the IV here in the house. I felt I was dying. I was in huge pain both physically and mentally. Which forced me to end any communication means with the second guy. He was not there when I was sick. I didn’t feel his concern even if we’re miles apart and I felt I was begging for his attention. It just won’t work. He blocked me in his socials (which is a first for me, usually I am the one who blocks lol) but given the current state I have now, I learned to accept it and chose to move forward.

June

Explored options on work/study program abroad. We got a new car (Xpander) which my father was able to purchase after borrowing money from us. That money could’ve been used for my Japan trip on December (plot twist it was cancelled due to fucking corona) but it’s okay I guess I’ll save another again.

I also got my student permit (yes I learned how to drive months after hehe)

July

THIS WAS MY BIGGEST DOWNFALL FOR THIS YEAR. There were some modifications in the quarantine and so my employer required and FORCED us to report on site in Makati despite of high number of positive cases. All I can say is SCREW THEM and I hope karma will do its thing on their business. The management.. the bosses.. they are all inconsiderate fucks for not allowing me to work at home instead. The situation forced me to resign but they chose to terminate me instead. The unemployment took its toll on my mental health, it caused me great depression and anxiety which forced me to look for distractions.. anything that will ease my mind.

Oh and btw, I bought my first laptop from hard earned money. Oh boy, it was satisfying to give myself the things my parents couldn’t afford that time I was still in school. It’s a gaming laptop and the one I’m using to type now. I absolutely love it and I used it to find online jobs later on..

I read Looking for Alaska by John Green again after watching the TV series on Hulu. Geez, this has to be my favorite book so far. The seeking of great perhaps.. which was very timely on my mood while having nothing else to do.

Lastly, TAYLOR SWIFT RELEASED A NEW ALBUM CALLED FOLKLORE. In the middle pandemic? Awesome right and this album kept me sane during this crazy and miserable month. Oh and on December, she released folklore’s sister album.. Evermore. Miss Swift saved me again with her music. This will definitely be one of the albums I will play when I’m old and gray knitting sweaters and wearing cardigan.

August

I started and finished my driving lesson in manual. JFC, I realized driving gives me a huge anxiety. One thing is for sure, I will prefer to drive automatic. Not driving that shit again.

I was still hooked with Looking for Alaska. Also purchased Subtle Art of not Giving a F*ck on the time I bought LFA.

On the other hand, I was also actively looking for new jobs this time.

September

ON SEPT. 30 I GOT HIRED! I was super happy to start on a new job. It gave me hope once again to continue on this journey called life. After almost 3 months, we are def back to business!

I also got the chance to get this Thyroid issue checked. Unfortunately, there was no major stuff going on with my thyroid. Basically, I’m perfectly healthy. What sucks is that the doctor invalidated my previous condition and said I only have ~anxiety which is the cause of my symptoms (excessive sweating and palpitations). I will seek professional help on this anxiety stuff anytime in the future.

Lastly, I played Grand Chase again and met someone in the game. Well technically we haven’t met yet but since then, I got used to talking with this guy and he is part of my daily routine now. I won’t spoil much details but as soon as this is all over, I can’t wait to meet this person :)

*cue Grand Chase soundtrack*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoK0bAjsHoo

October

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEE! It was a typical birthday. I don’t have much realizations. If I had one, I need to think thoroughly again lol.

Busy with training on the new job and this has been the most challenging training I ever had since I started working.

NOVEMBER

WORK WORK WORK. Super stressed and my anxiety was on the roof. I thought of giving up already but then again it was too early to quit. I haven’t seen my full potential on this job yet and so I chose to keep on fighting.

I also finally got braces. Let’s get these smiles fixed.

December

WORK WORK WORK AGAIN. My work caused me a huge anxiety cause I was given high priority cases -.-But overall, I can say the holidays went great. I finally got to spend time with the family outside. Don’t worry cause we still practiced precautions and I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go out once in a while to have some fresh air. We went to the beach and pretty much that’s the highlight of this month.

Things are getting serious with this guy I’m talking about.. Seriously, he makes me happy every single day.

I also won in Christmas raffle. Oppo phone. (I have the odds in my favor when it comes to raffles lol)

Feels weird to celebrate this holiday too thinking a lot of hardships were experienced in the last few months of quarantine. I was thinking about all the lives lost by covid and hoping they are in the peaceful place now..

JANUARY (NOW)

After everything that happened, oddly the start of the year gives me a sense of hope. Sure I am still carrying the trauma 2020 gave me but I am slowly leaving all of them behind. I want a fresh start and I want to let go of the things that gave me pain. I don’t have solid resolutions just like in my teenage years. Guess I’m too old for that. Not saying it’s okay to not have plans for the future and just go with the flow but I promise to not be too hard on myself and to not pressure myself on the goals I haven’t achieved yet. It’s really a struggle to plan things ahead given the situation but as always, I will do my best. I will stop comparing my progress to somebody else’s cause everyone has their own timeline.

I will listen to my heart and my mind to determine the things I really want. I promise to reevaluate the decisions I am making each day. I will not be afraid of making mistakes because that’s how I learn.

I am embracing my anxiety of uncertainty. It’s okay to feel afraid because I am always trying on how to overcome my fear. I strive each day because I am more than just a ball of anxiety. The palpitations.. the sweating.. they don’t define me. I have the power to control them and they won’t stop me from being the better version of myself.

[umbillicalnoose]

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

[soahappylowman]

Make Up (Happy Lowman)

Summary: Happy’s all messed up after his old lady leaves him for infidelity.  Warnings: Talk of cheating, use of drugs and alcohol consumption  Words: 1,712 Note: I can’t stop writing about Happy, I love him too much. Tell me what you think. 

------

“you need to come back”

“I don’t know about that”

“He needs you”

------

The room was spinning and changing color at the same time, Happy was beginning to think he shouldn’t have taken that pill Juice offered. Lord knew what it was in the first place. He really thought taking that pill and posting up on the couch with a bottle of tequila would make the pain go away, but Happy was a rookie to being emotionally hurt. He didn’t know nothing would make the pain stop. He had a sweetbutt tucked under his arm, but he hasn’t look at her since she’s taken her seat. He hasn’t had it in him to touch another woman since she left. It was all his fault, which just made his emotional pain worse.

------

“I highly doubt that, he made it pretty clear that night”

“c’mon, you know him better than anyone”

“I sure thought I did”

------

Happy found himself in awe of the sensation he was feeling. He was experiencing drug induced synesthesia, he could literally see words in color. The woman under his arm kept talking, but her words were coming out a disgusting brown color. Every time Jax spoke, it was a bright yellow like the pretty boy he is. Juice was green, but a mellow green. He wondered what color she would like look.

Suddenly, his stomach couldn’t handle it anymore. Happy stood up suddenly, practically knocking the girl onto the ground. He stumbled his way to the back, slamming into every wall on his way to the bathroom. Lurching over the toilet, the contents of his stomach coming up over and over and over. He hunched against the toilet, completely drained. Happy barely had his bearings when he was violently pulled back by the top of kutte, back hitting the tile of the bathroom, head spinning. Leaning over him was the familiar scarred face.

“Ya alrigh’ brotha?” It took Happy over a minute to process his words.

“Everything hurts” Happy mumbled, plopping his hand over his eyes.

“Because the drugs ah ‘cause yer ole lady left ya?” Chibs gave a straight faced look over to Happy.

“Man, I’m fucked up.” Chibs scoffed.

“Nah, you fucked up.” Happy chuckled a little.

“I didn’t think this would hurt that much.” Chibs laughed.

“you fell in love,” Happy made a gagging noise.

“That’s fucked up.” Chibs cracked a smile, what an appropriate response from SAMCROs resident psycho.

“Is she going to come back?” Happy spoke after a moment of silence.

“For yer sake, I hope so.” Chibs left Happy to clean himself up, shaking his head as he left.

------

“You know he’s new to this whole relationship thing”

“Being new isn’t an excuse for cheating, Jax”

“He was overwhelmed”

“I won’t go through that again”

------

Happy left the bathroom, freshly washed and cleaned. He felt better after vomiting but he felt emptier. It was probably just coincidental symbolism. It had only been like 2 weeks since she was gone, but he barely remembered any of it. He spent all his time drugged, drunk or digging ditches for the dead bodies (all by his handiwork). Lightening flashed quickly, lighting up the dimly light clubhouse. In that split moment Happy could see everything. The dirty floor littered with crushed beer cans and cracked bottles, remains of old junk food wrappers and bags. All over the place were bikers and bitches, some sloppy, some having sex out in the open, other just relaxing. Happy has never felt more sober in this moment.

Its not like he stopped attending the parties once he was with her, but they didn’t feel so meaningless. He liked to watch her drink and dance with the other girls. Sometimes they would pretend not to know each other and meet for the first time at a bar. Pretending like it was the first time always made it feel… like it was the first time.

Happy even missed the domestic nights with her. The pair would cook together, or she would cook and he would clean. She’d pour herself a glass of clean white wine, he’d have a beer. Laying on the couch watching literally whatever she wanted was just as good as any other night.

It was all so stupid. It was a stupid fight about something even more stupid and he was just so raging mad. He doesn’t even know what made him so mad. Maybe it was the stress from the club shit he was trying to keep off her shoulders, or that his mom wasn’t getting any better. She was pushing him for something, he thinks it may have been a vacation weekend and he knew he couldn’t step away from the club even if it was for a weekend. She just kept saying that they never spent the time just the two of them together, it was always the two of them and the club looming over them. He told her to fuck off, she told him that she couldn’t stand this anymore and he left. Had a little too much to drink at the club, was persuaded a little too easily by a croweater. She came to apologize right as Happy… came. She didn’t even scream, just turned around and left. He hadn’t been the same since.

------

“Look, babe. I know it’s hard to believe but this was bound to happen. I’ve never seen a relationship within the club happen without bumps. It’s the way it works.”

“That’s not the way that I work. I can accept club shit, I can’t accept that disrespect.”

“Trust me when I say, I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“Jax…”

------

Happy huffed, pulling out a pack of smokes from his jean pocket. He shook his head as he headed toward the door, needing fresh air, even if it was pouring buckets. If he wasn’t the Tacoma killer, he probably would’ve jumped. Instead, he pulled the unregistered 9 from his back waistband when the door to the club violent opened.

Happy thought he was still hallucinating when the image of a soaping wet woman in the doorway, gripping her jacket against her chest, breathing heavily from probably heaving the heavy door open. The room was quiet.

“Hi,” Her small voice snapped Happy out of it, who took two steps towards her. He still couldn’t manage to speak though. She took unconfident steps towards her ex-old man, coming face to chest with him.

“You look exhausted Hap, have you been sleeping?”

“No,” before he could stop himself or think about his answer, his mind totally blank. She hummed into response. “You’re really wet.” He sounded so dumb, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had imagined what he would say to her if he ever got the balls to go to her and try to beg for her forgiveness, but now that she’s here he can’t say a damn thing but ‘you’re really wet’.

“Yeah, I sort of stood outside in the rain for awhile, debating about whether or not I should come inside.” She rung her hands through her wet jacket, a nervous tick of hers. Finally coming more to his senses, he noticed that she was shivering violently, her cheeks tinged very pink and her lips almost blue. She wore her night shorts, his old SAMTAC shirt and a thin windbreaker. She didn’t even have real shoes on her feet. Happy kicked into protective mode.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” immediately, he moved to unzip her jacket and push it off her shoulders, turning around throwing it towards the bar. He pulled his hoodies off his shoulders and turned back around to put it on her. The second the sweatshirt cleared the top of his head, he could feel a tiny wet body cling to his and two very cold, very wet hands slid up the back of his neck and around his bald head, pulling him down. The kiss was so cold, it was nearly unpleasant. But only nearly. It took him all of .2 seconds to engulf her entire body in his arms, holding her tightly. There was a vague noise of people cheering and making obnoxious noises in the background but Happy couldn’t hear a thing.

She finally pushed away from him, shaking so violently from the cold she could finally fully feel.

“I’m not done being mad at you. You have a lot of explaining and making up to do. You don’t get to complain when I pick the next 100 movies for movie night, or when I pick something else other than Chinese for take out night. You have to check in on runs and we are going on a weekend getaway and Jax agreed to not call you for three days and you don’t get to argue.” Her eyes were hard, clearly trying to intimidate the killer. He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head as she shook in his arms.

“Whatever you want.” They stood still together, her absorbing some of his warmth while he stood there with his eyes closed, completely elated to have her back. Suddenly, she pushed away from him.

“One more thing I gotta do.” She turned abruptly towards the crowd, scanning for someone specific. Find the dyed red head, she walked confidently up to her. The red head rose, defensive and ready to fight.

She took one deep breath, wound up and punched her right in the nose. As the red head fell, she kicked her in the stomach.

“Stay away from my old man. All of you.” She put her hands on her hip and glared at the women around the room. None moved to help the redhead on the floor and none made eye contact with the perpetrator.

“Gemma was right, that definitely made me feel better.” She let out a relieved sigh, strutting back over to her old man. She could hear Tig choking on his own spit from laughing so hard behind her.

She wrapped herself up in Happy again.

“Okay, I’m very cold, please get me warm Hap.” Happy tightened his arms around her.

“I got an idea,” he was already shuffling the two of them to his dorm in the back.

[elizaviento]

Manipulation (part 6)

Note:  I’m so sorry that I’ve fallen behind the posting schedule.  The Thanksgiving holiday really sucked up too much of my time.  To make up for it, though, I’ve made this part extra long!  :)

NSFW lite -- 5400 words

(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation.  Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

The moment she disappeared into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.  That breath morphed into a groan as I slumped over my workstation with my head in my hands.

Decades of guarded bitterness was all it took.  I was so practiced in the art of hateful sarcasm that I didn’t even have to try.  The words just materialized in my throat and pushed their way past my teeth and sprung from my mouth like projectile vomit.  And, they produced the desired effect.  She wasn’t the type to yell or scream or throw objects in anger or hold a grudge.  Instead, she’d simply move on.  She’d continue to be cordial and polite, but detached – as she’d been with me since her return.

“You aren’t special.”

I chuckled dryly to myself as I replayed the words in my mind time and again, ripping my hands through my hair.  I was under no illusions that she wasn’t smart enough to suss out the lie.  No matter what, her memories of the way I’d behaved on Unity’s planet would continue to return until the entire puzzle was solved.  At this point, she knew I was under the false impression that she was herself, therefore, she knew that I’d pursued her, not Unity.  So, I was taking advantage of her unwillingness to call me out.  Plain and simple.

Broken from my self reflection by the sound of the front door slamming shut, I quickly rose and punched the garage door opener.  As the door slowly began to rise, I ducked my head to catch a glimpse of tennis shoes as they marched down the driveway, toward the street.  By the time the garage door had finally made its ascent, she was just an outline obscured by the sun as she pounded the pavement – one foot in front of the other, carrying her completely out of sight.

----------

The remaining hours passed quickly as I was finally able to muster up the concentration that had eluded me for the past month.  I worked on several unfinished projects, fiddling around with this and that, while I waited for Morty to return from school.  Unfortunately, this was one of the days that Beth insisted he stay until the very end, which frustrated me to no end.  

One of the projects that I’d decided to take up was improving the inter-dimensional goggles.  I had heard rumors from around the multiverse that certain Ricks had come up with a way to make the goggles completely immersible so that the subject using the goggles felt as if they had assumed the body of their counterpart instead of just watching as an onlooker.  Doing a quick scan, I’d been able to narrow down a few Ricks with such goggles so I needed Morty’s help with looting the chumps.

Just as I was checking my watch with a scowl, wondering how much longer Morty would be stuck at school, I caught a glimpse of him running toward the house from the street.  I’d honestly never seen him run that fast, even from life threatening situations, so I stood from my stool and met him at the threshold of the garage.  

“RICK!  RICK!” he screamed as he approached, his face beet red and contorted in a mixture of concern and horror.  Waiting for him to continue, I placed my hands on my hips as he stumbled toward me, bending at the waist to catch his breath.  “Rick… you – you gotta – she’s laying on the sidewalk.  I-I-I think she – I think she’s DYING, Rick!”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Morty?!” I asked, suddenly flushed from head to toe with panic.  I grasped his shoulders and shook, his small body flopping back and forth with each thrust and pull.  

“There – t-t-there’s no time to explain, Rick!  J-j-just follow me, okay?”  He ran away in the direction he’d come and I followed.

About a quarter of a mile from the house, we approached the body of a woman lying face up on the sidewalk – just as Morty said.  She was wearing athletic gear and had ear buds jammed in her ears.  The volume of the music was so loud that it could be heard from a couple of feet away.  Well, her eardrums must be shot to shit, at least, I thought as Morty toppled to the sidewalk beside her, picking up one of her arms to shake it violently in an effort to rouse her.

“HURRY THE – THE FUCK UP S-S-SHE MAY BE DYING OH MY – OH MY GOD!” Morty screamed like a lunatic as I slowed my pace and approached in the most nonchalant manner I could manage.

“Ugh, cut the dramatics, w-will ya Morty?” I groaned.  No sooner had the words left my mouth, she giggled.  Relief washed over me and I felt my spine loosen as I drew closer, standing directly over her.  Her eyes were wide open and she squinted as I blocked out the sun.  “Well, l-l-look at that, Morty.  She lives!”

“Go away,” she said.  “Let me fry my retinas in peace.”

“Yeeeah, nope,” I replied as I bent at the waist to grab her arms and tug.  Thankfully, she found the strength to coax her body upward, making it much easier to pull her into a standing position before wrapping my arms around her thighs to hoist her up and over my shoulder.  She was as limp as a rag doll and I could feel the pounding of her heart against the back of my shoulder as I tightened my hold on her thighs with one arm and dug in my coat for the portal gun with the other.

“I’m fine, Morty.  Just got a bit overheated,” she spoke as her upper body dangled down my back.  Glancing toward Morty, I saw him standing within an inch of her face, his face etched with worry.

“Are you kiddin’ me?  Y-y-you’re less than half a mile from the house,” I scoffed.  The concern I’d been attempting to keep at bay began to creep back with a vengeance.  Something had happened to her and I had my suspicions on what.

“I s-s-saw you while walking – when I was coming home from school,” Morty added.  I felt her body stiffen with this new information – that she’d been lying on the sidewalk for hours.  Then, she giggled again.  Suddenly struck by the recollection that she tended to giggle when she was nervous, upset or unsure, my concern spiked higher as I pulled the trigger on the portal gun and carried her through.

As we emerged in the den, I felt her warm breath penetrate my lab coat and sweater as she forcefully sighed in relief directly against my back before she spoke.

“Just toss me on the bed.”

Doing exactly as she instructed, I cringed as I witnessed her body bounce once on the stiff mattress.  Real smooth, Sanchez, I thought as I exited the room, leaving Morty behind.

Scrapping the plan to drag Morty along with me while looting that evening, I skulked to my bedroom and flopped down on the cot to think.

I was certain that she had suffered some type of seizure or episode of unconsciousness while her brain struggled to recall and interpret the memories of assimilation.  I had never witnessed this myself but several beings I had tracked down years prior had explained similar instances when memories would flood back suddenly without warning.  Most of the time, the assimilated memories would mash together with other memories of the being’s past as a way for the brain to catalog the additions in an acceptable manner.  Usually these episodes would last between minutes to hours at a time and the beings would return to a normal state of consciousness afterward with the memories sorted and cataloged accordingly.  So, she would probably be fine.

Right?

Throwing an arm over my eyes, I willed my brain to shut down.  I hadn’t had a decent sleep since arriving on Unity’s planet so a nap wouldn’t hurt.  Before I could even begin to drift off, however, the familiar sound of the 20th Century Fox intro drifted through the thin walls along with her voice, mingled with Morty’s and Summer’s.  Groaning, I tried to ignore it and even managed to doze off for about an hour before the sound of Jerry’s voice joined them and I gave up entirely.  So, exiting my small room to join them as well, I plopped down on the armchair and fixed my eyes to the screen.

In my peripheral vision, I saw her quickly glance in my direction before focusing her attention back on the B-rated horror film.  I’d remembered her and Beth watching this particular movie over and over when they were in high school, laughing their asses off each and every time.  What the fuck was it called?  At any rate, it didn’t much matter as it was just another of a series of movies featuring some killer doll with red hair and a butcher knife super glued to its hand or something.  And, after about an hour of this shit feature film, Beth walked through the front door looking completely beat.

“Don’t tell me you’re watching Bride of Chucky again,” Beth laughed as she flopped down on the sofa next to her best friend.

“Bethany, my love, you know this is your favorite movie as much as it is mine.  And, this is the special anniversary edition,” she replied, never taking her eyes from the screen.

“You know, you two would, like, totally be called lesbos in school these days,” Summer said from the love seat, tapping away on her phone.

“Who said we weren’t when we were in school?” Beth retorted with her eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Jerry joined, sounding defeated, “even when your mom was pregnant with you, everyone thought I was just the sperm donor.”

She and Beth both laughed while Morty and Summer cried, “EWW,” in unison.  I, however, audibly scoffed and she threw me a sidelong glance before quickly darting her eyes back toward the screen.

“Do you want me to make you something for dinner?” she asked Beth.

“Nah, I stopped by McDonald’s on my way home and rammed ten chicken nuggets down my throat while driving.”

“Sexy,” she replied as Beth hauled herself up from the sofa to head toward the bathroom.

“I just need a long, hot bath and a box of the finest red,” Beth assured as she disappeared down the hall.

As the night wore on, everyone shuffled from the living room to other areas of the house.  By the time she inserted the final DVD – some shitty zombie affair – she and I were the only ones left.  When the menu appeared on the screen, she took her place back on the sofa to lie down, ignoring me throughout the entire process.  Just as she settled down and appeared comfortable, the overwhelming concern I had attempted to stuff down made a reappearance and I couldn’t fight the urge to confront her any longer.

Rising from the armchair to approach the sofa, I closed each hand around her ankles and moved them toward the floor.  Once she had adjusted herself into a proper sitting position, I took a seat next to her.  Instead of acknowledging me, as I hoped she would, she continued to ignore me, pressing play on the remote control.  

“What – uh – w-w-what happened out there?” I asked, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the volume of the television.  Rolling her eyes, she pressed the pause button and turned her body to face mine fully.  The look of utter annoyance on her face was enough to convey that my earlier words had affected her more than she had initially let on.

“I don’t know, Rick,” she began, her tone icy but determined.  “I had some kind of mental meltdown, I guess.  Let me ask you something.  Have you ever been assimilated by an alien hive mind that’s determined to make its former lover confess it wants to bang someone else?  ‘Cause I gotta admit, that was a first for me and my tiny inferior human brain is having just a little bit of trouble processing the onslaught of confusing memories of what said hive mind did to AND with my body when I had absolutely no control.  Do you even realize that Unity doesn’t completely eliminate the original consciousness of its victims?   I was still in there, the entire time, and there was nothing I could do!  I was completely trapped!  I was essentially raped and, since you had no idea that I wasn’t really me, so were you!  How is this not affecting you, Rick?!  Are you really so disconnected from anything human that you don’t realize – or don’t CARE – what exactly happened or the type of manipulation that was forced upon both of us?!”

She was breathing heavily, her voice thick with emotion, as she glanced around the room to make sure that the rise in her tone hadn’t attracted the attention of anyone else in the house.  When her eyes settled back on me, she allowed them to roam my face for several seconds as she awaited my response.  But, before I could even begin to form one that could accurately convey the guilt that was eating me alive over what had occurred, she got up and left.  Without another word or even a second glance, she was gone.

----------

Two hours later, as the movie she’d inserted prior to her departure automatically resumed, I was taking another swig from the vodka bottle I’d dug from my emergency stash in the garage when my cell phone rang.  Ignoring it at first, I let it go to voicemail.  But, when it immediately began to ring for the second time, I sighed and dug it from my lab coat to check the caller ID.  It was Beth and I already knew what she wanted.

“What is it, sweetie?” I asked as soon as I tapped the answer icon on the screen.  Judging by the loud heavy metal music blaring in the background, they must have gone to the new biker bar that had opened the previous week.

“Dad, you have to come help me.  Please!  They’re so drunk, there’s no way I can get them home by myself!”  

“Ugh, okay.  I’ll be there in a second,” I replied, already removing the portal gun from my coat.

“No, no.  You know how Jerry feels about going through portals,” she shouted over the music, already guessing my plan.  “He’s still terrified that he will be turned inside out after what you told him!”

“If he’s drunk, he w-w-won’t know the difference, sweetie.  I’ll just pull – push him through and he’ll be fine.”

“Dad, I don’t ask much from you – ”

“Beth, listen to me.  I’m portaling there now.  Just – j-j-just make sure –”

“No, you listen to me!  I need your help and you’re going to come here and provide it!  You can get here by portal but you have to ride back in the car with us.”

“Why do I need to do that?!” I asked, raising my voice in frustration.  The last thing I wanted to do was ride home with Beth’s idiotic husband falling asleep and drooling on my shoulder.

“In case one of them needs to puke, Dad!  Look I can handle Jerry.  Can you please just come and help me with – ”

“Yes!” I answered, a little too enthusiastically when I knew I wouldn’t be taking care of Jerry after all.  Reigning myself in, I continued, “Yeah, I-I-I’ll help you with your friend, Beth.  But, that’s it.”

“Okay, fine.  Thanks, Dad.”

----------

“Where’s my money, chump?!” I heard her scream triumphantly as she bent over what appeared to be a chess board with an incredibly large biker man leaning over the other side, a scowl firmly etching his burly features.

“You gotta be KIDDING ME!” the large man bellowed from across the table.  “You’re smashed!  How are you cheating?  I know you are!”

She mumbled something under her breath as she cradled her head in her hands.  She was much more drunk that I had anticipated and I smirked as I approached her from behind.

“What did you say to me?” the large man asked, standing from his stool and leaning over further while placing his hands flat on the table.

“Uhh, she said nuttin’ s-sir,” Jerry slurred next to her before she forcefully shoved him away, stood from her stool, as well, and slammed her hands on the table.

“I saaaid… SUCK MY DICK, BITCH!”  She dissolved into a fit of adorable giggles as the large man across the table contorted his face into an expression of pure shock.  Deciding now was the time to end this little encounter for her own good, I curled both hands around her shoulders and pulled her away.

“Oookay, little miss – miss drunky poo.  Time to – to grow the fuck up before you get your ass kicked.”

“Get your hands off me!” she shouted, trying to shake me off but only losing her balance, causing me to wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from falling flat on her ass.

“Hey, the lady said to let her go,” the large man said as he made his way around the table toward us.

Yeah, good attempt at – uh – chivalry there, Butch or Bear or-or-or Big Bass.  What the fuck ever,” I retorted, possessively tightening my hold on her waist.

“Skinny man, you’re about to get a whoopin’ like you ain’t never –” the large man began before Beth stepped between us.  She could be such a badass when the situation called for it and I couldn’t contain my grin of pride.

“Hey, hi there.  This man is my father and he’s just trying to help me get my very drunk husband and friend home in one piece.  So, thanks Mister uhh…”

“Toby.”

“Toby.  Right.  Thanks for humoring my friend here, Toby.  I’m sorry you lost so much money to her but, you know… bye now.”

“Hey!” Toby called as I continued pulling her backward toward the door.  “What’s your number?”

Fat chance, I thought as I kicked the door open with my foot and yanked her outside with Beth shoving Jerry right behind us.  Once again, that delightful giggle bubbled from her chest as I roughly turned her around and hoisted her over my shoulder for the second time that day.

----------

Again, her body was as limp as a rag doll as I carried her toward Beth’s car.  And, again, I could feel her warm breath penetrating the layers of clothing as she continued to giggle directly against my back.

“I love you so-ssooo much, Beff,” Jerry slurred as Beth directed him toward the passenger side door.

“Yes, Jerry.  I know.  I love you, too.”

“You always been my dream girl,” he continued, throwing his arm around her neck and going in for a kiss, tongue first.  Beth quickly turned her head and leaned back as far as she could while in Jerry’s vice grip.

“Ugh – sheesh, Jerry.”  I chimed in, rolling my eyes.  “Is – is that the line you fed her the night you knocked her up?”

Avoiding Beth’s death glare, I felt a snicker against my back as Jerry fell on his ass while trying to climb into the passenger seat.  Beth groaned in frustration and bent down to try to pull him up by the armpits.  

“Oh, you – uh – think that’s funny, huh?  Little miss one and done,” I commented.

“Had more than one.  Had a bunch!”

“Oh, t-t-that’s impressive.  Now, let’s get you in the car before you – before it’s barf city down my back.”

After opening the door to the backseat, I leaned forward and loosened my grip on her thighs.  As her body slid up into a standing position before me, she slumped forward to press her face just below my collarbone in an attempt to remain upright.  She was breathing heavily and I suppress a moan as she tilted her head upward just enough so that her hot breath wafted across my neck.  Grabbing her biceps, I attempted to peel her from my body and maneuver her into the car, however, it seemed she had other plans when both of her arms slipped under my lab coat and wrapped tightly around my torso.  Going completely rigid, my mind raced as I considered my options, which where few.

I could forcefully pry her arms from my torso and shove her into the car.  Or, I could attempt to gently coax her.  As I was weighing the pros and cons of each option, Beth became impatient and wasn’t shy about expressing it.

“Dad, what’s taking so long?” Beth asked while leaning out the window of the driver’s seat.  Luckily, we were on the opposite side of the car and her view was limited to the top of my head.

“Uhh, j-j-just a second, sweetie,” I replied, my voice wavering slightly as she squeezed her arms around me tighter and took a deep breath.  Having chosen for me with her possibly unintended affection, I settled my chin on top of her head and said, just above a whisper, “Come – come on, baby.  Can you let me – can you be a good girl for me and get in the car?”

Stiffening slightly, she simply nodded against my chest.  Then, settling a hand on her lower back, I walked her backward toward the open door.  When her ass bumped the side of the car, I slid my hand from her back and placed both hands on her hips to gently push her from my body and turn her sideways, lining her up with the opening.  I then slid my hands slowly up her body – making sure to mentally catalog each curve as they roved – until one was again on her lower back and the other settled on the back of her neck.  Pushing slightly to coax her to bend at the waist, I then pushed her inside.  Once seated, she scooted all the way to the other side of the backseat cabin, behind Beth, and slouched against the headrest before I situated myself into the small space behind Jerry.

“Finally,” Beth grumbled, starting the car and putting it into gear.  Jerry was babbling away in the passenger seat like a moron, as usual.

“Hey, Jerry.  Mind – uh – moving the seat up so I have more than two inches of leg room?” I spat, pounding Jerry’s headrest from behind with my fist.  Jerry groaned and flopped forward, banging his head on the dash.  

“Dad!  If you make him barf in my car, I swear I’ll make you clean it up!  And, I mean the old fashion way.  No gadgets or cleaning bots or whatever.”

Without replying, I leaned forward to reach the electronic seat controls in the middle console, pressing the button to move Jerry’s seat up all the way.  And, as I leaned back – without a second thought on what the fuck I was doing or the potential consequences – my hand casually caught her forearm and tugged. Her upper body flopped to the side to rest against my arm, her head on my shoulder.  And, as she peered up at my face, I pulled my arm from under her, swooped it around her neck, and used my other hand to grab her thigh and pull until she was flush against me.  When she snaked one arm around my back, one around my torso, and sank further into me with her head resting on my chest, I slid my hips forward to lean further back in the seat so that her position was more comfortable.

What the hell was I doing?  My daughter and son-in-law were no more than three feet away and here I was – pulling their best friend and twin sister into a forced embrace.  But, she wasn’t resisting.  In fact, she seemed to be reciprocating.  Because she’s drunk, you fucking pervert, my better angel spoke from the shoulder her head wasn’t resting against.  Glancing down at her, I could only make out the outline of her body in the darkness as she wiggled in even closer, curling the fingers of the arm behind my back around the fabric of my sweater in the same manner as when we were watching television with Unity.  And, even though that hadn’t been her, the memory sparked and ignited that all consuming passion for her within me once more that couldn’t be extinguished with something as silly as logic.

Noticing I still hadn’t removed my hand from her thigh and that my thumb had absently been rubbing back and forth across her jeans, I once again gave in to my base urges.  Gliding the arm around her neck to her lower back, tracing my fingers down her spine along the way, I curled it around her waist to rest my hand on her hip.  At this point, her breathing had become heavy and I could tell that she was turned on, which only served to encourage me.  Again, the little voice on my shoulder screamed that she was intoxicated, but somehow, I couldn’t seem to care.  

Gently squeezing her hip, I pulled her even closer.  The hand I had planted on her thigh tugged until her leg was draped over mine and I began to rub slowly up – my thumb sliding smoothly in the junction where her thigh met her hip – and then back down to her knee.  She exhaled a shaky breath and fisted her hand in the back of my sweater in response, seeming to urge me on.  That is, until my hand made its next journey up her thigh, her body stiffened and jerked as she craned her head up from my chest as if she were attempting to see if Beth or Jerry had spied our secret encounter in the backseat.

Tightening my hold on her, I racked my brain for a way to quell her fears before realizing it was much too quiet.

“Hey, Beth – sweetie.  How about t-t-turning on some music?”

Beth complied as she came to a stop at a red light.  Jerry began singing along, swaying this way and that in the front seat.  The light turned green and as Beth began to speed up, I pressed my lips to her hair and slid my hips further forward, sinking us both low enough that I could speak directly into her ear.

“Relax, baby,” I whispered.  “T-t-they can’t hear us.  Don’t – it’s okay.”

She did relax slightly and I took that as my cue to continue, slipping a hand under her t-shirt to dance my fingers along her ribs before tracing the underwire of her bra.  Releasing a shaky whine, she tightened her arms around me as the hand on her thigh made another journey upward – my thumb ghosting her crotch as it slipped once again between the juncture of her hip and thigh.  

“Rick,” she sighed, barely audible above the music.

Pressing my lips to her hair to suppress another moan, I could only reply with, “Hmm?” as my hand, never ceasing its motion, made its way back toward her thigh and repeated the same maneuver.  Only, this time, I applied pressure with my thumb as it slid over her clothed cunt.  

Her reaction was immediate and so fucking satisfying as the hand she had wrapped around my chest flew to her mouth to suppress a moan of her own.  Pressing my lips to her hair once more, I took a deep breath to steady myself as my cock responded in turn – steadily swelling with each thunderous beat of my heart.

And, I continued to roam her body – one hand on her thigh that continued to add more pressure with my thumb each time it found its way between her legs and the other taking its place back under her shirt to trace invisible patterns on her ribs.  Soon, however, I needed more.

All the years I’d known her, the most intimate form of physical contact we’d shared were two hugs that she’d forced upon me – one after I’d danced with her at Beth and Jerry’s wedding and the other after I’d beat the shit out of the douche bag who had tried to take advantage of her in the backseat of his shitty car.  Prior and even after that, it consisted of my arm around her shoulders for photos or her hand lightly touching my arm to gain my attention when I was too wrapped up in work to notice when she or Beth would call for dinner.  As time went on, I shied away from even the most innocent touches as my infatuation for her began to bloom and grow.  I was a better man then, I supposed.  I was the type of man to deny myself carnal pleasures to protect someone innocent and pure, no matter how cliché it seemed.  Now, though?  Now, I was just another piece of shit who was too weak to deny himself further.  Even if she seemed willing now, how was I to know it was genuine?  The last time I thought she was willing, she wasn’t even herself and I hadn’t even noticed.  Her body may not be occupied by a hive mind parasite at this moment, but she was intoxicated, which – let’s face it – was probably worse.  But, still, I needed more.

She flinched when she felt me shift beneath her, but I leaned the side of my body that she was resting upon just enough so that the hand on her thigh could reach her other leg, which I nudged outward to spread her legs further.  Once satisfied with its positioning, I moved my hand back to her other thigh and tugged it further into my lap.  Her legs now adequately spread to my liking, I hummed against her hair in a relaxing manner while placing my hand directly between them, cupping her clothed cunt in my palm.  When she gasped, I chuckled and began to slowly but firmly rub my palm up and down the jean covered mound.  The heat radiating from her sex warmed my fingers delightfully as she issued a moan, which she attempted to mute by pressing her face to my chest.  Absolutely thrilled with her responsiveness thus far, I pressed my middle finger hard enough to sink between her covered labia and, with the way her hips jerked upward to seek more contact, put direct pressure on her clit.

“Mmm, want – want more? I whispered and she quickly nodded in affirmation.

When I pressed my middle finger again, she angled her hips upward and began to grind against my hand.  And, we continued the motion – press and grind – over and over until she was panting and softly grunting with her face still pressed to my chest.  I could tell she was close as the rhythm of her rolling hips faltered and her entire body began to tremble.  I applied more pressure – deeper and faster – softly mumbling encouragement and praise against her hair that I was sure she couldn’t hear over the music but I couldn’t care.  She was so close.  I was going to make this beautiful woman cum with the most basic form of stimulation.  

Then, Jerry woke up with a start, causing to Beth flinch and focus her attention in his direction.  The spell now broken, I immediately pulled my hand back and sat up a little straighter in the seat.

“Ooohhh,” Jerry moaned. “I’m gonna – gonna puke.  Beth, I’m gonna puke!”

“God damn it,” Beth sighed as she pulled over onto the shoulder.  “I knew it.”

As soon as the car came to a stop, Jerry flung open the passenger door – triggering the cabin light to illuminate the debauched scene in the back seat – and projectile vomited on a dead raccoon.

To be continued...

P.S.  Credit for the fully immersive inter-dimensional goggles goes to the lovely @porkchop-ao3 from her story Someone Else’s Shoes, which you can read on Ao3 under her username PorkChop.

[thewadapan]

Cowboy

(I wrote a short story for the Homestuck Discord’s first writing contest. This is where I’d put a content warning, but if I’m any more specific I’ll spoil it, so consider this a warning of its own.)

Mad Joey had never been much good at naming things. He was good at cards, and drinking large quantities of terrible lager, and had quite the uncanny ability to walk more than ten feet on his hands alone - but whenever he was asked to name something, he’d just pick the first thing that came into his head. On his tenth birthday, his mother had bought him a cat, which he’d named “Kitty” - it had ended up dying a couple of months later, in an unfortunate accident involving a litter tray and a lighter. His mother had herself died only a few months after that, coincidentally in another incident involving a lighter - although, in this case, it had not been a litter tray, but rather several gallons of petrol.

The name “Mad Joey” had been his own invention, too. All of his friends (well, both of them) agreed that it was a terrible name: Joey was not mad - so they argued - just a bit of a prick.

Despite the fact that he’d been riding on it for almost two whole days, Mad Joey’s workhorse had yet to receive a name of its own. It was a tired thing, propelled along by four spindly legs which somehow managed to transmit each and every undulation of the ground beneath up through the worn saddle and straight into Mad Joey’s ass - even though not one of its legs touched the floor. The workhorse’s repulsor technology worked fine on the level roads found on the core planets, where remaining a fixed difference above the ground made for a relatively smooth ride. Here in the outer reaches, however, its lack of suspension was sorely felt.

“Piece o’ shit,” Mad Joey muttered, thinking that’d make a fine name for his steed.

Glancing back through the thick cloud of fine smoke being kicked up behind his vehicle, Mad Joey could see the faint outline of his pursuer’s speeder - noticeably bigger than the last time he’d looked. He was losing ground.

Searing pain shot through Mad Joey’s arm, the product of a harpoon fired by the pilot of the craft behind. “Fuck!” he yelled as he let go of the reins and tried to pull it free. “Son of a bitch!” It was no use. The cable was already taut; he found himself being dragged from the craft, face-planting into the dust below and rolling to a stop.

By the time he’d recovered, the other speeder had come to a stop. He ignored it and remained where he was on the windswept ground. With his good arm, he tore off his helmet. Though it stank something fierce, the air here was just about breathable - of course, it’d have to be, for what he was planning.

Mad Joey sat up, retrieved his flask from his suit, and took a long swig of the whiskey contained within. It tasted like piss, and he almost choked on it. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the speeder’s occupant climbed out and approached through the settling smoke. “A’ight mate, this has been a laugh, but enough’s enough,” a voice crackled from behind the mirrored glass of their helmet. “You gonna come quietly? I got a taser.”

Mad Joey laughed at that. He was busy stuffing a rag into the flask - a difficult task, with just one hand to work with, but not an impossible one. “Not a chance, partner,” he said, trying the word out for size.

“The fuck’s that voice you’re doing?”

Slowly, Mad Joey got to his feet. “Here’s how this is gonna go down,” he drawled. “You’re gonna turn around, get back in that speeder, and mosey the hell away from this dustball.”

His adversary took a step forward. “And why the fuck’s that?”

Mad Joey gestured around expansively. “Gunpowder.”

“You what?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mad Joey chose to repeat himself. “...Gunpowder.”

“Nah mate, I heard you, it’s just…” They trailed off, their helmet swivelling as they took in their surroundings - as if for the first time. “Wait, that’s what this shit is?”

In answer, Mad Joey brandished a lighter. This proved tricky, because his good hand already had a flask in it, but he managed.

“Naaah, that’s fuckin’ batty. The whole planet’s made of this shit. How the fuck would a rock like this even form?” They shook their head. “This is why you’re doing all cowboy shit, innit?”

“Ah’m gonna blow this whole place sky high,” Mad Joey said, “go out in a blaze o’ glory.” His bad arm was stinging like a bitch. His good hand was shaking. “They’ll see the blast from the central planets.”

The lawperson looked around again, one hand raised to their helmet to shield their eyes. It was almost midday, and the sun bore down brightly. “No, they won’t - there won’t be any blast, mate, the wind’ll put it out.”

Mad Joey faltered. “Reckon it’ll be enough to take the both of us out, at least.” He looked down at the cable dangling from his arm. It was like a lasso, he thought. “Get outta here. Tell ‘em Mad Joey won, tell ‘em he burned his way into hell.”

“You didn’t win shit,” they snorted - forcing a burst of static out through the speakers in their suit. “They had the fires out in like, ten minutes - fire service’s a lot better than it used to be. They literally only want you for wasting everyone’s time.” They advanced, arms spread wide - but Mad Joey raised the lighter, and they froze. “This is fucking daft,” they pressed. “Mate, look, I dunno who you are, I dunno how you found this rock, but you gotta admit this is a bit much.”

Mad Joey looked away, and his gaze fell upon the workhorse, which had crashed into a nearby dune and now rested with all four legs pointing in the air. “I killed my mu- mom,” he stuttered. “I burned the house down with her in it, ‘cause she was a bitch, and nobody knew I did it.”

“You…” The lawperson reached up with both hands and removed their helmet. From beneath the mirrored glass, Mad Joey saw a face emerge which was a faint reflection of his own - older, with bleached-blonde hair - and heard a distantly familiar voice. “...Joel?”

“Mum,” said Mad Joey. He staggered forward, dropping the lighter and the flask. They fell into the gunpowder, which didn’t ignite.

“I didn’t even recognise you,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “You look like shit. Also, you were talking in a fucking cowboy voice, you twat.”

“I just thought it’d be cool,” sobbed Mad Joey. “Cowboys are so fucking cool, Mum,” he bawled.

“Shh,” Joel’s mother said, drawing him into a hug. “You don’t have to be a cowboy to be cool.”

“I know, Mum, I’m so sorry-”

“-No, I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “I’m sorry I was such a shit mum. After- after the fire- after I’d thought you died- I tried to sort my shit out, really.”

“You did, Mum,” said Mad Joey. “You’re a fuckin’ police lady. That’s cool as shit.” After a couple of moments, he pushed her away slightly. “Watch this,” he said, taking a couple of steps back. He sucked in a deep breath, then quickly bent over forwards, flipping up so that he was standing on his hands. Unfortunately, one of his arms still had a harpoon sticking out of it, and it gave way instantly - sending him crashing into the dust with a shriek. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“I-” started his mother, not really sure what she’d just witnessed.

“Nah, nah, I’m all- fuck! I’m- I’m all right. Fuck. Was just… I can do this cool thing, where I walk on my hands, y’know.”

“I know,” she nodded, not knowing. She knelt down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I shot you - we’ll get you to a hospital or something, get it looked at, yeah?”

“Are- are you gonna arrest me?” asked Mad Joey, haltingly.

His mother nodded again. “You did crimes, Joel. I’m sorry.” She reached into a compartment in her suit and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I know I’m your mum, but crimes are against the law.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mad Joey wiped the tears from his eyes, before holding out his hands. Once the handcuffs were on, his mother helped him into the speeder, and - as they flew away - he stared down at the planet of gunpowder in pensive thought. After thinking for a while, he spoke up. “Mum… now that we’re up here… do you wanna set the gunpowder off?”

She turned around in the driver’s seat. “Haven’t you burnt enough things today?”

Joel supposed he had.

Commentary

The Homestuck Discord got a new #writing channel towards the end of December, last year, after a survey in which a few users requested one. For some reason I didn’t post there until over a month later, but - as the amount of time I spent in the server increased - I found myself growing fairly invested in the channel. See, it’s always struggled a lot in terms of activity - often playing host to one or two short conversations, if that - and, as it was introduced on an experimental basis, it’s always in danger of being archived.

This isn’t really the place to examine the channel in detail. What I will say is that perhaps its most important role is to provide a place for people to shill their own writing, where it would otherwise be buried in #general or laughed out of #mspa-lit.

I’m pretty sure I was the first person to meaningfully suggest doing a #writing contest, all the way back towards the end of February: “could be a two-week contest with a decent prompt, where idk the winning story gets posted in #shilling or something”. It wasn’t until after spiral became the art-cosplay pseudo moderator that anything came of this - only instead of one prompt, there was to be four, and instead of a #shilling post being the prize a couple of the server’s resident artists offered to grant a free commission to each of the winners.

Determined to put my money where my mouth was, I got right to work on my own entry. First, I had to pick from the prompts:

DIALOGUE PROMPT: "You don't want to live in a society like this, yet you don't want to do anything about it!"

ART PROMPT: “Chilly Night” by Martyna "Marcia" Chmielewska

SETTING PROMPT: A vast, barren planet devoid of most resources except one rare mineral.

SENTENCE PROMPT: In the ballroom, full of swishing skirts and duplicity, there was one thing left unaccounted for.

I was sorely tempted by the “we live in a society” prompt, but didn’t think it’d be possible to incorporate it naturally into a piece.

(As it happened, a few people did choose that prompt, and I was pleasantly surprised by how effectively they used the line.)

In the end, I settled on the one which fell within my own comfort zone - the setting prompt. I remembered seeing a post by Drew Linky which mentioned “nitroglycerin”, and - even if it didn’t quite fit the spirit of the prompt - I couldn’t get the idea of a planet made entirely of explosives out of my head. So I ran with it.

I did a bit of research into what large amounts of dynamite looked like when they exploded - by which I mean I watched some random YouTube video - and decided that gunpowder would be a much more evocative substance to make a planet from; it’d look like black sand.

The thing that I found most rewarding when writing this story was that each new idea felt like a natural progression from the last. Gunpowder evoked Western stories, so I decided to present the story as a standard Western - only to pull the rug out from under the reader as the description of the “workhorse” progresses and it becomes apparent that the story’s set in place. I wanted to have an outlaw and a sheriff of sorts, and they needed to be on the planet for a reason.

You can probably guess how the story’s opening line came about. I was staring at a brand new Google Doc and wanted to give it a title, and went with the first thing that came into my head: “Cowboy”. To get myself in the mood, I wound up reading some article about gambling in the Old West (effectively none of which made its way into the story). All of the little details and anecdotes in the first couple of paragraphs were pulled pretty much from thin air; I very much wrote this story by the seat of my pants, rarely stopping to go back and edit or to plan ahead, so in retrospect I’m pretty pleased with the extent to which I was able to incorporate them into the story’s climax.

The idea that Joey’s workhorse has no suspension was probably inspired on a subconscious level by the scooter which I used to ride as a kid. It had solid wheels, which meant you felt every bump in the road. Boy, that thing was fun. The ground’s described as having undulations, by which I meant the wavy patterns left in wind-swept sand; the fact that the planet’s windy is important, as it’s later stated that Mad Joey probably won’t be able to spread a fire across its whole surface.

I liked the idea that the workhorse was kicking up a big cloud of gunpowder as it went - kinda like those ships in The Last Jedi - which seemed to mirror the semi-literal trail of smoke which Mad Joey had been leaving all his life. Speaking of things inspired by sci-fi, didn’t somebody get a harpoon through a limb in Firefly? I had a specific image in my head when I wrote that scene, but I’ve forgotten where exactly it was from.

The line about the air being breathable plants the idea that he’s planning to set something on fire - of course, by then, we already know he’s capable of arson.

I probably only included the beat about whiskey because of the infamous “pass the whiskey” voice line from Fistful of Frags, which I’d briefly played a month or so prior to writing the story. From there, the idea that he’d make a kind of Molotov cocktail using the whiskey was a natural step - see what I mean about this story writing itself?

It’s around this point that the dialogue kicks in. When I wrote this story, I’d been working on “The Beast Within (My Pants)” for a good couple of months, and I quickly found myself slipping into the abrasive cartoonishly-British voice I’d used for many of those characters. Mad Joey himself speaks with my own poor impression of a cowboy, which seemed about right. In all honesty, I’m not sure how well the conversation comes off. My goal was to juxtapose the absurdity of many of the lines against the fact that Mad Joey is getting talked down from the edge, so to speak.

I found myself tripping over the fact that I hadn’t established a gender to his pursuant - I’d given them an opaque helmet and described them in ambiguous terms to keep my options open. In reality, this effectively shut down other avenues for the story’s resolution, because - in terms of economy of narrative - I had to provide some kind of payoff. Glancing back at the beginning of the story told me that I had only one option - Mad Joey was being chased by none other than his own mother. I felt like this was an effective twist because her dialogue seems pretty... laddish? It also generally seems to fit the themes of contrivance and absurdity I’d established with, y’know, a planet made of gunpowder.

The turning point occurs around the time that Mad Joey looks at the workhorse and sees it lying dead on the ground. You see him almost drop his persona in the line “I killed my mu- mom”; he soon drops the drawl entirely.

After the twist is revealed, the dissonance ramps up to eleven. I’m particularly happy with the exchange “Cowboys are so fucking cool, mum” / “Shh. You don’t have to be a cowboy to be cool.” Also,  “You did crimes, Joel. I’m sorry. I know I’m your mum, but crimes are against the law.” Something I’ve always found is that, in real life, emotionally-charged moments like this are often very ugly things, where the things people say would seem very strange to an outsider. Mad Joey’s attempt to walk on his hands serves to emphasise this theme.

In terms of the story’s main theme, it’s... kind of a story about shilling? Or at least, within the context of #writing itself, it’s about doing things you don’t really want to do just for the sake of being known, of having people pay attention to you. Ultimately, the story presents this as something harmful - it almost leads to Mad Joey’s oblivion - and says that resolution comes from people who already care as opposed to the nebulously-defined world at large.

I paid a fair bit of attention to the presentation of the story, because I wanted to draw people into it. Once I’d written it, I deliberately cut it down until it fit on four pages instead of four-and-a-bit; I thought people’d be more inclined to read a four-page story than a five-page one. I’ve been trying to minimise my use of italics for a while now - it’s a crutch, and it causes trouble when copying text around - which I suppose would hypothetically make it easier for people to post quotes in Discord without having to mess around adding markdown back in. There are a couple of places where I had no choice but to use italics, but for the most part I think this was a successful effort.

The plan, once I’d drawn readers in, was to challenge them. The use of profanity is excessive. The story’s central conceit doesn’t make a lot of sense. The twist is contrived. The ending doesn’t quite feel complete. Like Mad Joey’s own persona, this was, to a certain extent, an attention-seeking stunt. Why, then, was this story met with abject silence?

See, #writing is slow enough that most of its users see everything that happens there. A lot of other stories got feedback of some kind. If you think I’m going somewhere with this, I’m not - I was genuinely quite perplexed by this response, and still am. Oh well. The three winning entries all turned out to be genuinely better than my own - which I was glad for, because the thought of this piece o’ shit being the best thing the Homestuck Discord could muster is pretty depressing.

Speaking of depressing, the second contest is in a very strange limbo at the moment, having received only a handful of entries and having provoked little to no discussion. I’ve been pretty busy working on other stuff, and wasn’t too fussed on the prompts, so I guess I’m at least partially to blame for that. Hopefully the channel will flourish a little more in the future...

If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy the short stories I wrote for the r/WritingPrompts subreddit a couple of years ago, which can be found under the header What Our Future Looks Like on the list of things I made. Some of them are pretty ropey, so read at your own risk! In terms of my longer works, I recommend checking out Retrace Steps.

See you space cowboy...