#can be the used to argue that they also can’t vote

[trash-goddess]

One of the worst things about being a teenager is being infantilized. You are expected to be (reasonably) responsible for yourself but do not have any of the respect, resources nor decision making power that comes with it such responsibilities as an adult.

Being an adult with a fully functioning brain, and the having the respect, resources, decision making power and responsibilities is a delightful experience. Taking control of my life and living on my own terms has made every aspect of my life much more manageable.

So. As a twenty four year old. Who works full time, and thus has saved and paid off my student loans. Who is capable of managing my finances, groceries, and living a healthy lifestyle. Who is by all accounts, a reasonable adult. I find myself frustrated by seeing myself described as a child who is incapable of making such decisions has become incredibly frustrating. It showcases a lack of maturity and understanding!

I refuse to be dragged back down into childhood by people who have never even met me and do not know what is best for me.

And you can take my voting rights from my cold dead hands.

[vodkassassin]

Batcourt

Tim is sick of his family fighting, an occurrence which doesn’t always but enough times has nearly led to murder, that he devises a new method to deal with them and their petty (or serious, but usually petty) arguments: Batcourt

The first ever batcourt trial was to mediate an argument between Dick and Bruce, bc when Tim became Robin they were on the outs; Dick had moved out and was rebelling against his dad. They barely talked to each other, and when they did it was to argue.

Tim, being in the middle of all that, finally snaps and basically strong arms them into a impromptu “court session”, bc if they can’t be civil with each other in conversation they maybe they can at least be professional in this Thought Exercise.

He appoints Alfred as the unbiased jury, and then demands that both Bruce and Dick take five minutes to compile their cases against each other to present to the judge (Tim).

Both Bruce and Dick are incredibly unamused, but Tim has Alfred’s support, so they reluctantly go along with the charade. And…

It’s actually surprisingly effective.

The argument is hashed out without anyone coming to blows or a screaming match. They are all very mature about it and the argument is settled with both parties, if not happy, then mollified that they actually got to speak their parts and come to a conclusion that wasn’t unfair.

Alfred is very pleased with the results of the first batcourt trial, and give his blessing for this method to be used in the future.

And so it is. Tim is typically the Judge, as he is the mastermind behind the method and typically stays out of all arguments as much as he can, and is known to everyone to be extremely impartial when the others argue about anything. So 9 times out of 10, Tim’s judge, and uses a generating software program he developed and installed on his gauntlet (and civvy watch) to choose a jury to preside over a trial when one of the family members opens a case against someone else.

This eventually becomes just how the family resolves disputes.

If an argument comes forth and is starting to get too heated, whoever declares that they’d ‘like to submit a case to the batcourt’ is by default the prosecution, leaving the other party as defendant (these are just terms, this isn’t actually a court of law, this is just a method of resolving arguments, so both sides are heard). At this point, everyone usually turns to Tim, who appoints a jury and then tells the pros and def that they have five minute to compile and submit their evidence to the court.

It’s all very official, and the Rules of Batcourt is that everyone has to remain absolutely professional as if this were a real court case. This is to ensure nobody breaks the exercise, otherwise it won’t work.

Anyway it’s VERY effective, and is used for years in private.

Until a pair of them have an argument in the middle of an op in public and it’s getting in the way of taking out the villain…. So someone declares that they’d like to submit a case to the batcourt.

Of course any non-bat present is like “the what”

But all the bats present, being so used to using the batcourt method to hash out disagreements, automatically turn to Tim.

Anyway, Tim, by habit, immediately runs the jury program and appoints Spoiler and Black Bat as jury (the argument was between Red Hood and Nightwing, with Red Hood submitting the case and therefore the prosecution).

The rogue they were fighting (let’s choose a nicer one, Riddler maybe) is so confused at this point that they kind of stop in the middle of their scheme just to watch the the fuck is going on.

The bystander civilians and any reporters are also like “???” And so basically they all get to watch the first ever public batcourt trial.

(The jury ends up voting in favor of Red Hood, so Tim declares that Nightwing is Guilty “by the power vested in my by the Batclan” and Nightwing is sentenced to Apologizing to Red Hood - since the argument started because Nightwing wouldn’t get the fuck out of RH’s way and he kept almost shooting him lmao, it just went downhill from there. Brothers amirite.)

Anyway the video goes viral immediately, the Gotham internet going insane over the concept of how the vigilantes apparently resolve their arguments.

The riddler is so fascinated by what he just witnessed that he just accepts being taken back to jail for the meantime to mull things over (I love Eddie)

Now that the bat is out of the bag, so to speak, the Batclan submits cases to batcourt in public a few more times without thinking, and the public is very excited every time. Every case and verdict shows up in the next day’s paper, and it’s a Gotham Highlight. People love it.

And then it escapes containment. Because one day a rogue loudly declares that they would like to submit a case to the batcourt. Against Batman.

The present Batclan members all look at each other, and then to Tim, who is already running the jury appointment program without even thinking. It ends up choosing Riddler (who was also there) along with two civilians and a bat (Robin).

Tim blinks, then shrugs, and lets it happen.

So starts the Batcourt trial of the decade: Batman V Poison Ivy.

And Batman loses.

Ivy still goes to jail afterwards, being a criminal and all, but she does so victoriously. She has mad street cred after this. The public goes WILD.

Anyway what I am saying is that batcourt is a highly respected court of dispute in Gotham. The majority of trials are conducted between Batclan members, but there are rogues who have won (and lost) trials in batcourt, and even one very infamous instant where the GCPD submitted a case against Red Hood and subsequently lost when the mostly civilian jury declared him Innocent.

The police force having to then apologize to Red Hood made headlines so big that they broke Gotham City containment and made it into the outside world.

Which leads to the next famous batcourt case: Superman V Batman.

I have been thinking about this concept for weeks and it’s definitely going to be a running gag in all my batfam fics forever

Also we get to have this fun interaction

“Batcourt is now in session”

Batman: please don’t call it that

Tim: ahem

Batman, sighing: objection

Every single one of his kids, pointing at him like in ace attorney: overruled

[demonic0angel]

So far ever since the new epic musical album came up I've been seeing a lot more people come up with the idea of the god games but Danny Phantom

And I was just imagining how funny if in that song Dan was Aphrodite and Danielle was Aries

I'm about to get more as Danielle being a goddess of trickery and chaos of all types and can being considered to be three-faced like having like a three-faced mask that she wears around a lot and using her ability to melt as a way to appear behind people vastly without them noticing and she's really protective over Dan since she considers herself to be his older sibling because in her opinion he came in the family last

Dan being the ancient of love being so terrifying because love can also be considered to be a scary thing with his symbol being eagles and stuff and he is much more terrifying and violated the most people expect from the god of love but also when he needs to be complete and loving

I imagine Tucker taking up the sense of being Apollo with him being The reincarnation of an old pharaoh they're kind of being like a lots of Egyptian things around him but also like a theme of more technologically advanced with him working on a PDA all kind of having modern clothes on with hints of Egyptian pharaoh

oh and Sam acting like Hephaestus would be more interested in the plant she has in her garden then the heroes her clothes are kind of nature-like invite but also give all of a sense of golfness with like her plant giving off the shape of a large Palace that looks terrifying on the outside but the inside is filled with plants of all types

I imagine Jazz has like a therapist like setting office but like it's a open Greek palace like things of gold and bright blues and just being laid around it looks like an conference room but also like an open Palace I feel like her simple animal being Wolf's and bears would be so funny also be a hint to the little bear plush that she owns

I kind of feel like Danny's level would be a mix of Jazz's and Sam's with Danny's being like an open Palace room that kind of has like the hints of someone young is there with random bean bags being scattered around or miniature handcraft spaceships but also stars all around I feel like it'd be cute if his symbol animal was jellyfish which like jellyfish Stars kind of like float around

But I've just been imagining that song with Danny Phantom x DC I can probably start off with the Justice League like always getting into something this year now than having to deal with the consequence of it and the consequences is six teenagers taking a vote or not to kill them

Gods, I can’t wait for the Vengeance Saga

I am in love with the idea of Dan being Aphrodite and Dani being Ares, especially bc they’re both gods of war. And in EPIC, Aphrodite’s argument is about a mother’s love!! I hope you like the quick sketch of them :3

I don’t agree with a few of your ideas, but they all seem really fun. The idea of the Justice League having to argue against 6 teenagers is funny, bc imagine that they think they can argue against Dani and she just stabs them. Meanwhile, Jazz is like: so how did you feel when you got stabbed? when they come to her later to argue against her.

Actually, I also had thoughts about DP x EPIC, except Sam and Tucker were Odysseus (they shared the role idk) and Danny was Penelope. Jazz was Athena, Dani was Aeolus, and Dan was Scylla 😩

[prozach27]

As someone who has had posts supporting Kamala Harris in the 2024 election receive an influx of attention, I think it’s worth mentioning that this leads to a number of accounts 1) sending me copy and pasted, word for word indictments of her not letting Palestinians speak at the DNC, and 2) reblogging the post to state that people who support democrats are racist because democrats “support genocide” - despite my post arguing that democrats shouldn’t be trusted to have our best interest in mind and that they’re complicit in genocide but more likely to capitulate to demands than a Trump administration. Interestingly, those who reblog to talk about how white democrats supporting Kamala are racist also have never offered a single alternate option, have no candidates they’re recommending, and offer no ways to support Palestine during their critique.

I am BEGGING you all to recognize election interference when it is this blatant. Do you know who is most likely to become concerned about voting based on this messaging? White liberals in their teens and 20s who make up a significant portion of the Democratic voting population. Do you know who falls victim to people concerned about how “Harris won’t let Palestinians speak” at the DNC? Liberals who care about Palestine, which is DEMONSTRABLY the largest portion of the voting base. We will never have a viable candidate for president who presses for everything we want against Israel since they’re one of our closest allies for decades. Regardless, voting for president isn’t about voting for who’s the best person - it’s about voting for the enemy you want in office to fight against in meeting your demands. You have Trump, who has told Israel to finish the job, and Harris, who has repeatedly discussed ceasefires and resolutions. If your politics see those two positions as no different, tell that to the Palestinian lives who will be saved in a ceasefire brokered by the US.

Tumblr is once again home to election interference, and I am asking you to please recognize the signs that accounts are preying upon potential Democratic voters to get Trump in office and make things exponentially worse. Question why someone is railing against Harris while offering no alternative. Ask yourself, “who is it this person is telling me to support in the election, how viable is their preferred candidate to win, and why do they think they’re better?” If a post tearing down Harris can’t meet these basic requirements, assume it’s election interference and report it. Better yet, reblog this post and tag blogs who continually fail to meet these requirements so people can block them. We need to be aware that this is happening. It’s time to combat it as a community.

[sadhours]

stuck in the middle with you - chapter one

billy hargrove x mayfield!oc

cw: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, pseudocest, smut, underage drinking, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v

Family night. Pamela hates them just as much as Billy does. These weren’t a weekly occurrence before they moved to Hawkins but Neil and Susan are very determined to make this blended family feel like they’ve been together forever. Checking her manicured nails, Pamela isn’t exactly paying attention to the western flick on the TV but she is keenly aware of her step brother sitting next to her, smelling like he skipped showering after his workout. He’s still wearing the teeny basketball shorts and thin white muscle tee. Billy fidgets a lot, Pamela’s noticed. Like he truly can’t sit still for more than five minutes. He bounces his leg up and down and each time, his thigh brushes up against Pamela’s ankle which she’s partially sitting on. Max leans forward and glares at him but Billy’s lost in his head, eyes on the TV while he gnaws on his fingernail.

“Tell him to stop,” Max mumbles to Pamela and she heaves a small sigh, always playing middleman for these two. Billy argues with Max like he’s also thirteen and not seventeen.

Instead of verbally scolding Billy, Pamela moves her ankle and pokes her toes at his thigh. His eyes dart up to her face and she whispers, “Stop moving.”

Billy’s face screws up, lips in tight line before he opens his mouth to say something but it’s like he rethinks it. Instead clears his throat and then stretches his legs out, crosses his arms and brings his attention back to the Clint Eastwood movie. Pamela keeps looking at him for a beat but her stomach starts to twist in shame and she has to look at the TV, too. She hates Westerns but they’re Neil’s favorite so they’re usually what the family watches together. Except on the Family Nights that Neil and Susan go out but they insist the three kids still watch a movie together. Billy and Max are the majority vote, so it’s typically horror movies those nights. Pamela doesn’t really care, she’s used to watching them with Max but before Billy was around, Max would agree to the romance movies Pamela preferred. A lot has changed and Pamela knows that change is supposed to be good so she’s making a real tried and true effort to accept it.

The high school is fine, it’s much smaller so she was a shoo-in for the cheer team. She and Billy found it easy to fit in amongst the “popular” kids but Pamela isn’t too fond of the clique Billy hangs out with. They’re mean and rowdy, which is common for the popular crowd but these kids think they’re really cool but it’s easy to be cool in such a tiny town. There’s nothing to even do here besides climb the social ladder. So, really, the person she could find a special comradity in would be Billy but Pamela can barely look at him. Before Neil and Susan got married, Billy wasn’t shy about telling Pamela he had the hots for her. And now they’re legally related so the whole thing just has her feeling really uncomfortable. She’s in denial too, because she also finds him incredibly attractive.

The credits roll on the movie and Neil stretches, all exaggerated and loud. Slaps his hands on his knees before he stands from his recliner.

“Alright, kids,” Susan smiles at the three on the couch, “Time to get ready for bed.”

Everybody retreats into their rooms. The kids are absolutely silent while Susan blathers to Neil about the movie they just watched, fiending interest in something she would have complained about had it been Max and Pamela’s dad insisting they watch. Billy’s behind Pamela, stops outside his door and watches her descend down the hallway. Their eyes meet for a second but Pamela’s the one to break it, goes into her room and flicks the light on. Changes into her pajamas in front of her mirror, shamefully thinking about how she looks to Billy. Pulls her lacy pink nightgown on and smoothes her hands down her hips, turns slightly to look at the curve of her ass. He’s quiet most of the time, but she can’t help but recall a moment between them on the three day drive to Indiana. They were staying at a shitty motel in a truck stop of a town. Neil and Susan got their own room and the three teens shared another. While Max was in the shower, Billy said something to Pamela that stuck. Repeats in her head over and over.

“If my dad didn’t marry your mom, I’d have fucked you by now.”

She made sure Max slept in the middle of the bed that night. But it didn’t really matter because Billy stayed out on the balcony of the motel, chain smoking until she and Max passed out.

Pamela opens her bedroom door, steps into the hallway and hears another door close. She snaps her head to catch Billy standing just outside his door, in nothing but his underwear. Her eyes scan over his body, at least what she can see of it from the light coming from her bedroom. It’s not like this is the first time she’s seen him shirtless but before, she really wasn’t looking. Unable to keep her eyes on him for more than a second. But he’s caught her off guard and the whole long distance thing with her boyfriend has got her particularly wound up. Billy has abs. Defined yet soft. His hips stick out and his muscles curve down towards his…

She sighs and looks away, doesn’t even catch the way Billy’s looking back at her. He just chuckles, low and breathy. Motions his hand to the bathroom, “Ladies first.”

Pamela steps quickly into the bathroom, flicks the light on and shuts the door. Turns on the faucet as she grabs her toothbrush and closes her eyes, realizing she technically saw Billy’s pubes. Soft blonde curls above the waistband of his underwear, and god, they were kind of tight, weren’t they? Hugged his thighs, which were also covered in soft blonde hairs. Pamela bites her lip, sinks her hand into her underwear and presses a finger to her entrance, finding she’s pretty fucking wet. You are disgusting, she tells herself as she rips her hand away and grabs the toothpaste. Squeezes a dollop on her toothbrush and wets it, shoving it in her mouth and brushing furiously as she stares at her reflection. She can’t be attracted to Billy. He’s her step brother. Legal siblings. Their parents have sex, that should be enough to make him repulsive. Maybe she should call her boyfriend. It’s earlier in California. He’s probably finishing up dinner.

She spits into the sink, then moves on to washing her face. Uses cold water to calm the heat radiating all over her. But Billy’s still in the hallway when she opens the door, leaning against the wall. Eyes her up and down as she stands before him.

“You like that color a lot,” he mumbles, sure to be quiet so no one can hear them.

Pamela looks at him straight faced, blinks a few times before she looks into her bedroom. Decorated in the same color.

“Pink’s my favorite color,” she replies softly.

Billy smirks, glances down at his briefs and back to her, “Red’s mine.”

Her eyes follow his, sees that yeah, his briefs are red but also, there’s quite a lot going on in them. She rolls her eyes, pushes quickly past him and shuts her door. A little more forcefully than she meant. Hears Billy laugh and it frustrates her even more. She groans softly, reaching for her phone and dialing the familiar number. She’ll deal with Neil’s anger about long distance calls later.

“Sawyer?” she smiles once she hears him say hello.

“Pammy, hi,” his voice sounds all floaty. She knows he’s smiling.

“I miss you so much, it’s driving me crazy,” she complains.

“I miss you, too,” he says and then sighs, “Hey, listen, I got to go. The guys are here but I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”

He hangs up before Pamela gets a chance to respond.

—

Pamela smoothes her hands over her short red dress, eyeing her costume up and down to make sure she looks perfect before she steps outside. She adjusts the little devil horn headband on her head and then purses her lips, checking her bright red lipstick. There’s an abrupt knock on the door before it swings open. In the doorway stands a short Michael Myers. Pamela eyes her sister carefully, “What do you want, Max Myers?”

“Are you done yet? I’m gonna be late,” comes the muffled reply from the redhead.

“Yeah, let me just grab my purse,” Pam heaves a sigh and turns to grab the rest of her things. Ignores the judgmental eyes of her step father as she steps out into the living room.

“Billy!” Susan sings, “The girls are ready!”

She’s clutching the Polaroid camera in her hands, looking excitedly at the girls as they wait for Billy. His bedroom door opens, smoke and aquanet flooding out. A stench that makes Pamela a little nauseous. He should open a window, she thinks. Surprised he hasn’t burnt the house to the ground. He wears his jeans, boots and a black leather jacket— no shirt underneath.

“What are you supposed to be?” Pamela asks, a brow lifted. Upon seeing his son, Neil grumbles and retreats into the kitchen. Pamela catches it, but isn’t sure if anyone else did. Thinks she might’ve heard him mumble an insult, of the homophobic variety.

“Terminator,” Billy and Max recite in unison, like it was obvious. And maybe it should be. She just took Max to watch it two days ago. But really, it was boring and she fell asleep.

Susan motions her hand, “Alright, kids, get close.” She lifts the camera to her eye, smile peeking out underneath it, “Say cheese!”

Pamela’s the only one to say it, ignoring how Billy’s arm brushes against the small of her back. Susan takes another photo before letting them go. Max climbs into the backseat and Pamela into the front. Billy speeds off before any of them can get their seatbelts on. He drives so fast, ignoring the stop signs in their neighborhood.

“It’s Halloween, you need to slow down,” Pamela chastises him, “You're gonna run down some trick or treaters.”

Billy cackles, loud and manically. In the mirror, Pamela can see Max glaring at their step brother but she’s silent. Pamela doesn’t get an explanation. Billy just turns up the stereo and Pamela considers it a win when he actually follows most traffic laws. They drop Max off on a corner of a neighborhood none of them recognize.

“Be safe, okay? Make sure you’re home by ten like mom said,” Pamela tells her sister as she stands in the street, letting Max climb out of the back.

“Yeah, whatever, I will. Bye!” Max says, pulling her mask on before running down the sidewalk towards a group of boys dressed as The Ghostbusters.

“Good,” Pamela says when she gets back in the car, “She’s already made friends.”

“I don’t trust them,” Billy grumbles as he takes off towards Loch Nora.

Pamela makes a face, flips down the visor and checks her makeup in the mirror as she tells him, “You don’t trust anyone. Max has good judgment of character.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Billy rolls his eyes, lights up a cigarette and keeps his eyes on the road.

Once they get to Tina’s party, they separate… well kind of. They have somewhat of an overlapping friend group. Pamela hangs out with the cheerleaders and the cheerleaders hang out with the jocks. Therefore, Billy’s in close proximity the whole night.

Does this weird thing where whenever she’s talking to a member of the male species, he butts in and derails whatever conversation Pamela was in the middle of. Which he doesn’t need to do. Pamela isn’t interested in any of these boys, she’s in a committed relationship with Sawyer. And besides, it’s odd that Billy would suddenly care but once they got to Hawkins, he picked up this like protective older brother schtick. She crowds him after the tenth time of him doing it and confronts him.

“What are you doing?” She presses an accusatory finger against his bare chest, the alcohol coursing through her veins is to blame for the way his skin shoots heat throughout her and definitely not something else.

He smiles, cocky and heavy lidded. Billy’s fucking smashed, maybe drunker than she is. Perhaps she should drive home but she doesn’t feel like that’s a safe idea either. He slurs when he replies, “I don’t know. What am I doing?”

“You keep interrupting every time I’m talking to a man,” Pamela accuses, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Billy hiccups, wavers a bit before he leans against the siding of Tina’s huge house, “you should hear what these fucks say about you. I’m doing you a favor.”

Pamela’s face screws up in anger, maybe a bit of confusion, “Okay and? It’s not like I’m trying to sleep with any of them. I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Billy blinks then looks smug as he replies, “Oh, that’s right, the one that’s thousands of miles away. How’s that going? You tell him you were going to a party tonight? Tell him how you’re dressed tonight?”

She gasps, face in utter shock, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What?” he pulls a face, mock confusion. Pink lips parted with those glassy blue eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “You looked in the mirror before you left, why would you wear that if you didn’t want people looking?”

Pamela groans, “I hate you.”

She turns on her heel and stomps away, fuming at the way he thinks he can talk to her like that. She keeps walking, out onto the street. Looks both ways and realizes she has no idea where she is, or how to get home but she’s determined to walk the way there anyways. She picks a direction, wandering in the middle of the road with her arms wrapping around her torso. Ignores the cold air and the way her feet ache from these stupid heels. She doesn’t get very far before the Camaro is pulling up beside her. Billy’s got the window down and he’s laughing. Pamela turns her nose up and keeps walking, the blue car matching her pace.

“You’re walking the wrong way,” Billy says, all cheeky. “C’mon, I’m sorry. Get in the car, I’ll take you home.”

“No, you’re mean,” Pamela responds stiffly but stops walking. Turns around and faces the other way. This town is small but she still has no idea how to make it back home. All the houses in this neighborhood look the same.

Billy sighs, “I said I’m sorry. Just get in the fucking car, Pam.”

“Do not call me that!” she shouts, turning toward him and stomping her little high heel. Doesn’t miss the way Billy’s smiling at her. Like he’s entertained.

“Pamela, I’m sorry, Pamela. C’mon, it’s like thirty miles home, you can’t walk that,” he tells her.

Silently, she accepts defeat. Walks around the hood of the Camaro and gets in the front seat. Keeps her arms wrapped around herself as she sits and stares out the window. Billy whips the car around, driving slower than he usually does as he reaches for his pack of smokes and lights one up.

“You’re mean,” Pamela repeats again, wipes at her eyes and messes up her eyeliner. Smearing it all over her cheekbone.

“I said sorry. Guess I hit a nerve, though,” Billy muses, “Want a smoke?”

Shamefully, Pamela thinks that sounds really good so she nods her head. Takes the one he’d just lit and feels grossed out that it makes her lips tingle, thinking that his lips were just on the filter. Billy lights up another and glances at her.

“I didn’t mean to uh, hurt your feelings. You look really good tonight,” he mumbles. “That’s why I had to do what I did. Don’t want those guys taking advantage of you.”

“Such a good brother,” Pamela rolls her eyes, sucks on the filter and fills her lungs with smoke.

Billy winces at that— brother. She finds it curious but doesn’t push. Just keeps looking out the window as she smokes. Then she admits, “I mean, I guess thank you. I am pretty drunk. Could’ve made a bad decision.”

“Why are you even trying to make it work with that guy?” Billy asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“I love him,” she answers simply.

“Yeah but— long distance is like, not ever gonna work. What if one of you cheats?” Billy inquires, thumbs against the steering wheel.

He’s kind of swerving but it’s late. Pamela thinks maybe one or two in the morning. Hopefully the cops are all busy. There’s not many in this town, they probably aren’t hanging around in this rich neighborhood on Halloween.

“We won’t.”

“So why wear that?” Billy wonders, “I mean, it’s like a big invitation.”

“You’re so gross,” Pamela groans.

Billy laughs, “I’m a man. We’re all fucking gross. The things these fuckers say about you. Literally, the locker room is all these fucks talking about how they wanna screw you.”

“I can handle myself,” Pamela replies softly.

Billy shifts in his seat, hand moves down to adjust his jeans and he says under his breath, “I don’t know if I can.”

“What?” she asks, looking at him.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, “Not important.”

“No, I heard you,” she insists, “What do you mean by that?”

Billy sighs, a big heavy one and bites his lip. Gnaws on it before he finally answers, “I mean, you’re fucking hot as hell. Seeing you dressed like that makes it difficult to handle myself.”

“We’re related, Billy.”

“No—“ he laughs, “No the fuck we’re not.”

“Our parents are married,” she says, like she has to explain it.

Billy glances at her, “Yeah… and I really fucking wish they weren’t.”

“Me, too,” Pamela mumbles, but something tells her they have different reasons.

“I already told you… I would’ve—“ Billy stops, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Pamela looks at him again, really looks. Can see his abs where his jacket is open. Lets her eyes go down further and sees his bulge in his jeans. Inviting for some reason, probably the alcohol. She licks her lips, “Fucked me by now.”

“Yeah.”

It has to be the alcohol, and the lack of attention from her boyfriend. But she tosses the cigarette out the window and drags her hand up her thigh, lifts her dress with it. Catches the way Billy’s eyes dance between her hand and the windshield. Smoothes her hands up and cups her breasts over the silky red dress. “Would’ve touched me like this?” she asks, teetering over the boundary.

“Fuck,” Billy huffs, tosses his cigarette out the window and then palms against his crotch, “Yeah.”

“You think I’d let you?” Pamela asks, teasingly as she pulls her dress down, exposes her breast and grazes her finger against her nipple.

He smirks, squeezes himself in his jeans and speeds up. Keeps glancing between Pamela and the windshield. “I think so.”

She grabs his wrist, peeling his hand from his crotch and brings it to her chest. The pair of them moan at the contact. Billy keeps his eyes trained on the road, pinches Pamela’s nipple and then grazes his thumb against the tip of it. She whines, spreads her legs because she can’t help herself. Completely acting on horny impulse and lack of inhibition. Mind too fuzzy to realize just how much she’ll regret this.

Billy pulls up to the house, lets go of her chest to park and then he’s turning toward her. Grabs her dress and lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s a battle of tongue and teeth. All too much and not enough. Pamela pushes him back. Fixes her dress and opens the car door. Stands up and looks at him expectantly, “You coming?”

He’s after her in seconds, hands on her hips and lips on her neck while Pamela tries to quietly unlock the front door. She kicks off her shoes while they’re outside. Leans down to pick them up and places them next to the pile inside. Billy kicks his boots off, closes the door quietly and locks it behind him. They trail to Billy’s bedroom, sharing haphazard and drunken kisses along the way. Once inside his bedroom, they don’t stay dressed for long. First is Billy’s jacket. Pamela’s hands feeling all over his muscular torso while Billy’s tug down the straps of her dress and move to cup her tits. Squeezes them in his hands, meeting his lips to hers. Licks into her mouth as she opens it in a silent moan. Backing her into his mattress, she falls easily and he peels the dress the rest of the way off. Then he hooks his fingers into the elastic of her thigh heels and begins peeling them off. Discards them with her dress and presses the heel of his palm against her core, over her panties. Pamela whimpers, brings her feet to the edge of his mattress. Arches her back and Billy looks down at her hungrily. All spread and exposed for him. He wraps his hand around her hips and pulls her down the bed, gets on his knees and noses against her thigh.

Pamela rolls her hips, hands groping her own chest as he mouths against her skin. Inching up and up until he gets his mouth on her pussy, underwear still playing as a barricade. He licks the thin fabric, makes out with it. Eyes up and on her. Pamela props herself up on her elbows and lets the arousal fuel her. Keeps playing with her tits while Billy eats her out over her underwear. His blue eyes look wild. Blown pupils. She whimpers as his tongue flicks against her stiff clit.

He pulls back and hooks his fingers in the elastic, peels them down and laughs.

“What?” Pamela looks at him panicked.

“Uh,” Billy laughs again, softer as he peers down at her cunt. “The hair… it’s red.”

Oh. Pamela rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I’m not a natural blonde. Why are you laughing?”

Billy shrugs, looks kind of sweet, “Just didn’t expect that.” He smooths his fingers against the tuft of hair and bites his lip, “I like it.”

She’s about to tell him to shut up but he beats her to it, his hot mouth on her pussy that makes her toes curl. Drags his tongue through her folds, circles at her entrance and meets back up at her clit. Pamela’s eyes flutter shut, rolling her nipples between her fingertips as she spreads her legs further to give Billy better access. He zeros in on her clit, flicking his tongue against it and sucking it between his lips. His fingers gripping her thighs tightly, flesh dipping in under his fingernails. Billy moves his head with the motions, moans into her heat like he really can’t himself. Like he’s starving and she’s the last meal he’ll ever have. Holds her still while he licks her out until she’s gripping the sheets beneath her. Biting her lip as to stay quiet.

“Billy,” she pants out, thighs shaking while the coil twists in her stomach. She’s not sure if it’s being so riled up, the dry spell she’s been under or Billy’s genuine skill but she’s reaching her climax quicker than she has before. Her body goes slack, freezing as he sucks particularly harshly on her clit. As her orgasm crashes through her she wails, unable to control herself and Billy basically folds her in half, mouth still on her cunt as he slaps his hand over her mouth to quiet her instantly. Her body seizes, aftershocks of her orgasm jolting through her as Billy continues licking at her. She has to push him off when it becomes too much.

He stands then, gloved hands unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his thighs. Pamela’s mind is even more clouded from the post orgasm bliss, sitting up and mouthing at his muscular stomach as she cups his bulge. Squeezes while she licks a line above the waistband of his briefs. She moans into it, fueled by the headiness of it all. Billy exhales shakily, hands snaking into Pamela’s messy hair and tugging at her roots. She glances up, catches his fucked expression and feels her ego inflate. Before she got with Sawyer, Pamela had a bit of a phase because she liked when men looked at her the way Billy is right now. And in this moment, she’s brought back to that person she used to be. Doesn’t care that it’s her fucking step brother that’s giving her the attention.

Pamela smiles against his skin, hooks her fingers in his underwear and tugs them to his thighs to meet his denim. Billy’s cock pops out, all proud and swollen. Pink head leaking precum, drooling down the veiny side and Pamela licks her lower lip. He’s big. Probably the biggest she’s seen. By far the prettiest. Proportional and not weirdly colored. Round head, not pointed like some she’s seen. It’s curved to the right but that’s par for the course and really, one this big, she can only expect is a chore to contain in tight Levi’s.

Her tongue meets the underside of his tip, circles around the sensitive skin and kitten licks at the little heart shaped part. Pamela’s manicured fingers wrap around the thick base of Billy’s cock and he grunts, body swaying forward from the pressure. Stirring a giggle from Pamela as she peers up at him. Billy meets her with a crooked smile, cockiness evaporating from him. She’s in total control here. Just how she likes it.

She drools down the side of his cock and uses her hand to smear it all around. Billy continues making these soft sounds of pleasure, hands still tangled in her bleached hair. Pamela wraps her lips around his tip, sucks softly while swiping her tongue along the edge as she works her hand up and down his shaft languidly. Has her back arched, sticking her ass up and puts on a total show for her step brother. Receding to a persona she’d thought she’d permanently forgotten. But this is too good, she feels incredibly attractive. Thinks for a second about how her boyfriend hasn’t looked at her like this since they first started dating. And maybe that should be enough to put an end to this but Pamela’s too drunk and her inhibitions are long gone. All that’s important to her is getting that validation.

“So good,” Billy breathes out, gathering her hair up in his hand and holding it like a ponytail. “You can take more, can’t you?”

She’s drunk on it, would pretty much agree to anything Billy asks. So she sinks his cock deeper into her mouth, until her knuckles meet her lips and blinks up at him. As if to ask, like this?

“Mmm,” Billy hums, “That’s a good girl.”

He then uses his grip on her hair to guide her, tugging her up and pushing her back down on his cock. Pamela has to blow air out of her nose so she doesn’t gag, eyes glazing over as Billy sets the pace. The praise does something to her. Completely sends her into a different headspace. Lets her know she is good.

She swallows around him, holds eye contact while Billy bobs her head up and down on his cock. Then he holds her still, hisses and closes his eyes.

“Fuck— I…”

“Don’t cum yet,” Pamela pulls off, eyes narrowing into angry slits. “I’m not done yet.”

Billy laughs, but it sounds whiny. He lets go of her hair and rubs his face with his hands, “I’m trying.”

“I need you inside me, Billy,” she tells him, eyebrows knit together in frustration.

“Saying shit like that isn’t helping your case,” Billy says, eyes screwed shut.

Pamela sighs, lets go of his cock and shuffles up on his bed. Billy’s eyes open from the lack of touch, watching as she lays back on his bed, eyes following her hands as they run up and down her exposed body. A hand landing on her tit while the other rubs through her folds, legs spread for him.

“You’re such a little bitch,” he grumbles and kicks his jeans and briefs completely off before crawling up on his bed, between her thighs. Grabs her hands and pins them above her head, crashing their lips together. “S’your fault for being so fucking hot,” he mumbles against her mouth.

Pamela giggles, hooks her ankle around his back and rolls up against him, “Yeah? Think your sisters just so fucking hot sucking your cock?”

Billy thrusts roughly against her, moaning into her mouth and grabbing onto her face, “Fuck, yeah. Look so sexy sucking my cock. Such a good little sister.”

She gasps, knitting her fingers in Billy’s hair and writhing against him, “Fuck me, please. Need it. Need you to stretch me out so bad.”

“Such a filthy little mouth,” Billy chastises her, pins her thigh back and then grabs hold of his cock. Presses the tip to her entrance, “Gonna beg for your big brother's cock?”

Billy’s a whole two months older than her and really, he’s her step brother. Emphasis on the step. But this is play. They’re horny beyond means and giving in to this stupid sexual tension that’s been building since he hit on her in the grocery store all those months ago.

“Please,” she babbles, “Pretty please. Fill me up, Billy. Please, please, please.”

Billy sinks inside her, holding her hip as he sheathes his way inside. Pamela gasps, clutching onto his back. Fuck, it feels so good. Stretch is beautiful, has her head spinning. She whimpers, “Oh, fuck….”

He snaps his hips forward, penetrating her to the hilt, balls snug against her ass. Her legs wrap around his waist, gaining him unobstructed access to her hole. Billy takes advantage, thrusting against her relentlessly. It’s animalistic, almost. Sweaty, slapping sounds filling the room, shifting the smell into filthy sex fumes instead of stale cigarettes and cheap hairspray. Pamela’s holding onto Billy’s hair, pair of them panting into open mouths as he drills into her. His hands are firm on her hips, pushing her deeper into the mattress while he fucks her so hard the bed begins to squeak. And they’re both way too far gone to care. The only attempt to cover sounds is their lips muffling each other's moans.

Suddenly, Billy is pulling out. Pamela elicits a sound of protest— a whine but Billy’s flipping her onto her stomach. Pulls her hips up, displaying her ass for him as she presses her cheek to the mattress and props her knees up. He sinks back inside and this position gives Pamela a whole new wave of euphoria. Her eyes roll back as Billy pummels her pussy from behind. The slapping sounds getting louder. His hand skates up her back and into the roots at the nape of her neck, uses the grip to pull her up. Her back and his chest flush while he continues thrusting into her at breakneck speed. Licks up her neck and then presses his lips against her ear.

“Taking my cock so fucking well,” he grunts out between moans. “Filthy little whore.”

“Fuck me…” she babbles, almost incoherent with the pleasure flooding her senses. From this angle, Billy’s cock is repeatedly pumping against her g-spot. He maneuvers his hand to her pussy, rubs her clit in messy, quick circles and in quick time, Pamela’s falling apart. Orgasm rushing though her. Another too loud moan falling from her lips and Billy pushes her down, mouth into his pillow as he thrusts his cock harder and faster. Pillow masking her shrill moans.

Billy pulls out, flips Pamela over and gets his hand back on his cock, jerks it quick and hard until he spills hot white spunk all over her stomach. He leans over and uses something— she thinks it might be a dirty shirt— to clean her up. Then everything kind of goes black.

—

Pamela awakens from the sound of a door slamming shut. Her eyes blink slowly and she’s met with… Billy’s room. She turns over, sees her step brother snoring peacefully beside her. Then she looks down, pulls the covers up and observes her worst fears have come true. She and Billy are both naked under the blankets.

“Fuck,” she curses, a sharp pain hitting the back of her head. She got way too drunk. This is not good. Not good at all. She jumps out of the bed, slips her red dress over her body and opens his bedroom door. Peeks out and sees no one. Looks towards the front door and sees that Neil’s shoes are gone. He’d just left for work. Pamela’s stomach curls something wicked so she rushes to the bathroom. Barely makes it to the toilet, lifting up the seat and hurling into it. Contents of last night's bad decisions filling the porcelain.

Pamela skips school that day, relieved that Billy doesn’t.

[aynavaano]

Sunsets on Pabu

Old Hunter x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3k

Summary:

You spend a wonderful day at the beach with Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair. In the evening the two of them decide to join the rest of your family at Sheps for dinner while you and Hunter stay at the beach to watch the sunset together but Hunter decides to turn his attention to you instead.

Notes:

Tadaaa! It’s finally here. I let you vote between a soft and a rough version and the majority voted for soft and loving. So this is what you get first. Reader is married to Hunter, you live on Pabu together and he absolutely worships you, we have oral (f receiving) and unprotected sex. Kind of public sex but not really. It’s porn with very little plot, just a little fluff. Also Tech lives, because I will die on that hill. And don’t worry all Hunter girlies that like it rougher, you will get your fic next week. (Spoiler alert: Hunter bends you over the dining table)

As the day winds down and the sun begins its descent towards the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the beach, you find yourself grateful for the simple pleasures the island has to offer. You're dressed in your new cute bikini, that you let Hunter pick, feeling the warm sand between your toes as you stroll along the shore with him, Wrecker, and Crosshair. You spent the whole day at the beach together, swimming, basking in the sun and eating more Meiloorons than you probably should. The sound of the waves crashing against the beach is soothing, and you can't help but smile as you soak in the beauty of the moment. Unfortunately Tech can’t be bothered most of the time and only joins you for beach days when Omega pushes all his buttons and pulls the sweetest face on him, but you got used to it and instead often spend the evenings together at his and Phees place.

You hear Batcher barking in the distance before you even see Omega and Lyana approaching, making their way down from the town to let you know Shep invited everyone for dinner on his terrace. But despite the tempting invitation, you decline, having already decided you want to watch the sunset with Hunter. Wrecker and Crosshair however head off with the girls to enjoy Shep's famous cooking, leaving the two of you alone on the beach.

You watch them walking up the steep alley, Batcher happily running ahead and barking, while gathering your things and making your way further down the beach, seeking out a secluded spot, away from the houses, where you can enjoy the sunset in peace. The sand is still warm beneath your feet as you walk along the shore, hand in hand with your husband.

Finally, you find a spot that feels just right, a cove with a small patch of sand nestled between a few bigger rocks. You spread out your blanket and settle down beside each other.

Nestled in Hunter's arms, you watch as the sun paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink, orange and gold. It's a familiar sight on Pabu, one you've witnessed countless times before, but it never fails to take your breath away and with Hunter by your side, it always feels even more special.

"You sure you didn't want to go to Sheps for dinner?" you ask, snuggling closer to him.

"More than sure," he replies, his voice soft and warm against your ear. "It's not often that we get an evening just for us."

You smile up at him giving him a sweet kiss, his arms tightening around you protectively.

"They'll be fine," he reassures you. "Wrecker's probably already stuffed to the brim, like always, and complaining that he can’t fit more, and Omega's teaching Lyana new gambling tricks. And I'm sure Phee's doing her best to get Crosshair to open up, most likely with the help of her secret stash of Alderaan wine, while Tech is trying to argue that thats not the solution."

You smile at the thought of your friends enjoying themselves. Evenings on Sheps terrace are always a lot of fun, everyone’s together with good food and good talks but in this moment, all you care about is the feeling of Hunter's arms around you and the beauty of the sunset before you, as you lean in to press a gentle kiss against his lips, grateful for the love and warmth he brings into your life.

He pulls you closer to his chest, planting soft kisses on your lips, one of his hands tracing the curves of your body, gently caressing every inch of your skin, leaving goosebumps wherever he touches you. You playfully shift around until you're straddling him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Your hand moves to his cheek and you let your thumb brush lovingly against his greying beard.

"You're going to miss the sunset if you keep looking at me love," you murmur softly, breaking the kiss momentarily.

"Well, then I guess it's good that the one thing I like looking at even more than sunsets is you," he replies with a smile, his eyes filled with adoration.

A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you lean in closer. "In that case …you know… I can make that view even better," you tease, your fingers tugging at the strings of your bikini top and with a swift motion, you unravel the top, casting it aside to expose your bare breasts.

He instantly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, burying his face between your soft breasts with a contented sigh. His beard tickles slightly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

He carefully begins to lick and gently nibble on your hardening nipples, getting a few soft moans from you in response. His hands roam over your breasts, cupping them with just the right amount of pressure as he looks up at you with admiration in his eyes.

"Sometimes I still wonder how I got so lucky to have you," he murmurs, his voice filled with love.

You chuckle softly and reach behind him, pulling on the back of his bandana to release his hair, which cascades over his shoulders in soft waves. You marvel at how long it has grown since you first started dating, admiring the subtle streaks of grey that have begun to appear over time.

With a gentle push, he guides you to lay on your back, positioning himself over you.

"If we're going to miss the sunset, we might as well make it worth it," he grins, his lips trailing kisses all over your body leaving a line of fire in their wake.

He takes his time, savoring every inch as he carefully removes your swim bottoms. Each touch is deliberate and full of love, each caress sending shivers of anticipation through your body, heat already pooling between your legs.

"Let me make take care of you my love," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, turning his attention to your core, already yearning for his touch

He kisses along your inner thighs, his breath warm against your skin as he moves closer to your center. When his tongue finally makes contact with your folds, a low moan escapes your lips and you arch into his touch. He quickly wraps his arms around your tights to keep you from moving and to hold you flush against his face.

"Oh, Hunter," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues to tease and lick. His movements are deliberate and unhurried, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of heat radiating through you.

"You feel so good cyare," he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "I could do this all night."

He slowly increases the intensity of his licks and kisses and when he starts sucking your clit you are already a whimpering mess in his arms.

“You want my fingers?” he asks looking up at you.

Your only response is a desperate moan, the words lost in a haze of pleasure as he pushes you ever closer to the edge with his tongue but he doesn’t need to hear you, after all these years he knows exactly what you like.

He slowly slides first one then a second finger into you without any resistance, your pussy practically dripping for him and when he begins to thrust into you slowly you can feel the tension building in your core, the familiar coil of desire tightening with each stroke of his tongue and thrust of his fingers.

“Oh fuck…Hunter…feels…so good” you moan,

“Mmmhm…don’t hold back love” he groans before he descends down on your clit, mercilessly sucking it into his mouth until your body begins to writhe under his touch.

“M…m close” is all you can get out between your whimpers and mewls, his fingers pushing into you with an intensity that leaves you unable to have any coherent thoughts.

"Come for me, baby," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your core as he curls his fingers up to find that extra sweet spot, the one that makes you see stars, driving you higher and higher until you're teetering on the brink.

With a final, desperate cry, you shatter beneath him, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you ride out the storm of your release on his fingers, you pussy clenching hard around him. You’re a whining and panting mess, it’s crazy what he can do to you only with his mouth and his fingers.

When you slowly come down from your high he carefully slides out of you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace and your body starts relaxing against him. Hunter's lips find yours in a searing kiss, his hands moving to cup your face as he gazes at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. His eyes are filled with love and tenderness, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"You're so beautiful when you come on my fingers," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as he gazes at you with adoration, peppering your face with soft kisses. “I’ll never get tired watching you like that, it’s divine.”

You smile up at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude pulling him close, cherishing the moment and the man who means everything to you.

You wrap your legs around him, feeling his hardened length pressing against your thigh, your hunger for him in not yet sated and you eagerly wiggle around reaching down to free his cock.

“Can’t get enough, hm?” he chuckles.

"Mhm, help me take these off," you whisper, tucking at the hem of his swim shorts.

He quickly cast his shorts aside and crawls back over you, leaning in to kiss you, propped up on his elbows. You love how his body changed over the years, it got slightly softer as he let go of the hardships and battles, but lost not a single bit of his strength.

“I want to feel you inside me” you whisper desire lacing your words when his beautiful rock hard cock is finally freed from its confinement.

You reach down to stroke him, his lips grazing your neck, whispering sweet words of adoration and when you feel the precum already leaking from his tip you shiver with delight.

"Would you ride me a bit?" he asks softly, his voice a tender whisper against your skin.

"Who am I to deny you that wish?" you respond with a loving glint in your eye.

He rolls onto his back, effortlessly pulling you on top of him, his hands holding onto your hips, helping you to straddle him.

"Come here," he whispers, his eyes ablaze with desire, pupils blown wide, as you position yourself, sliding up and down his length, spreading your wetness all over him, before lining him up at your entrance.

With the last rays of the setting sun casting a reddish pink glow on your skin, you slowly sink down on his cock, until he bottoms out, relishing the sensation of being filled by him once more.

You both moan, taking a moment to fully enjoy it. You’ve been together for years but the sensation of taking him in completely, feeling yourself stretch around him, is still as good as it was the first time.

"Oh Hunter, you feel so good," you moan, steadying yourself against his chest.

You slowly begin moving up and down his length, relishing the sensation of being so full, his thick cock stretching you in all the right ways. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a desire within you that only he can still.

As you bounce up and down on his cock, your hair cascades in loose waves around your shoulders, still slightly damp from your last swim and your beautiful breasts bounce with every movement, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flame.

"I love you so much" he whispers, his voice filled with devotion, reveling in the sight of you on top of him, his eyes tracing every curve of your body illuminated by the dying sun. In this moment, he feels like the luckiest man in the galaxy, blessed to have you in his arms. Unable to resist, his hands come up to cup your breasts, his thumbs trailing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

"I'll take it from here," he whispers huskily, his voice heavy with desire as he gently but hungrily pushes you onto your back, with ease, positioning himself between your legs and slowly starts thrusting into you. Taking your legs up over his shoulders, he picks up the pace, each movement driving you both closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As he plunges into you with increasing fervor, you become a moaning, whining mess beneath him, lost in the throes of passion. Fortunately, the waves crashing on the nearby rocks dim everything around, preventing your lewd sounds and the squelching of your soaking wet pussy from traveling too far up to the village.

"Hunter, I'm close," you gasp, your voice trembling with need. "Come with me?" You ask him, your eyes locking with his as you plead for release.

He lets go of your legs and comes down over you, propped up on his elbows, his hair cascading around your faces like a veil. With a deep, passionate kiss, he whispers against your lips,

"Cum for me, let me feel that beautiful pussy clenching around my cock" his words send shivers down your spine and when he thrusts deeper, his tip pushing against your cervix, just the way he knows you like it, you feel your body responding eagerly to him.

“Oh…fuck..Hunter”

It takes only a few more of these deep, powerful thrusts until you feel your pussy clenching down on him, the tension in your core reaching its breaking point. With a lewd moan, the delicious heat begins pulsing through your entire body and you're consumed by the intensity of your orgasm. He follows you almost immediately. Before the first wave of ecstasy fully washes over you, you feel him harden even more, his rhythm becoming sloppy and his arousal driving him to the brink.

With one final, deep thrust, he releases himself inside you, filling you up with his hot seed. You feel a surge of warmth as he gasps, his body crashing down against yours, his lips seeking yours in a deep, soulful kiss. In that moment, the world fades away, your mind goes completely blank, all sounds dim around you, leaving only the sensation of your orgasm pulsing through your body and the feeling of his hot skin against yours.

You bask in the afterglow of your shared orgasm, his forehead resting against yours, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. Your bodies are sweaty and you’re panting when you slowly come back to yourselves, the sounds and view of the surroundings returning to your senses.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips conveying a depth of emotion that words could never express. With a soft whisper, he murmurs sweet, loving words that warm your heart and soul.

You revel in the feeling of you bodies pressed together and when his softening cock slowly slides out of you, you feel his cum oozing from your core dripping down into the sand.

“I know you like walking around with my cum leaking out of you, but we should get you cleaned up love”

“Mhm…can’t think…n…can’t walk…Cross took…took all our towels back home” you mumble, completely blissed out and cock dumb.

“Let me take care of you riduur, like I always do” he whispers, looking down at your flushed face and your silly smile with pure love and adoration before he scoops you up into his arms.

You know what he’s about to do. He always carries you into the ocean whenever you have sex on the beach and you love it almost as much as being fucked into oblivion by him.

The water on Pabu is always warm, enveloping you in its soothing embrace as he wades into its depths and you cling to him, your legs wrapped around his waist, exchanging tender kisses as the gentle waves rock you back and forth.

As you float together, you trace the lines of his tattoo on his face, your fingers brushing lightly over his beard before trailing down his chest. You let your hands rest there, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you nestle your head in the crook of his neck, his long locks tickling your face in the gentle breeze. In this moment, surrounded by the warmth of the ocean and the tenderness of his embrace, you feel truly at peace.

The sun has set completely when you reluctantly emerge from the water and the cool evening breeze sends shivers down your spine. You quickly make your way to your beach blanket and lie down, the chill of the night air causing your teeth to chatter. Hunter pulls you close, wrapping you tightly in his embrace. With gentle hands, he drapes his soft knit cardigan around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth until the trembling subsides.

Nestled against his chest, you watch in awe as more and more stars begin to appear in the night sky, their twinkling lights casting a soft glow over the beach. With each passing moment, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you alone in the embrace of the night. In this tranquil moment, wrapped in his arms and surrounded by the beauty of the starlit sky, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment wash over you that he is able to live this soft and gentle live here on Pabu and that he chose you to be part of it.

“Let’s go home” he whispers “before you start freezing again. And I’m sure Omega got us some leftovers from Shep”

You chuckle.

“Then we better get home before Wrecker finds them”

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

I genuinely don’t understand undecided voters in this election. I can understand the hardcore Trumpers being too far up his ass to see what’s going on, but I truly don’t understand the outsiders and neutral parties who don’t seem to understand the stakes here. I know neither of our options are good, but the lesser evil is so obvious.

Do I trust Biden? No. Do I think he’s mentally fit to be President? No. But I’d much, MUCH rather waste four years on him helplessly floundering in our political hellscape and accomplishing absolutely nothing than see someone actively and knowingly dismantling our democracy.

Did we all just forget about the January 6th insurrection? It’s only been three years since we all saw it live on TV; were we even watching the same thing?

Are we all just ignoring Project 2025, its plans for christofascist policies and the way it ties far-right Republicans to foreign meddling?

What about every single violent, hateful, incendiary, fascist thing that’s come out of Trump’s mouth in the past eight years? Were none of us listening?

At least with Biden’s incompetence, we can rely on his cabinet members to pick up the slack. We can also rely on him to NOT further saturate the Supreme Court with far-right nutjobs if another justice dies or retires. Even just getting another vaguely left-leaning or even dead-center moderate person on the Supreme Court would make his presidency worth it in my eyes. Given the current court’s mass-overturning of important human rights precedents, I’d argue the Supreme Court is far more important than the presidency right now, and the only way to change that is with a non-extremist President.

Incompetence and lack of initiative can be compensated for. You cannot, however, fix malice. You cannot fix that Trump will go out of his way to be dangerous and fuel his ego above all else no matter what the people around him say, and that many of the people around him are either spineless enablers or actively cheering him on. You can’t fix that. That is far, FAR worse and more insidious than a bumbling fool.

And don’t lecture me on Israel and Palestine. We all know every single one of those aid bills would have still passed under Trump. he's been in Israel's pocket since long before October 7th. And he would’ve said the quiet part out loud, too; we all know exactly how he feels about Middle Easterners. I don’t say this to defend Biden; I say this to iterate that there is absolutely no world in which letting Trump retake office will make things any better in regards to the genocide in Palestine. The things our congress and Joe Biden are complicit in are absolutely despicable, but destroying our own democracy to prove a point does absolutely nothing for the people of Palestine. We unfortunately can’t help them with our ballots this year, but we CAN help our fellow Americans. And many of our own people are in genuine danger if Trump wins this election.

I don’t understand how it’s even a question. For the love of god, for the love of our democracy and our most vulnerable people, VOTE BIDEN.

[decolonize-the-everything]

This is Red Scare propaganda in 2023.

Did you know that a few days ago Democrats and Republicans voted to join sides against socialism and "socialist policies"(good welfare programs)?

According to Axios:

More than half of House Democrats sided with Republicans on Thursday in voting for a GOP resolution denouncing socialism. [...]

• The resolution denounces “socialism in all its forms” and opposes “the implementation of socialist policies in the United States of America.”

• A total of 106 Democrats voted for the resolution, while 86 voted against it and another 14 voted "present. "

What they're saying:

• “This [was] very much about politics and political messaging, and you saw that with some of the people voting present,” said Rep. Annie Kuster (D-N.H.), the chair of the centrist New Democrat Coalition, which supported the resolution.

• Kuster said leadership was attentive to swing-district members' needs: "It was very much open-door conversations this week ... just conversations about where our members were coming from and how they felt about this. They had strong feelings about this."

What we're hearing:

• House Republican campaign operatives are already sharpening their knives against Democrats who voted against the resolution.

• "It’s certainly a potent hit we’re excited about," Jack Pandol, a spokesperson for the National Republican Congressional Committee, told Axios. "If you can’t vote to denounce the horrors of socialism, yes, we will be letting your constituents know about it."

The other side:

Rep. Pramila Jayapal (D-Wash.), the chair of the Progressive Caucus, told Axios that her faction recommended its members vote against the resolution and she advised colleagues “however you vote on this bill, they’re going to use it against you, so it doesn’t really matter.”

• Jayapal also argued the bill's sweeping rebuke of socialism conflates historical despots with modern entitlement programs and Nordic social democracies: "They're trying to tie those successful [welfare] programs ... to [former ruler of Cambodia] Pol Pot."

So Democrats and Republicans can unite over what's important to them: Capitalism.

More than half of Democrats in office right now would side with Republicans against your well being. Over half of them.

What we're witnessing is an abuse of power that Only serves to keep Democrats and Republicans as power players in politics.

Coincidentally this comes after a historic rise in union membership, calls for higher wages, protests, and it's also right before presidential candidates have started campaigning!

They didn't sign a resolution like this over Trump supporters literally attacking capitol hill. They haven't made Any reform or agreement that could stop another Trump from winning an election again either. They literally expose people to right-wing candidates on purpose just to help themselves win elections.

But this? Good welfare programs and left-wing ideas being spread before an election? That was a priority. That needed to be stopped. That's dangerous.

Let me ask y'all something: if you feel comfortable showing regular people a bunch of far-right ideas on primetime tv but you wouldn't show them any left-wing ideas at all... Wouldn't that make you right-wing? At the very least you've chosen a side, haven't you?

Democrats don't want to challenge the status quo. Apparently that's the ONE thing they can agree on with Republicans about. That's it's staying here and not going anywhere. That's what this tells me.

If you caught yourself thinking I'll vote for a democrat,at least they won't make things worse please consider that keeping things awful on purpose absolutely counts as making things worse. And also being comfortable with far-right ideology but not far-left ideology means Democrats are closer to being fascists than fighting fascism.

This year spend some time researching candidates that are listed as independent, green party, socialists, or communists. The only people worth entertaining are people who actually care and actually want to change things for the better.

[scienceandstorytelling]

I can’t stop thinking about Will Branner’s performance as Max Jägerman and how it leads to my favorite usage of the Nightmare Time leitmotif in all the Hatchetfield musicals (and why I voted for NPMD as having my favorite title number in the poll I made a while back).

Max is a well-written character who already gives me hints of a tragic villain vibe, and then Will’s performance just fleshes that out tenfold. It features the duality Starkid has been playing a lot with in this series, where you’re sympathetic towards a character while also acknowledging the terrible things they do. Max is horrible and abusive towards his classmates and has given them years of trauma. But a teenage boy does not become a Literal Monster in a vacuum.

Alongside his role as a bully, the script gives us images of Max as someone who is struggling academically and would have probably fallen through the cracks if adults didn’t idolize him for his football prowess so they can live vicariously through him as he beats the rival town in the big game. We find out that he has a shitty dad who verbally abuses him for not being macho enough. That he probably doesn’t have all the sex people say he does. That the people he bullies hate-pranking him in revenge is “the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for [him].” And then Will’s acting keeps showing us glimpses of this goofier side of Max, glimpses of the person he might have been if he wasn’t such a bully.

And for those few moments in the aftermath of the prank, you think maybe he’s going to change now that someone has shown him what he perceives to be kindness. And then he falls through the floor and that opportunity is lost. But unlike what Mayor Lauter implies, I would argue that his fate isn’t fully sealed when he dies in the Waylon House. I think the moment of no return is when he kills Richie while the leitmotif plays.

Lots of people ship Max and Richie and have headcanons that they used to be friends, and I think it’s because of the parallels between them in this song. Here we have two 18 year old boys who have both been failed by the adults around them. Both are harmed by being stereotyped. Both are in the liminal social role of being in the process of stepping out of childhood and into living their adult lives after high school. And both of them are denied those adult lives. And then they fucking sing about it. The “will you pray for me” duet is such a powerful part of the song for many reasons, and I think it’s the moment that shows us that Max is still in the process of committing to being nothing more than a vengeful spirit, or at the very least is in the last stage of that process. The thing that strikes me the most is that Max is simultaneously trying to make Richie feel insignificant and alone while also projecting his own feelings onto him. “Is this the eternal dark without a dawn?” he asks, reaching up to the sky and not looking at Richie at all.

And what fucks me up is that Max fails in this moment. Richie is not alone. He never was, and now he’s even less alone. Not only will Pete and Ruth mourn him, so will Max’s former friends. Its so notable to me that this takes place immediately after Go Go Nighthawks, where we’ve just seen everyone, including, again, Max’s “friends,” sing about how great it is that he’s gone. It’s a real Ebeneezer Scrooge moment that makes me wonder if Max has been silently haunting the school these weeks since his death and it’s only now, having watched that, that he tips over into full villain mode. Max is the one with no one to pray for him, not Richie. And Richie basically says as much, and Max kills him anyway. Richie was doomed from the start in the sense that the show literally opens with a flashforward to his death, but I think Max is doomed too. “Don’t need no one to tell me high school will be my peak,” he says in his own introductory song. I said before how they’re both on the cusp of living their whole adult lives, but I wonder if Max had trouble seeing himself that way. He already didn’t think he would amount to anything after high school. A lot of these “peaked in high school” football star characters spend their adult lives being metaphorically stuck in high school, in their teenage years, because they can’t let themselves move on from their glory days. And here Max is, literally stuck in his teenage years forever as a ghost - but not literally stuck in high school, as we see when he follows them all to the Witchwood. When he makes he grand ghostly return he says to Richie, “I’m free!” (Free from what, Max?) He certainly has the freedom of a ghost to go anywhere and do anything. And yet he traps himself in high school. He prevents himself from moving forward. And all of that is why it makes me emotional every time when he casts aside any last chance of not being the villain and strikes the first blow on Richie, these two teenagers failed by the adults and the structures around them, their fates locked together, while the leitmotif plays and takes us back to that original line from Alice’s corpse singing to Bill about how he should have been a better father: Look what happens, nightmare time.

[gusty-wind]

“It does not actually articulate or force the articulation of a strategy for how to end the conflict to begin with. So you basically have a blank check — or a near blank check — for a strategy that’s completely gone off the rails.”

Lee called out his Republican colleagues for sending aid to Ukraine at the expense of America’s own interests.

“By voting yes and passing this bill now, it empowers drug cartels, it dissolves our borders, it spends insane amounts of money that we don’t have on the priorities of foreign countries all at the same time,” he said.

Lee also slammed the bills’ proponents for defeating an effort led by Sen. Rand Paul (R-KY) to increase accountability and oversight of the aid to the notoriously corrupt Ukrainian government through appointment of an inspector general.

“These are not choir boys,” Lee said. “These are not Boy Scouts. These are not Girl Scouts. These are people who have really set world records for corruption. It’s an art form over there.”

Vance laid out the arguments from Sens. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) and Mitch McConnell (R-KY) for rushing the aid through without further accountability measures.

“The basic argument is that we have to rush resources to Ukraine immediately, or they’re liable to fall to Russian aggression,” he said. “And it’s all basically an argument made under the gun that unless you approve this appropriation of resources and weapons, then you will allow Russia to win. So it’s a kind of moral blackmail.”

Supporters of yet more aid to Ukraine can not admit the reality that the war is not winnable for Ukraine, Vance continued. “They can’t admit that this isn’t going well because if they admitted that, it would cause too much psychological harm, and they’d have to cut bait.”

Johnson added that proponents argue that it is in politicians’ naked political interests to support the aid because “it’s helping build our industrial base, and so it’s creating jobs in your state. And I call that a depraved justification.”

Musk, who noted his contributions to Ukraine’s war efforts, echoed the assessment of the trio of senators that the war is ultimately not winnable and that a peace deal is in their best interests.

Ukraine is “losing people every day,” he said. “And if you’re going to spend lives, it must be for a purpose.”

Musk continued:

There is no way in hell that Putin is going to lose. If he would back off, he would be assassinated. And for those who want regime change in Russia, they should think about: Who is the person that could take out Putin? And is that person likely to be a peacenik? Probably not. They’re probably gonna be even harder, even more hardcore than Putin if they took him out.  Ramaswamy detailed additional “unacceptable” risks to American and global interests from continued “endless funding” of the fighting in Ukraine, arguing that Americans see “daily strengthening of the military alliance between Russia and China, which, when combined, is the single greatest increase for the risk of World War III that we’ve seen in the post-World War II era.”

If the foreign aid passes the Senate, as is expected, the House must still act. Speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) would likely face a rebellion from members of the Republican conference if he brought the bill to the floor.

Monday night, after the conclusion of the X Space, Johnson seemed to throw cold water on the Senate’s package, echoing earlier statements that Congress must address American border security first.

“In the absence of having received any single border policy change from the Senate, the House will have to continue to work its own will on these important matters,” a Johnson statement read. “America deserves better than the Senate’s status quo.”

The timing before Monday night’s vote is important, sending the message to any on-the-fence Republican senators that a vote on the unpopular aid package would imperil their political standing for legislation that will not become law.

Some Democrats have insisted they will use all the parliamentary tools at their disposal to bring the bill to the floor, although a path forward for the legislation in the House is unclear.

Bradley Jaye is a Capitol Hill Correspondent for Breitbart News. Follow him on X/Twitter at @BradleyAJaye.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | may 27 - june 2

note: before i start this, i just want to warn y'all that it's 24.4k. if you want to read this in one sitting, i recommend locking in.

please hit me up in my inbox to give me feedback! or your thoughts! or speculation on what's coming next! i want you guys to talk to me all the time and tell me every thought you have. if i could send each of you the google document and force you to leave comments, i would.

also, i think by the time this fic is finished, it might be long enough to be a novel. should we all work together to get it published?

1:90 – TREVOR

“Do we really think it’s a good idea to spend the summer down here instead of the Michigan house?” Jack asks. “We own that one, after all.”

“Everyone knows about the Michigan house,” Trevor points out.

Cole, who had plotted this with Trevor after last summer’s debacle, sighs. “We can’t keep having the same conversation. We decided that we would train at the Checkers’ rink when we can get down to Charlotte and use the cement slab as our own rink in the yard of the rental house in the meantime. So that’s not your problem. So, what is, Jack? You’re gonna miss the girls?”

Jack fixes Cole with a cutting glare. “Fuck off.”

“You know, there are girls in North Carolina,” Cole says, a grin dimpling his cheeks. “Sweet, southern belles, even.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the rest of the goons to get here. We’ll put it to a fucking vote and I’ll get to go home.”

“If you want to go home so bad, why don’t you?” Trevor asks. “We’re not forcing you to be here.”

“You triple-belted me in the backseat,” Jack argues. “You’re taking me away from Michigan and you can’t even let me have shotgun.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” Trevor mocks. “You have hands. And fingers. You’re not helpless.”

Jack huffs from his spot in the back, stubbornly turning his head to the right to watch the trees pass. Cole does the same from the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the pane of the window.

There are twenty miles, an hour total, still on the GPS. Trevor hasn’t seen a town since they stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, the closest city being Winston-Salem almost an hour and a half ago, barely more than sparse houses and fields in the time since. They’re driving along a stream now and the latest exit off this small, two lane highway said “Love Valley.” Trevor snickers at the sign and goes to point it out to Jack, but Jack beats him to it.

“Don’t, Z.”

“It’s funny, dude.”

“It’s not, though.”

Cole cranks the volume up, drowning out the continuing argument that floats forward from the backseat. 

They drive on and Trevor thinks about it– everything. They have three unobscured months in Litchton, the only people knowing about their whereabouts are their families and coaches. The goons, as Jack referred to them, would be joining them sometime in the next day or two. Quinn and Luke had to wrap up some loose ends at home (Quinn, closing up his apartment for the summer; Luke, visiting some college friends as their semester comes to an end.

Litchton was the safest bet and Krebs had mentioned North Carolina to Trevor in passing the one time they caught up throughout the year, heaving heard from Leschyshyn that the mountain towns of his home state were notoriously quiet and drama-free and that their inhabitants, although lovers of gossip, kept to themselves. 

After those girls had snuck into the Michigan house at the end of the summer and started showing up wherever the boys went in the evenings, Trevor just wanted a summer off. He wanted time with his friends the way they used to have it, just working out together and drinking until they dropped, swimming and parading around the town like normal guys in their early twenties. 

In Litchton, they could pretend to be guys that were home for the summer, ready to start some corporate finance or everyday-tie job. It was a look into what could’ve been, had they not dedicated their lives to their sport. 

For three months, he gets to be Trevor Zegras, the kid who complained about his name being last on the roster in every class growing up and the kid who worked in his mom’s store after school. But he’s also Trevor Zegras, NHL superstar, ninth overall pick, owner of the best Michigan goal in the United States, so he might toss his name around in Litchton this summer. Just to see if it gets him anything.

If it doesn’t, his good looks certainly will. What’s flirting with a few old ladies on the street? It’ll be the highlight of their year.

Trevor misses the driveway the first time the car passes it. It’s hidden by brush and along a curve. The GPS reroutes them– but they have to drive an extra fifteen minutes along this road before they can turn around. 

They drive into a small town, a strip of eclectic stores littering the main road. There’s a small grocery store with a fruit stand out front that Cole points to.

“We could pick up some food while we’re out here,” Cole suggests. Upon hearing Jack’s mouth open in the backseat, he continues, “Just so we don’t have to come back later.”

Jack slouches against the backseat, huffing about being cut off at the opportunity to express his discomfort. 

“Jacky, will you relax? We’re going to have fun this summer.” Trevor tells him, turning into the parking lot and choosing a spot close to the entrance. 

Cole laughs when Jack unbuckles his three seatbelts in the wrong order and has to untangle them. Trevor flips the mirror down and fudges his hair, fluffing the ends. He had gotten it cut just before they left for this trip, so the edges were still even and sharp. 

Jack is the first to exit the car, practically throwing himself onto the pavement with his excitement to leave the vehicle behind, if only briefly. They’d been driving for hours. Cole flew into New York from Montréal, so Trevor had to pick him up from the airport. They picked Jack up in Jersey in the early morning and started driving south. 

Trevor can’t blame Jack for his annoyance. They’ve been in the car with him for ten long hours and they forced the first stretch of driving on him, having spent about two hours in the car before getting him. He had just woken up and had to drive four hours through the traffic of Philly and into Baltimore. He napped while Cole drove down through most of Virginia, and then woke up grumpy anyway when Trevor took over to take on North Carolina. 

It’s been a long fucking day.

They shop together, but they bicker quietly. After years of friendship, their arguments seem more like brotherly spats. The knowing smiles from the women in the grocery store prove that they’ve heard encounters like this before, likely in their own homes. 

Eventually, Trevor rolls his eyes and goes to sit in the car. He leaves Cole and Jack to pay for the groceries. Upon leaving the store, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Instagram, hoping to catch up on the posts that he had missed on the long drive.

Walking past the fruit stand out front, Trevor bumps into someone and he stumbles back.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor apologizes, reaching out and steadying the girl with a touch to her elbow. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hard to see me when you’re on your phone,” she replies with a tilted smile. 

Trevor lets out a little laugh at her reply, barely a breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She nods with an approving hum and turns back to the stand, picking up a peach and turning it over in her hand. 

Trevor turns and walks to the car, climbing into the vehicle and settling behind the wheel. He watches the sliding door for his friends, but his eyes drift back to the girl.

She’s tied a red bandana in her hair and she slips peaches into her mesh bag. She talks to the vendor, using her hands to speak. She’s pretty, he realizes, far prettier than the girls he knows from California. The vendor hands her a basket of strawberries, which she takes carefully, inspecting the red berries by twisting the basket’s handle from side to side, spinning it. Trevor can see her profile this way– the slope of her nose, smooth. Her eyelashes, long. Her lips, pink and pursed into a little smile. Her stance is tilted, one hand on her hips.

Trevor is back outside the car before he can think. He approaches her as she pays for her fruit, standing behind her when she turns around.

She jumps when she sees him. “You’re still here?” She asks.

“No, but I’m back,” Trevor replies, realizing just how lame he sounds. “My friends and I are staying here for the summer and I just wanted to introduce myself.”

When he falls silent after explaining himself, she looks at him expectantly. He can see the bottoms of her teeth as her lips part. “So introduce yourself.” She gestures for him to go on.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, sticking his hand out. “My friends call me Z.”

Her eyes drop to his hand briefly. She considers it before reaching up and taking his hand, shaking it. “Why?” She asks.

“My last name starts with a Z,” Trevor supplies. “Zegras.” The smile he gives her is strained, expecting her eyes to light up in recognition. They do, but it’s not in the way he expects.

“You’re Greek?” She asks, her interest piqued. 

“Yeah,” Trevor replies. “But not, like… Greek. I’m from New York, but I live in California now.”

At the mention of California, her face stiffens. She hums disapprovingly. “Got sick of the West Coast, I take it? Is that why you’re back east this summer?”

Trevor flounders for a moment. “I love California, but the guys and I always spend our summers together. Usually we’re in Michigan.”

“So y’all travel all around, huh?” She asks. She doesn’t sound impressed, which makes Trevor nervous. In fact, she sounds almost disdainful, but the look on her face appears as though she’s holding back a laugh. Whether that is at his expense, he doesn’t know.

“We’re very lucky,” Trevor confirms, nodding tightly. “Most of our travel is for work, though. We all work in the same industry and it involves a lot of, um, business trips.”

“Business trips?” She asks, letting the laugh overtake her this time as she looks him up and down. “You?”

Trevor looks down at his own outfit, the basketball shorts and loose t-shirt. They’re two of the few clothes he owns that are not branded with the Ducks logo. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve been driving a while and I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You certainly look comfortable,” She agrees with a nod, her grin knowing and wide.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Trevor says with a similar grin, shuffling forward just a step now that he’s got her smiling and laughing.

It’s then that Cole and Jack exit the grocery store, each with a hefty load of grocery bags on their arms. They’re laughing, so it appears Cole has managed to cheer up the sullen Jack in Trevor’s absence. Trevor watches the girl’s eyes leave his, drawn to the movement and volume of his two friends. He curses them in his mind, watching as they find him and decide to approach.

“I thought you were warming up the car, Z,” Jack accuses, his eyes flickering between Trevor and the girl. “D’you get distracted?”

Trevor bites his tongue before forcing a smile on his face. He turns back to the girl. “These are the some of the friends I mentioned, Jack and Cole. The other ones, Jack’s brothers, aren’t here yet.” Trevor knows he’s overexplaining, but he can’t help it. Something about this girl has him awkward and tongue-tied, yet his tongue can’t stop forming words and pushing them out.

“Yeah, your business partners.” She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing out the half-smile that was clearly keeping a laugh at bay. “Are they also from California?”

Cole snorts. “Business partners?” He repeats. “From California? No way. You’d never catch me dead in Anaheim, unless we’re playing there. Believe me, I’d be on the quickest flight back.”

“I just said we all worked in the same industry,” Trevor corrects, throwing on his most charming smile to try and salvage the situation. He wasn’t lying, but this girl might think he is, and that would be disastrous. He doesn’t know why, but it would be. He wants her to think highly of him and now he’s made two bad first impressions.

The second one is his friends’ fault, of course.

And she does think he’s lying– Trevor can tell by the way she looks him up and down, then Cole, then Jack. Her eyes squint imperceptibly at Cole’s mention of “playing” in Anaheim, rather than working. It was a statement that could have extended the conversation, but this girl seems to decide that she is uninterested.

She nods sarcastically, then scoffs quietly. “I have to go,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Have fun in Litchton this summer, boys.”

“Oh, we will,” Jack assures her. Trevor hates how his eyes rake over her, combing through each detail of her skin, her clothes, and her hair.

“Nice meeting you!” Cole calls after her as she walks away.

Both boys turn to Trevor, equally annoying smiles on their faces. 

“Shut up,” he hisses before they can say anything. 

“Who was that?” Cole asks.

“I didn’t get her name,” Trevor growls through gritted teeth. “She was just about to tell me and then the two of you showed up.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jack teases. “So you won’t be the first to bed a girl this summer, for… how many summers in a row is it now, Coley?”

Cole’s laughter breaks his face, but Trevor interrupts before he can speak.

“It’s not even a real competition, Jack. You only act like it is because you fuck the same girl every summer as soon as we get to the lake house. It’s trashy.”

“Being a winner isn’t trashy, Trev. In fact, maybe I should go follow after the girl you were just chatting up. I’ll show her how a real man flirts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trevor feels a flare of anger well up inside of him when Jack insinuates taking this girl for himself. It should be anger about questioning Trevor’s manhood, but it is not. “Get in the car.”

He stalks off, starting the car this time and situating himself behind the wheel. Jack vies for the passenger seat unsuccessfully, souring his mood yet again. Despite Cole’s smaller stature, Jack is the one left in the backseat with the bags of groceries around him. Soon, Trevor’s shirt joins him after a misguided throw to the trunk of the car where their luggage resides.

When they arrive at the house, Jack only carries the groceries inside. He claims he’s been stilted all day and Trevor can’t really do much to prove otherwise. Cole carries in his and Jack’s luggage into the home– a rental that Trevor paid good money to book for the entire summer. 

“I get the best room!” Trevor yells after them. “I paid for it! I want the ensuite bathroom!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack replies. He’ll leave the room for Trevor to take anyway. 

The three boys had planned this ahead of time. They would be in Litchton the whole summer, so they will take the three bedrooms that have king beds. Quinn and Luke will take the queen beds in the other bedroom, and the various guests throughout the summer will take the bunk beds in the basement. From the pictures alone, Trevor realizes that the house could sleep more than ten people. If they can find ten people, maybe they could throw a party. 

and invite that girl, Trevor thinks.

He’s taken aback by the thought and its suddenness. He doesn’t even know her name or if he’ll see her again– so why is he thinking of her?

Trevor shakes the thought and grabs his bags from the back of the car. He used an extra practice bag from the bottom of his closet in Anaheim to pack his clothes for the summer, so he has a free hand to open the door that Cole closed behind him. 

He finds the big bedroom easily and drops his bag in the closet, not bothering to unpack. He looks out the sliding door onto his porch, the wrap-around that encircles the entire back of the house. His porch holds two rocking chairs and a wooden bench. The house is built out of wood– almost overwhelmingly so– and the decorations match. His bedframe, his dresser, his bedside table, his small desk, the fan, even the blinds on the window… all of them are made of wood. 

His bathroom has double sinks and a granite countertop. The handles are gold in color, but likely not in material. The spout of the sink is more like a water spigot that one might find outdoors, but it’s classy. When Trevor enters his bathroom, he’s in awe of the jacuzzi tub and shower on the other side of the room. 

The tub and shower are both built from dark marble, bespeckled with lines of darker ore. The tub has wooden cabinets beneath the feet of marble on either side of the tub, which holds towels and toiletries on the right and left respectively. The tub has jets and a handheld spout that’s detachable. Trevor considers them. He can think of a use for both.

The shower is spacious with an overhead spout, wide and fancy. It has ledges for toiletries, as well as a seat in the corner. The door is glass and there is a hook for towels next to the opening. The shower stands from ceiling to floor, completely confined. Despite the windows to the side of it, the occupant of the shower would be completely hidden from sight, once the glass door steams up. 

Trevor explores the house further, but doesn’t take up residence anywhere. Cole and Jack seem to have put the groceries away while he found his room and looked around. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve likely taken up residence in their bedrooms for the night, tired from their eleven hour drive.

Lord knows Jack needs sleep before he braves this vacation. He always gets grumpy when he’s tired, part of the reason why he naps prior to every game. 

Trevor is glad that all of the boys can make it up for the summer. He can’t wait to get things started.

2:90 – HONEY

She wakes with the sunrise, as she does every Tuesday. It’s her first day of the week at the bookstore and she has to open. The Reading Nook is always closed on Mondays and she is one of three workers– the owner, Ada and her best friend since childhood, Bea. Ada opens the store on Thursday, whereas Bea opens it on Friday. Every other day of the week, the responsibility falls on her.

She makes her coffee and drinks it on her couch, looking out the window towards the mountains in the distance. It’s clear today and she can see the rows of mountains clearly– ten rows back. Once, her father had told her that if you could count ten rows back, you were looking at the mountains across state lines. If you could count ten mountains, then you could count all the way to Tennessee. 

She believed him, until she realized that the sun always rises behind those mountains. She faces east. Tennessee is to the west.

Still, the memory comes with fondness. It was before she moved away from home to pursue a life of quietness in the mountains, her favorite place in the world. Those days are long in the past. She has no interest in returning to them, given how far she’s come. The only person from her hometown that was welcomed into this new life was Bea and she has proven time and time again that she is deserving of that role.

Not only did they grow up together, but she got her nickname because of her friendship with Bea. As children, a long-forgotten teacher had made a comment about the two being attached at the hip, stuck together like glue. She had corrected herself with a laugh, evidently feeling clever when she said: “No, more like a bee to honey, right, girls?” From that day on, she had only gone by Honey and Bea had shortened her name from Beatrice to keep the analogy. 

She drives to The Reading Nook and unlocks the store, wiping the counter and sweeping the main room while she waits for her regular patrons to enter the store.

On Tuesdays, the “founding” women of Litchton convene in the bookstore and knit. Some days, Honey joins them. Others, she just wishes to sit and read at their table, listening in on the gossip of the week. The women are not so much founders as the grandmothers who lived in Litchton since their birth, having married and worked and raised families here. They are true Appalachian women– driven by superstition and fantastical solutions, lovers of a good story, and wonderful bakers who only crave to share their gift. They are churchgoers, often multiple times a week, and headstrong believers in their chosen politician. These are the attributes that Honey does not share with the women– she was an outsider, although she has been welcomed into the Litchton society since moving here. She attended church when the ladies asked her to, usually for the rare wedding or baptism. Rarer for a funeral, luckily. Honey does not feel any particular way about politics, at least not out loud, and she’s lucky that the ladies try to reserve that topic for the debates of their husbands over dinner parties, not the knitting circle on early Tuesday mornings.

Sacha is the first to arrive to the bookstore that morning, armed with blueberry muffins in a tupperware that Honey will have to wash in the little sink in the back while the women are knitting. Sacha has left one too many tupperwares and bowls in The Reading Nook and Honey won’t allow her to leave another behind. 

Honey plates the muffins for Sacha while the elderly woman secures the long table in the store for her friends. It does not take long for Scarlett, Gillian, Vera, and Rosalind to join. The women each knit their own project, waking up over coffee and muffins before the gossip starts.

It begins with Vera’s son’s divorce, something she had been dreading since he proposed to his soon-to-be ex-wife while they were still students at NC State. They had moved to Raleigh permanently, an action that Vera believes started this whole thing. When her son left home, and his wife finally revealed that she didn’t want children, Vera knew it was over. Or so she said. Honey thinks that she’s just butthurt about her son fleeing the nest… ten years ago. She wonders, briefly, if her own mother feels this way about her.

Honey shakes herself out of her thoughts as soon as Scarlett introduces the next topic, the topic that Honey knew was coming since the night before.

“Did you see those young men at the store yesterday? I know you always do your shopping on Monday evenings, Rosalind.” Scarlett tilts her head like she’s conspiring with Rosalind, like Rosalind has been holding information from the group.

Rosalind nods, eyes glinting behind her wired glasses. “They were such handsome boys. Lord, I tell you, if I were a young lady nowadays…”

She trails off and Honey stifles a laugh, looking down at the counter. She can feel the ladies’ eyes on her, no doubt hoping that the mention of boys piques her interest. Honey knows how these ladies were in their day– boy crazy but also efficient, looking for the perfect match and settling for no less. All of them prevailed, although from their complaints, you would never know their husbands were the loves of their lives.

“Ladies, you know this conversation would be better suited for Bea,” Honey teases. 

“Bea is too forthcoming, you are still somewhat of a mystery.” Gillian lifts an eyebrow. 

“Where is Miss Bea?” Vera asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Honey doesn’t stifle her laugh this time. “Miss Vera!” She exclaims. “It is a Tuesday morning. You know Bea has no interest in showing up to work for at least another hour.”

Vera shakes her head. “You and Ada have got to stop allowing her to show up so late.”

Sacha laughs. “As if they could stop her if they tried!”

All of the women, and Honey, laugh at the joke. It’s well established in Litchton that Bea is the tardy sort, whereas everyone else prefers to be early or on time. Bea has the attitude of a city girl, to quote the old ladies, but the work ethic and priorities of a Litchton woman. She likes her men, she likes her job, but she loves a nice lay-in.

“Besides,” Honey tells the women, hesitating with a coy smile before dropping the bomb of information: “I’ve already met those men.”

The effect is instantaneous. All of them drop their knitting onto their laps and gasp. Gillian clutches at her chest, always the most dramatic of the quintet. 

“My darling,” Rosalind marvels.

“Well?” Scarlett questions. “How? When? Tell us everything.”

Honey moves from behind the counter to an empty seat at their table. She sits next to Sacha, the woman taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“You ladies seem to forget that I go to the fruit stand outside the store on Monday evenings,” Honey begins. “Which is where I ran into them. Literally, too– one of them had his nose buried in his phone and bumped into me. He could’ve knocked me over!”

“You should have fallen so that he could have helped you up,” Rosalind suggests. The women murmur in agreement.

Honey rolls her eyes. “I did not. He apologized, I told him that he only bumped into me because he was caught up in his phone, and he said he would be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” Gillian repeats, nodding. “So he wishes to see you again?”

“Turns out, ‘next time’ was about five minutes later, when I went to leave the stand and he was right behind me!” Honey reveals, purposefully lacing incredulity into her voice. She places a finger on her lips and widens her eyes, playing into the dramatics of the ladies as if to say “What do you think of that?”

The women gasp in time. 

“Which one was it?” Scarlett asks.

“I only saw the other two for a moment, so I don’t think I could describe them well enough to you,” Honey says. “The one I spoke to is named Trevor.” She pauses to roll her eyes before adding sarcastically, “But his friends call him Z.”

Scarlett and Rosalind nod and look to each other. 

“It must have been the one who left earlier than the other two,” Scarlett says. “With those awful tattoos.”

Honey bites back a giggle. Once a southern mother, always a southern mother. “He did have tattoos,” she confirms.

“You two would get along,” Vera suggests, not so subtly casting a glance at the leafy vines that crawl up Honey’s arm.

Honey goes quiet, glaring at Vera. She has worked to try and get the ladies to stop commenting on her body and habits over the past few years, but the ladies are stubborn and traditional in most senses.

“How long will they be here? Or were they just stopping through?” Gillian asks.

“They’ll be here all summer, so I’m sure we’ll get our fill of them.” With that, Honey effectively ends her role in the conversation. She returns to the counter and opens her book, pretending to read it.

She knew the ladies would have caught wind of the men’s arrival by now and would want to discuss it. She knew that the ladies would be interested in setting her up with one of these new arrivals. They were cute, she’d give them that. At a glance, any of the three could have been nice company at a brewery, but Honey wasn’t looking. She was perfectly content with finding herself and making her own life, even if it meant that she wasn’t finding a husband like most women in Litchton wanted her to do.

The other thing was this: Trevor hadn’t made the best first impression. He bumped into her, then startled her, then told her some story about business partners or colleagues that definitely was not true, and he was from California. He’s a yuppie, a hipster who probably enjoys the bustle of Los Angeles and can’t handle the slow, satisfying life of a small town. To her estimate, Trevor has got a week before he leaves Litchton for something more glamorous and fast-paced.

The ladies relay the news to Bea when she finally shows up for her shift, a travel mug of coffee in hand from which she sips throughout each tantalizing detail of Scarlett’s retelling. Upon Honey’s information, Bea’s eyes flicker knowingly toward the counter and Honey just shrugs. Bea’s eyes then narrow, accompanying a questioning tilt of her head. Honey shakes her head at that, and Bea lets it go.

“Well, I heard the reason that Mr. Mayes wasn’t at church last week wasn’t his hip acting up,” Bea says to the ladies when it’s her turn. That starts a whole new tangent for the knitting club, one that will keep them occupied and in their seats for a number of minutes. It gives Honey the time to slip into the back and cut up one of the peaches that she brought from home to snack on during work. 

The ladies leave The Reading Nook about an hour after Bea’s arrival, leaving the store empty except for the two girls and floaters looking for their next novel.

Bea leans against the counter with a smug smile, blinking innocently at Honey. 

“What do you really think about them?” She asks.

“I think they’re trouble,” Honey says. “They didn’t seem on the same page about their jobs, they don’t know anything about living in a small town, they travel a lot, and I think I saw one of them carrying a 48-pack of beer.”

“Are they cute?”

Honey fixes Bea with a stare that could put a stop to anyone else’s questions. Unfortunately, Bea is immune to Honey’s intimidation tactics and her sarcastic jabs. She sees right through them. Honey’s silence is another thing she sees through.

“Interesting.” She draws herself up to her full height. 

“I think you would find them cute,” Honey says.

Bea hums. “You can’t backtrack now. You said enough without saying anything at all.” She crosses her arms over her chest then leans back down onto the counter. “So, tell me, Honeybear,” she muses. Fortunately, she changes the topic. “Did you get my strawberries from the stand, or were you too enthralled by the pretty boy in front of you?”

“He wasn’t pretty.”

“Sure he wasn’t.”

Honey scoffs, then leaves to the back to grab the basket of strawberries. She does so carefully, not touching the strawberries in case she breaks out in hives like she did last time. Bea swears that more exposure to the fruit would “cure” her allergy, but Honey only picks up the baskets to humor her. Honey doesn’t think she’s missing out on much, being allergic to strawberries. It’s her peaches that she would miss, and the blackberry pie that Ada makes when her vines turn ripe. That’s something to look forward to– blackberry season is starting and Ada could show up with a pie any day now.

The day continues slowly, with Ada making an appearance to close down the shop with the girls and help unpack a new shipment of books. After they’re done, Honey and Bea head to their respective homes.

Honey curls up with her book in her bed and listens to some music before the soft noise of the background and the comfort of her blanket draws her to her sleep.

3:90 – TREVOR

They have to go to the hardware store today. 

Yesterday, the boys wasted the day, sleeping later than they have in weeks. They ate a late breakfast, which turned into their lunch. They played pool on the pool table, ping and beer pong on the foldable table, and sunbathed out on the porch. Cole watched lazily as Trevor and Jack tried to outline half of a rink in chalk on the cement slab. They never finished the other half of the rink.

Today, they have to go get some wood and tools to make the rink into a 3D structure so the pucks don’t go flying into the woods when they shoot them. Trevor and Cole are the ones who are supposed to go to the store– Jack has decided to stay behind and wait for Quinn and Luke if they show up while the other boys are at the store. 

A convenient excuse, even though the goons are planning to show up today. Trevor expects the brothers to try and weasel their way out of working on the rink, claiming that they’re too tired from travel or they need more time to unpack. The thing is, the boys are flying into Charlotte and renting a car for the summer so that there will be two at the house, so they’re only driving for like an hour compared to Trevor’s eleven. They have no right to be complaining, but they will likely enact a vote and outweigh Cole and Trevor because if the Hughes are anything, it’s lazy and loyal to each others’ laziness.

They’re very driven, but only when they choose to work. When it comes to hockey, they’ll work all day. When it comes to creating the hockey rink or putting together equipment, they would much rather watch. Jim spoiled them that way– he was always the builder of the family and the boys were left to go do whatever they wanted as long as they weren’t annoying their father.

Trevor and Cole put off the trip as long as they can, hoping that maybe the Hughes brothers will show up early and they can force them to go to the store before they can even get out of the car. 

When the clock hits two, Trevor decides that the waiting is useless. They could’ve done so much during the day instead of sitting around waiting, but no. He was lucky enough to sit around and do nothing all day and watch stupid daytime TV with Cole while Jack read his texts with his brothers out loud.

The hardware store would be heaven compared to this.

He leaves without Cole at first, driving slowly down the driveway until he sees Cole’s figure run out of the house and after the car. Trevor can imagine what he’s saying as he yells after the vehicle– something about not being left with Jack in case the other Hugheses show up, something about how Trevor is a dick. 

They follow the one road on the mountain up to the strip where all the stores are. The hardware store is just a few doors down from the grocery store, so they park in the same parking lot.

Cole and Trevor walk side by side, Cole’s eyes on his phone as they walk while Trevor takes in the brick walkway beneath them. Names are etched on some of the bricks– Jude Doyle, Frederick Lawson, Ansley Hood… Grandma. Trevor has seen stuff like this before, but there’s something different about these names being etched on the bricks of this small town. Everyone probably knew these people, or knew someone who knew them, when they died. It’s so personal.

When they reach the hardware store, Trevor holds the door open for a man leaving. They give each other a curt nod, just a passing glance. Trevor sees absolutely no recognition in his eyes and comments on it. Cole doesn’t care, and says so. Trevor punches his shoulder.

“Welcome in,” the elderly woman at the counter greets. “What are you boys looking for?”

“Hi,” Cole replies, a charming smile on his face. “Could you point me towards the power tools? I can find my way from there.”

The woman smiles and points toward the back of the store. “They’re on the left, sweetie.” She turns to Trevor. “And what about you?”

“We’ll be needing some plywood,” Trevor says. “We’re building a little roller rink.”

“Oh, how fun!” The lady, named Vera if her nametag has any truth to it, claps her hands. “How much do you need, dear?”

“How much have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Vera waves her hand. “I don’t know. I’ll call Earl, he’ll send you off with what you need.” She turns and takes a breath before shouting the man’s name. Trevor’s heard that shout before– his grandmother used to do the same thing with his grandfather. 

The balding, age-spotted man appears at the door to the back of the shop. “I done told ya I have my hearing aids in, woman,” Earl grumbles to his wife, fond and mean and familiar in the way that only a couple who has been married for fifty years can be. 

Vera smacks Earl’s arm as he ambles by her. Earl pulls his arm away and puts another foot between them. 

“What do you need, young man?” Earl asks.

“Lots of wood,” Trevor says. “A couple of sheets of plywood and some 2x4s, maybe?”

“Boy, you do not think I have all’a that laying around.” Earl fixes Trevor with a stink-eye. 

“Don’t you tell him that!” Vera chimes in. “I know you’ve got plenty of wood out back because you bought all of it and never finished our damn basement.”

“I’m going to finish it!”

“Earl, you’ve been saying that for thirty years, you ain’t never finishing the basement.”

Trevor wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. He wants to laugh at this domestic argument and how unreal it is that it’s unfolding in front of him. Instead, he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he interrupts gently. “I don’t know if I want thirty year old wood for this. We’ll be hitting pucks off the boards all day and I’d like to keep the pucks inside the rink, please.”

“You’re a hockey boy?” Earl questions with a raised brow. When Trevor nods, he lets out a grunt. Trevor can’t tell what that means. Nonetheless, he waves Trevor to follow him into the back.

Trevor squeezes past Vera– she pinches his butt, he thinks– and catches a glimpse of her knitting under the counter when he walks by. She’s knitting something green. It’s too bundled up for him to tell what it is, though. Maybe he’ll ask later.

When he enters the back room, Earl gestures around. “Take your pick of the wood and make a pile over there–” he points to the corner– “and you can drive around back and we can put the wood in your truck there.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive a truck down,” Trevor says before he can help it. Earl makes a face. “But my friend and I can carry the piles ourselves to the car, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Earl gripes, shuffling away to sit at a bench with a circular saw and a half finished product on the table. 

Trevor sifts through the wood, all neatly arranged into piles of similar sizes– but labeled completely wrong. Trevor thinks that Earl might’ve refused to follow Vera’s labels when she first put them up in the shop, but realized that they’re more helpful than harmful. He���s just petty enough of an old man to ignore the labels, but follow the categorization.

Trevor ends up with a pile of ten sheets of plywood– four that are as long as lunch tables, and six that are just squares. Those will go behind the goals, while the long ones will go around the sides of the slab. He picks up a couple of 2x4s, just in case he needs them, and throws them on the pile with a clatter.

“I’m going to go grab my buddy,” Trevor says to Earl.

Earl grunts, but doesn’t budge. He also doesn’t look up from his station.

Cole is chatting up Vera when Trevor rejoins them. He’s leaning over the edge of the counter, asking about Vera’s knitting and her grandchildren. He’s got a bag of goodies next to him– powertools and nails, Trevor assumes. 

“Coley, come help me,” Trevor interrupts.

“No manners, this guy,” Cole says to Vera, scoffing and pointing his thumb at Trevor with a shake of his head. 

“Well, don’t keep the bear waiting,” Vera replies. Trevor watches her pinch Cole’s ass as he passes, but Cole just laughs and bats her hand away.

Fucking annoying. Always so good with the grandparents.

“The bear?” Trevor asks once Vera is out of earshot. “Is that me?”

Cole smirks. “We’ve got nicknames.”

Earl looks up when they reenter the back. He lets out a laugh, just a short bark. “This is your friend who’s going to help you carry all that wood?”

As the smirk falls off Cole’s face, Trevor picks it up.

“I can carry some wood,” Cole insists. “Probably all of it. I’m stronger than Z is, anyway.”

Earl’s gaze slides over to Trevor. “Z,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t stick with that one.”

Trevor laughs. “You sound like–” he cuts himself off. He never did learn her name, anyway. What’s it to this old man, who he sounds like?

Cole picks up on it though. “Like who, Z?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Trevor glares at him. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who I sound like and I don’t want to hear your smug little bickering,” Earl admonishes. “Get your wood and get outta my shop.”

Trevor laughs in Cole’s face, then pushes him over towards the pile of wood. “Go on, strong man.”

Cole makes like he’s going to throw a punch at Trevor– Trevor doesn’t flinch, because he hasn’t fallen for that since their first stint on the US team– and puffs up his chest before deciding to pick up the long pieces of wood.

“Compensating for something?” Trevor asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Cole replies cheerfully, turning on his heel and swinging the wood around with him, hoping to hit Trevor in the stomach. Trevor jumps away.

He picks up the rest of the wood and follows Cole out of the shop, bidding Earl a quiet farewell.

Earl grunts.

Trevor nods to himself, not surprised by the response. Vera is much more sad to see them go, gushing over how strong they are and telling them to come back soon. 

“What’s your nickname?” Trevor asks suddenly, as they load the wood into the back of the car.

Cole grins, crooked and smug. “Sweetie.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I’m a real hit with the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking hit with the married seventy year olds,” Trevor scoffs. “Don’t fucking talk to me, dude.”

Cole laughs, tossing his head back. He looks over Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your girl?”

Trevor spins around. “Where?” He asks, looking to his left and right. 

When Cole starts cackling behind him, Trevor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, dude.”

“Bear, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Cole pats Trevor on the chest before rounding the car, settling in the passenger seat.

“Fucking passenger princess,” Trevor seethes. 

“You wish you were me.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“The more fucks you say, the more fucks you give.”

“Fuck off.”

They drive back to the house in silence, Trevor’s knuckles white as he deliberates driving off the mountain and taking Cole with him. There are pros, certainly, the top one being that Cole would no longer be part of this vacation. The cons, unfortunately, outweigh the pros: without Cole, Trevor would be alone with the Hughes brothers all summer, except for the occasional visiting savior.

Quinn and Luke have arrived by the time the duo returns to the mountain house. They brought with them another SUV, this one only slightly bigger than Trevor’s vehicle. It’s got a third row of seats, but it’s cramped– they’ll definitely have to take both cars down to Charlotte when they go to practice. Because of the limited trunk space in Quinn’s rental car, Trevor’s car will likely end up being the gear car. 

Which is lucky, because who wouldn’t want to spend three hours total in the car with smelly gear while the other car gets to have fun and smell nice?

On second thought, the time alone might be good for Trevor. He loves his friends, he really does, but it’s hard to be around them for so long. He’s lucky that they’re all on different teams, that they keep up when they can, and that it’s not constant. Jack can’t escape his brothers, especially not Luke, but Trevor can escape all three of them.

He spends the evening building the outdoor rink, mostly alone. Quinn helps a little bit, mostly chalking up the lines on the remaining half of the slab. He holds the wood for Trevor while he screws some nails into the pieces to keep them in place. They work mostly in silence, as they often do. Trevor is itching to talk with Quinn, see how he is, but he knows that Quinn is a man of few words. He also knows that Quinn is quick to say that Trevor talks too much. They’re at the point in their relationship where Trevor lets Quinn dictate how much they speak.

Luke tries to cook dinner, he does. Trevor can’t fault him for trying. Jack had to jump in to save them from burnt steaks and soggy vegetables, and even if he can’t salvage everything, he does a pretty good job. Luke apologizes and does the dishes. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the couch during the movie they picked out, and Quinn wakes Luke like a good big brother and shoos him to bed. 

It’s more calm than the lake house, Trevor thinks. They’re not really doing anything differently, are they? And yet, here they are, sitting together in calm silence. They’re drinking bottled beer and laughing over the same jokes they’ve heard a million times, reminiscing about summers past and what they’ll do this summer. Quinn wishes for a lake. Jack tells him they’ll find one.

Trevor goes to bed when the movie ends, frogs croaking past his bedroom window in the depths of the night.

4:90 – HONEY

It’s a Thursday, so Honey gets to sleep in until nine. Sleeping in until nine means that she really wakes up at eight, because she just can’t sleep in late after working at the bookstore for five years now. She sits on her couch on Thursday mornings and reads. She does the crossword in the Litchton Local, the newspaper that comes out weekly on Wednesdays. 

There’s an immeasurable stillness in the mountains.

Honey noticed it the first time she came up to this house as a child. Everything moves, like the bugs outside and the leaves on the trees, but everything is so still. Like it’s being held in place by something bigger. She knows the feeling well, but it’s comforting here. 

At home, it was uniforms and piano lessons after school. She loves piano, even still, but there was something so crushing about the weight of her perfect posture on that bench when there was all the pressure of beauty breathing down her neck.

Home, Honey thinks again, and laughs. 

In the mountains, all of the beauty of the world is there and present and taking up space– but it’s not forced. It’s not the idealized version of everything. It just is.

And everything is so green, especially on a rainy day like this. Honey thinks there’s something sacred about the greenness of the mountains, but it’s the melancholic side of divine that leaves you waiting for another whisper or breath in the wind that never comes.

She used to have a piano that she could play in the mornings. She toted it to the antique store down the road when she made the mountain home hers. Sometimes, she wonders why she did that and regrets it, staring at the dents on the floor where its legs used to stand.

But then she remembers that she’s thinking about the past again and she shakes herself out of it. Five years later, but it’s hard to forget all of the things you grew up knowing.

Honey picks Bea up on the way to work, relishing in the girl’s consistent lateness because it allows her the chance to catch up with her friend. They see each other every day, yes, but the bookstore isn’t suited for some topics.

Such as Bea’s current woes:

“I’ve run out of dating app men,” she complains.

Honey bites back a smile. “Did you run out, or did you just swipe left on all of them?” She asks knowingly.

Bea cuts her eyes at Honey. “All the ones I swiped left on are ugly,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

“Is anyone good-looking in Litchton, Bea?”

Bea’s silence speaks for itself.

Honey laughs, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze from the rolled-down windows of her car.

“If I had known you were dragging me to the Ugly Capital of the World, I wouldn’t have come with you,” Bea announces, like it matters. She’s a liar. She wouldn’t have let Honey leave their hometown without her, no matter where she was going.

“You couldn’t turn it down, you had to come,” Honey replies. “Especially since they asked you to be Mayor.”

Bea gasps, affronted. She stares at Honey, her jaw hanging open. “Are you mad at me? Be honest.” She pouts, her voice whiny.

“Oh my God,” Honey groans, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay, well, stop being a cunt, please,” Bea sasses. If Honey were more annoyed, she’d reach out and slap Bea’s arm for the attitude. “We have to go to work and I need to put all my focus into pretending to like you.”

“Yeah, because it’s so hard to like me,” Honey says. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, monotone and grating. 

“Yeah, it is, you suck.” Bea flips her hair over her shoulder, digging through her bag to find her Walmart lip gloss. She smears the cherry flavored gloss over her lips and puckers up, batting her eyelashes at Honey exaggeratedly. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No.” Honey pulls up to The Reading Nook and parks on the street in front of the building, parallel parking with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with nothing but parallel parking (except in the grocery store and church parking lots) for the last five years.

“Ugh, one day you’ll kiss me,” Bea mutters, staring forlornly out the window. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Bea, we’ve already kissed. You weren’t that good and I didn’t like your lip gloss then, either.”

Bea cringes. “That was like ten years ago, Hon. Things have changed since then. Number one, I’m not in middle school. Number two, I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex since then. Number three, you know it wouldn’t mean anything. I want you to try my lip gloss so bad, come on.”

Honey stares. Bea’s got a stupid smile on her face, teasing and annoying. They hold each other’s eyes for too long before Honey speaks. 

“You’re insufferable, did you know that?”

Bea nods. “You are so easy to work up.”

Bea and Honey exit the car at the same time and enter the store through the front, the bell jingling behind them. Ada greets them from behind the counter, teasing Bea for being late again and threatening to cut her pay. She never will, never. Bea is too good with the kids, too happy to talk to mothers, and just dry enough to understand the miserly old man that walks through the door looking for a new World War I book. 

In the back, Ada has a bowl of biscuits and jam that Honey reheats and eats over the counter before she starts her day. 

She’s supposed to reshelve some books from their Borrow Before You Buy section, the part of the store that acts as the town’s public library. It’s a small task. The pile of books that were returned yesterday is less than a hundred. A good portion of the books are little kid chapter books, the kind you could finish in an hour as an adult because the font is so big and there are full-page pictures twice a chapter. 

Bea has to read to the kids at noon– some of the mothers bring snacks, like the end of a youth soccer game. It’s like a potluck lunch and the kids love Bea. Most weeks, it’s just her, but since it’s summer, she’s starting to bring in guest readers. Honey refuses to do it every time. Well, that’s not true– she acts as guest reader once a summer, right before school starts. It’s her one moment of the year. 

As she’s restocking the books, Honey hears the bell twinkle with each new customer that walks in. She’s grown used to the noise over the years, so it doesn’t draw her eye anymore.

What does draw her eye, however, is the blunt tap on her shoulder. When she turns around, Bea is blinking innocently at her– no doubt the offending hand in this scenario– with Trevor by her side.

“I was just talking to Trevor here, Honey,” Bea says. “And he was wondering if we had any books that a man his age might like. I thought maybe you should talk to him.”

Honey glares at Bea, purposefully obvious about it so that Trevor sees. What does she know about book recommendations for a man in his twenties? He probably wants some shit sports biography, or worse– he’s embracing his inner old man and he’s ready to venture into the world of World War I non-fiction. Either way, book recommendations are Bea’s thing, not Honey’s. She just stocks the books, builds the shelves, and bonds with the old ladies who come in on Tuesdays.

Bea shrugs with a coy little smile– Honey wishes she could slap it off of her face– and disappears behind the stacks. Honey can tell that she’s still listening from a few feet away, always nosy and overly interested in Honey’s exploits. If she can’t indulge in her own, she’s happy to butt in on Honey’s.

“Trevor,” Honey says, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t wear a bra today. She doesn’t trust him not to look. She also doesn’t trust her nipples not to peak in the cold air. 

“Is Honey your real name?” Trevor asks. 

She balks at him. “What is it with you and my name?”

Honey expects Trevor to back down, to act timid and normal and earnest like he did at the fruit stand on Monday. She expects him to apologize, yet again, for another inadvertent mistake that Trevor seemed unable to avoid. It’s because he doesn’t think– he just says the words as they come to mind, hoping that the sentence comes out fully formed and making sense.

And yet, he doesn’t.

“Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come,” is what Trevor answers. 

Honey gathers her wit quickly, scrambling to find a response to Trevor’s bold statement. She wants something clever, something to turn him down, something to tell him that he’s a cocky prick for saying such a thing while she’s at work, but she comes up with none of the above. Instead, she settles for: “It’s a nickname.”

A smirk tugs at Trevor’s lips and Honey wants to reach out and strangle him. He’s smirking because he thinks he bested her– bested her– and that he’s got the upper hand.

“What kind of book are you looking for, Trevor?” Honey changes the subject, trying to get back on task. She turns, continues restocking the Borrow Before You Buy shelves. 

“I’m not sure, Honey,” he replies, really milking his use of her name. “What kind of books do you think I’d like?”

She glances at him, looks him up and down. She tamps down a smile and says in a curt, monotone voice. “Guides on how to make the best of your business trip.”

Trevor laughs at that, more of a shake of his shoulders than a real laugh. “You’re funny, Honey.”

Honey raises her eyebrows and waits for him to continue.

“Hey, that rhymed. Maybe a book of poetry? I need to study my craft if I’m going to be waxing poems about you.”

He’s bold, she thinks. He’s really bold, much more sure of himself than he was on Monday. He’s much more confident, a sharp 180º from where he was the other day.

“Why don’t you keep your waxes to yourself?” Honey asks.

“How can I?”

She turns to him, planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have something to do today other than bother me at my bookstore? You don’t even know me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to get a book. I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying to make conversation.” Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and has the decency to look ashamed, even if it’s just for a split second and just to see if Honey will crumble. She knows his type. She’s seen them before.

“You’re flirting with me,” Honey accuses. “Not making conversation.” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

Trevor smiles. “You caught me,” he says simply, no shame evident in his voice. The smile stays on his lips as he and Honey look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and she takes it as a challenge.

“I’m not interested, Trevor.”

“I could show you a good time, Honey.”

“In Litchton?”

“Don’t you hear how good it sounds when I say your name? It’s like we’ve been hooking up for ages and I’ve got a special little name for you.”

“A name that everyone else uses.”

“It’s special to me.”

“How about a self-help book?”

Trevor clutches at his chest, jaw dropping in fake-misery. “You think I need help?”

“If you’re not going to buy a book, then you need to leave me alone.” Honey places the last book in her stack on the shelf and looks at Trevor expectantly. The silence sits between them, suspended for a moment.

“Do you have any books about space?” He asks. 

Honey notices that his voice is softer, a little more genuine. She examines his features, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She waits for the joke about not wanting space from her, needing her in his orbit, or whatever. It doesn’t come. She scans his figure one last time, realizing that her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she does so. She smoothens her expression, hoping Trevor didn’t pick up on her calculating stare.

“How do you feel about creative nonfiction?” Honey asks.

Trevor scrunches his nose.

“Memoirs, personal histories, stuff like that,” Honey supplies. She softens her voice to match his tone. She almost feels a little shy. “We only have one book about space that I’ve read and it’s creative nonfiction, but it’s really good.” Quieter, then: “I liked it.”

Trevor nods, a little hesitant. This is the Trevor she met on Monday. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” Honey leads him to the nonfiction section, to the rows of books whose authors bear a last name that starts with ‘D.’ She runs her fingers along the titles of the books at the height of her chest while scanning the upper shelves. “It’s there,” she says, pointing to the row just out of her reach. “It’s by ‘Dean.’” She looks down, around her on the floor. “Where’s my step ladder…?”

“I can reach it,” Trevor says, stepping forward. He places a hand on the small of Honey’s back and reaches up, fingers hesitating as he searches for the right book. When he finds the spine bearing Dean’s name, he bounces up on his tiptoes for just a second to slide the book from its position on the shelf. 

Honey has never been more aware of a hand in her life. His touch is light, just a passing glance really, but it weighs on her. It’s like she’s standing in quicksand and she waited too long to try and get out.

He’s so close to her when he stands flat on his feet again. He’s got the book in one hand and his other still rests on Honey’s back.

She steps away.

His eyes follow her, but instead of saying anything, he just flips the book over in his hand. He reads the back cover and as he does so, Honey puts more space between them. She takes a breath, trying to stay quiet, and grounds herself.

“Is it really any good?” Trevor asks. “Do I have to buy it?”

“Yes, and, um.” Honey throws a look over her shoulder. She lost track of Bea while she and Trevor went to find this book. Fuck, her nosey best friend could be anywhere. “You can borrow it. We just usually give people a week or so to bring it back, and if you don’t, we track you down.”

“Track me down?” Trevor asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Honey nods. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody, or knows somebody who knows everybody.”

“Stalking me, Honey?” Trevor teases.

“We’ve met twice, and both times it was because you came up to me. If anyone is the stalker here, it’s you.”

Trevor turns the book over in his hand again, looking down to avoid Honey’s gaze. “Leaving Orbit, huh?” He bites his lip and takes in the sight of Honey in front of him. He taps the book with his other hand. “I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

“I know it’s good. I read it.”

“Baby, if you knew good, you’d be all over me.”

Honey scoffs. “Alright, fun’s over. Get out of here, Trevor.” She shoos him away, practically pushing him out of the shop. She sticks her tongue out at him through the glass after closing the door behind him. She watches him laugh, run his hands through his hair, and turn away.

‘Zegras’ is written in bold letters across his back, the number 11 in the center of his t-shirt. The detail catches Honey’s eye as she watches him walk away, down the street towards a car with a New York license plate that looks far too perfect and expensive to belong in Litchton. She bites the inside of her lip again, pondering. If anyone asks, she doesn’t care, but Trevor’s different than anyone she’s ever met. She wonders why.

But no, she doesn’t care.

Bea does.

“He plays hockey,” Bea announces, revealing herself. “He’s good, too. NHL. He was a top ten pick when he was drafted.”

Honey just nods. Twice. That’s all she needs. They’re small movements and she’s still chewing on her lip.

“What did he get?”

Honey clears her throat. “Just the, uh, Dean book about space.”

Honey can practically hear the face Bea makes behind her back. “You think he’ll enjoy that?” Bea asks. “It’s really personal.”

“It was the only book I could think of,” Honey replies with a shrug. She finally turns around to face Bea. “You’ve got to stop spying on me. I know you listened to our whole conversation.”

Bea pouts and stomps her foot, the sound echoing along the stacks around them. “How could I not?” She demands. “‘Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come?’ Honey, girl. Be serious.”

“Bea, you know I’m not looking for that right now.”

“You’re never fucking looking for that,” Bea hisses, pinching Honey’s wrist until she flinches away. “It’s falling into your lap and you’re pushing it out the door! What’s wrong with you?”

Honey glares at her with a tilted head. 

Bea relents. “One of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” she threatens. “You can’t be a spinstery old maid forever, Honeybear. They’re only here for the summer. Maybe you should embrace it.”

“He’ll be gone within the week.”

Bea sighs. “Whatever you say.”

5:90 – TREVOR

“We need to throw a party,” Trevor says over breakfast.

“Why?” Luke asks, voice scratchy from lack of use. He yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, further messing up his already messy curls. He’s not wearing a shirt– none of them are– and Trevor is astounded by how pale Luke is. 

“We need to get you outside more,” Trevor mumbles, then clears his throat and continues speaking. “It’s like a housewarming thing.”

Unimpressed, Cole rolls his eyes. “Who do you want to invite?” He asks.

Trevor pauses, side-eying his friend. “Nobody,” he deflects. 

Quinn snorts, the spoon he’s using for his cereal clinking against the side of his bowl. “Not much of a party.”

“He wants to invite the girl that he met the other day,” Jack says, butting into the conversation. 

Luke frowns. “What girl?”

“Some townie that he met at the fruit stand when we went to the grocery store,” Jack explains. “He doesn’t know her name.”

“Her name is Honey, actually,” Trevor interrupts. 

The table stills. Each of the boys’ eyes turn towards Trevor and he suddenly feels like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass, boiling under the glare.

Cole pushes up an invisible pair of glasses and raises a finger, pursing his lips. “Actually,” he mocks, then drops the tone. “How do you know her name, Z?”

Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I ran into her when I went into town yesterday.”

“Oh, when you were supposed to pick up laundry detergent and you came back with a book instead?” Cole asks. “That makes sense, much more sense than what Luke said.”

Trevor blanches. “What did Luke say?”

Jack snickers.

Trevor turns to Luke. “What did you say?”

Quinn smiles and hides his face, taking a large mouthful of his cereal to leave Luke hanging if he asked for help.

Luke flushes. “I mean, you know… that maybe you confused the two.”

“How the fuck would I confuse laundry detergent with a book?” Trevor snaps. “They’re two completely different things, fuckface.”

Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We were just thinking of reasons why you might’ve come back without the one thing we needed.”

Trevor looks around the table. “You guys are such assholes.”

“Bro, you’re the one that forgot laundry detergent because you were too busy chatting up some chick,” Jack defends the group. “Now we can’t even do our laundry.”

“If it’s so fucking important to you, go get the detergent yourself!”

A smile breaks out on Jack’s face. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice shit-eating. “I might need to grab a book for myself, too.”

Trevor’s anger increases tenfold, for no fucking reason. “The fuck you do,” he snaps. “You don’t even know how to read.”

Jack’s face twists, his emotions finally aligning with Trevor’s own. “Fuck you, dude. You know I can read, I just don’t like to.”

Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I just want to have a party,” he mutters, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. 

The boys fall into silence, finishing their breakfasts. Trevor pouts, frustrated that the boys weren’t immediately on board with his idea for a party. 

If they were in Michigan, the Hughes brothers would have the front door of the house unlocked past 10pm. The people they know from the golf course, from the lake, from the pickleball courts would all be pouring through the doorway and into the party. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights, the Hughes brothers invite people over and they have a big bonfire. Apparently, that only applies in Michigan.

Trevor leaves the breakfast table first, to jeers from the other boys about being pouty and bitchy for not getting his way. Trevor knows that he’s going to invite Honey and her friend– Bee? Bea? B?– over tomorrow night no matter what the goons say. There’s not much to do in Litchton, he knows that, so he doesn’t want to leave the girls out. Otherwise, they might just sit at home all night. Trevor can’t have that.

Obviously, that’s his only motive. He would never have any other reason to invite Honey and Bea over to the house at night. Never.

Maybe one other reason.

But that’s irrelevant. 

He spends the morning outside, using the extra wood from Earl to build a fire pit in the half-circle clearing near the edge of the forest. When they were younger, Trevor’s sister might’ve thought this area was where the fairies lived, and maybe she would have built them a house. He wonders briefly if Honey was the same way when she was a child, when she was growing up in rural Litchton with nothing else to do but imagine.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know if Honey grew up here. She seems so intimately integrated into the town that she has to be from here, has to have grown up here. She must know all the town secrets and all the town gossip and fuck, Trevor wants to know all of that and more. 

He can’t explain the feeling he has about Honey. He’s just… drawn to her. It doesn’t make sense– he doesn’t know her. He’s barely met her. She did not exist in his life a week ago and yet, she’s popping up in his thoughts like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’ve been inseparable for years. When he thinks about it, he decides that Honey is like one of the girls he would have met in elementary school in Bedford. Honey is one of the girls that he would have grown up with, one of the neighbor girls from down the street with whom he rode his bike on hot summer days. 

She’s got a hometown charm feel to her. Trevor has to see her again.

He finishes building the wooden part of the fire pit before realizing how stupid it was to build the pit out of wood. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, though, because it’s an excuse to go see her, to invite her to his party. He can go to the hardware store on the way, pick up some stone and gravel to line the wood, protect it from catching flame. He can pick up some firewood from the grocery store for their first fire and pick up the laundry detergent he forgot yesterday. Jack won’t be so annoying then.

Trevor doesn’t bother telling the boys where he’s going– he just gets in the car and drives away. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes to make his way to the bookstore. It’s still early, so he doesn’t even know if it’s open yet. Trevor and the boys are so used to waking up early for hockey that they’ve been up for about two hours and the whole day is still ahead of them.

When Trevor pulls at the front door of The Reading Nook, it doesn’t swing open the way it did yesterday. He knows the doors are easy on their hinges, considering how easily Honey slammed the door behind him yesterday, but today, the wood is barely budging. He knocks on the door, loud. 

Honey’s friend’s head peeks out from behind a stack, confusion written all over her expression. Trevor waves at her, gesturing at the door. She laughs, then approaches the door. She points down at the ‘Closed’ sign hanging near the handle.

Trevor tilts his head, unimpressed. “I have to talk to you,” he says through the glass.

Bea unlocks the door and opens it with a snorted laugh. “What’s up, Trevor? Honey’s not here yet.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Bea steps aside and lets him into the store. “You want her.”

Trevor sputters at her honesty. “I don’t know her.”

“You want her,” Bea repeats with a nod and a knowing smile. “And you want to know how to get her.”

“Well, yes,” Trevor says. “But also, no. I wanted to invite you– both, you both– to a party tomorrow night.”

Bea smiles. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You want my best friend and all I get is some measly party? Come on, Trevor. What’s in it for me?”

Trevor thinks for a minute. “What do you want?”

Bea laughs. She pokes her tongue into her cheek and looks expectantly at Trevor.

“Whoa,” Trevor says, taking a step back. “That’s really… forward, but–”

“I don’t want you, Trevor,” Bea scoffs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “So self-centered, Honey was right about that. But, I’ll help you get her and I’ll make sure we make it to your party if you give me what I do want.”

Trevor hums, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”

Bea smiles, devilish and conniving. “The dating pool up here is pretty dry, and I hear you’ve got a few friends.”

Trevor nods.

Bea blinks at him. “Do you have any pictures of these friends? I would’ve looked you up, but Honey and I swore off Instagram years ago.”

That makes sense. That’s why he couldn’t find Honey when he looked her up last night– not that he had much to go off of. Still, “Honey Litchton NC” didn’t reveal many results.

Trevor fumbles with his phone, showing her a picture of the group from last summer. He watches her fingers pinch and zoom in on the picture, on each individual. She keeps her expression neutral, a poker face that impresses Trevor. She hums, thoughts racing behind her eyes too quick for Trevor to understand them. 

“We’ll come to your party,” Bea says simply, handing the phone back to Trevor. She snatches it back at the last second. “Wait,” she says, and clicks around for a second. 

Trevor waits, then she hands the phone back. On the screen is a contact page for ‘Bea McLean.’ 

“It’s pronounced like McLane,” Bea tells Trevor. “Since you’re so obsessed with names.”

“Okay,” Trevor cuts her off with a sarcastic nod. 

Bea laughs. “Don’t get sassy with me, I have all the power here.”

“Yeah, but I have your number,” Trevor flaunts.

“I could just block you, easily,” Bea points out. “Then where would you be?”

Wisely, Trevor bites his tongue. After a deep breath, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out, Honey’s supposed to get here soon and I don’t want her seeing you. She’s annoyingly on time. She’ll know we’re in cahoots.” Bea, much like her best friend did yesterday, pushes Trevor to the door and shoves him through it. She slams it behind him, flipping the sign so it says ‘Open’ instead, and waving Trevor off with a blown kiss.

she’s a flirt, Trevor thinks. those guys will not survive her for a second.

He doesn’t know which boy she has her eye on, but it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s too quiet for her, Luke is too awkward, Jack is too cocky, and Cole is too… short. 

Trevor snorts at the insult, laughing to himself. He heads to the grocery store, where he parked, and purchases two gallon bottles of laundry detergent and a Sharpie. He writes “JACK” on one and puts them both in the trunk of the car. Then, he walks to the hardware store. 

“Bear!” Vera greets from behind the counter, joints creaking as she moves from her chair behind the counter to give Trevor a hug. 

“Oh, Vera, you don’t have to come all the way over here,” Trevor says awkwardly, but hugs the woman back nonetheless.

“Of course I did!” Vera exclaims. “You look so handsome, young man.”

Trevor blushes, shying away from Vera’s examining fingers. She squints at the logo on his chest, one of his shirts from Anaheim. 

“I live in Anaheim,” Trevor explains to the woman, catching her hands in his and holding them securely in front of her body before letting go. “Do you have any stone that I could secure a fire pit with?”

“Yes, baby!” Vera claps and leads him to a section of the store that’s, somehow, even more peculiar than Earl’s workshop. There’s bags of gravel, sure, but it looks like fish food compared to some of the other bags and miscellaneous stones on the shelves. “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll give you a discount for being so darn cute.”

Trevor chuckles. “I bet you give that to all your customers,” he teases.

“I had a local girl put it in the computer for me after we met you and Sweetie on Wednesday,” Vera teases back, batting her eyelashes. Her cheeks are red with blush, too much blush. “His discount is a little more because I see you’ve changed the body God gave you.”

Trevor follows her eyes to his tattoos. He rubs his opposite hand over them sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He tries to smile charmingly. “Maybe I should’ve sent him to do the shopping today, since you like Sweetie so much.” He throws a wink into the mix to punctuate his sentence.

Vera laughs, a twinkling sound.

“Plus, it’d be cheaper for me,” Trevor says, like it’s a scandalous secret.

“I know that’s right!” Vera claps again, waves a hand at Trevor like she’s slapping her knee. She walks off, back to the counter, leaving Trevor to shop for his stones. 

He shops through the stones for about half an hour, choosing his favorites. He settles on a midsize gray stone, one that he can stack and seal with cement. He buys the quick drying cement as well, and carries it all to his car. Vera carries the quick dry cement and giggles when Trevor easily shifts the stones in his grasp when she complains about the bucket being too heavy for an old lady. He picks up the bucket and shifts the stones again, knowing he can carry more than this if he needed to. He swears he hears Vera sigh dreamily behind him as he packs the car up.

Like he said, what’s flirting with a few old ladies?

When he bids her goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, Trevor makes eye contact with Honey in the bookstore window. He grins at her and winks to her for good measure. He thanks Vera for her help while he escorts her back to the store, just for the sake of Honey seeing how selfless he can be. He’s not self-centered, no matter what she told Bea. 

Vera insists that Trevor and “his band of boys” join her and Earl at church that Sunday morning, pledging to introduce them to the other members of the community. Trevor agrees, thinking that being on Vera’s good side might get him even closer to Honey.

Trevor drives back to his home for the summer to find that the boys are playing in the rink he built.

Come to think of it, he’s making a lot of improvements to this property, and the only one who has actually helped is Quinn.

Not self-centered at all.

He deserves a party.

“We’re having a party,” Trevor calls out, carrying his stones toward the fire pit. He dumps his supplies on the ground. “And I invited two girls.” He wipes the dirt and dust from his fingers. “Someone else needs to finish this fire pit because I’m tired of building your shit. C’mon, Quinn.”

He leads the way inside, to grab a beer from the fridge, and Quinn follows after kicking off his skates, eager to avoid the work. The other brothers and Cole are left dumbfounded on the concrete. Jack makes eye contact with the cement mix first, and he smiles. 

They always did love a little project, and maybe they can hide a drawing of a dick in the cement for the owners to find at the end of the summer.

6:90 – HONEY

“Where are we going?” Honey asks. 

Bea has barely crossed over the threshold of Honey’s home before the question falls from her lips. Bea’s been cagey about it all day– just explaining that “we have plans” and that “you’ll enjoy them.” Honey loves her, sure, but this is absurd. She feels like she’s being kidnapped. 

“More like when are we going,” Bea corrects. “Let’s get you an outfit.”

Honey stumbles back, Bea pushing her out of the way. She closes the door behind her friend, following Bea as she stomps up the stairs to Honey’s bedroom. Bea knows Honey’s place as well as she knows her own, a little townhouse off of the main street in town. Honey’s lucky to live a little farther from city center, closer to the magic of the mountains. 

“What kind of plans do we have, at least?” Honey presses. She looks at Bea’s outfit– a jean skirt that falls like an old Poodle skirt and a white bandeau top. It’s sort of see-through– Honey can see the shadow and outline of Bea’s nipples through the skimpy top. “I don’t want to dress like you,” Honey says.

Bea scoffs and turns to Honey. “My plan tonight is to get laid, your plan tonight is to accompany me while I evaluate my prey.” 

Honey pretends to gag. “I hate when you say that.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone to flirt with,” Bea says. 

“So, where are we going tonight? Statesville? Winston?” Honey asks again, hoping Bea will relent since she now knows the purpose of their adventure. 

“Dude, I’m not telling you,” Bea laughs. 

She reaches Honey’s closet and throws the curtain open. She strolls into the closet, looking through Honey’s clothes. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Honey asks, looking down at her athletic shorts and little tank top.

Bea turns around and surveys Honey. “The shirt is fine.” She returns to her task. “Nice tits.”

Honey looks down. It’s a revealing top and she’s not wearing a bra, because it’s a Saturday and she didn’t know they had plans until Bea told her this afternoon. “Maybe not, then.”

Bea glares at Honey out of her peripheral. “But that’s your favorite tank.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get hit on if I wear this shirt.”

“You’re going to get hit on anyway. Keep the shirt.”

“No, I won’t, because my bitch face will keep most of the guys away.”

“Most of the guys. Which is the whole thing. Those ones will come to me.”

“Ew, you’re going to have a threesome tonight?”

“A threesome?” Bea spins around. “God, no! One at a time for me, thanks. I’m just going to fuck the other ones.”

“Other than who?” Honey asks. “I’m not fucking anyone tonight.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Whatever.” She digs through the closet, finding a long-buried white tennis skirt, the back pleats of the skirt puffy. Honey would never wear something like that, but Bea would– it’s probably Bea’s skirt in the first place. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Honey states.

Bea wrestles her into it– seriously. She tackles Honey onto the bed and literally redresses her, the absurdity of the situation so bizarre that it completely bypasses both girls’ minds. Honey fights Bea the whole time, but Bea comes out on top. She gets her way, Honey wears the skirt, but she’s not happy about it.

“Do I, at least, get to drive?” Honey asks.

“Oh, I was going to force you,” Bea laughs. “You don’t expect me to drive you home, do you? I’ll be… indisposed.”

Honey scowls the rest of the time they spend getting ready– Bea does Honey’s hair and forces Honey to put on some light makeup, just a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and some lipgloss. 

The only problem with Bea and Honey’s relationship is that Bea likes to go out, likes to meet people, likes to have a wild time, whereas Honey prefers to stay in. She’d rather watch a documentary or read a book or be present in nature than packed into a club dancefloor like a sardine in a larger can. Not that that matters to Bea.

By the time they get in the car, Bea is jumping off the walls trying to keep her secret destination to herself. Honey keeps trying to push, hoping for the right moment, but Bea won’t reveal her plans. All she does is direct Honey to the main road and type away at her phone, sending text after text to an unknown recipient, an unknown recipient that Honey is sure they’ll be meeting up with later.

They drive further into the mountains, to Honey’s surprise. They don’t head towards Winston or Statesville. They drive up, farther from town, farther from their neighbors. Near the top of the mountain, the houses are miles apart.

Perfect for a party.

Perfect for a party… thrown by boys in their twenties.

It clicks in Honey’s mind as Bea tells her to turn into the hidden driveway along the curve. “You’re not,” Honey says.

Bea laughs. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I thought for sure you would’ve clocked me when we turned left instead of right.”

“Bea,” Honey scolds, her voice sharp. They’re on the driveway now, safe from the curves of the road, and Honey stops the car. She turns to her best friend. “You can’t be serious.”

For all of her audacity, Bea manages to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. It finally clicks in her head, why Honey isn’t happy with her plans, and why she’s even unhappier that she was dragged out here without knowing what she was walking into. She can’t just drop Bea off and leave– she would be abandoning her best friend in a house of strange boys all evening. Bea might be outgoing, but she hasn’t been hurt like Honey.

“It’s not going to be like that,” Bea reassures Honey gently, grabbing Honey’s hand with both of hers. “I promise, they’re not like that.”

“You don’t know them, Bea,” Honey explains. 

“You don’t either,” Bea points out. “And this time, we’re together. The second they do something– I mean it, the second– we’ll leave. I’ll go with you. Fuckery be damned.”

Honey grimaces, rolling her shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension. She takes a deep breath, then squints at Bea. “Are you really going to fuck all of them?” She asks.

Bea grins, knowing that she’s convinced Honey to at least try and hang out with the boys. She’s smug, getting her way once again. She winks at Honey, coy. “Just the ones you don’t want,” she simpers, giggling. “You get your pick of the litter.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

“So, you don’t want Trevor? ‘Cuz I was thinking–”

“Don’t fuck Trevor,” Honey groans. 

“Why not?” Bea teases.

“You’re better than that, Buzzy,” Honey scoffs with a shake of her head. “He’s weird and a flirt and annoying.”

“I’m weird,” Bea says. “And a flirt. And annoying.” She puckers her lips and blows kisses at Honey as she shifts the car into drive and begins to creep down the driveway again. “Maybe it’s a match made in heaven, me and Trevor.”

“You don’t want him,” Honey growls, her voice short. 

Bea shrugs and faces forward in her seat, her hands tapping her thighs. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Honey can’t tell. If she had to guess, though, it would be excitement. Bea is the least anxious person that Honey knows, the kind of person who can talk to anyone or anything no matter the situation.

While they might be athletes, they’ve never met anyone like Bea. Honey never has, not since she met her best friend all those years ago. They’re fucked– and she’s irresistible.

Honey and Bea pull up to the house and park under the cover, right next to the front door. This house was a point of contention when it was being built the first year Honey moved to Litchton. It was her first introduction to the gossip of the founding ladies. Scarlett and Gillian had felt particularly perturbed by the building– a five bed, four bathroom house complete with a hot tub and a game room and two stories of wraparound porches. 

And it’s all made of the same wood, the same stain, the same ugly pattern. Honey cringes when she thinks about the number of trees that were cut down to make this house match. She’d think the same thing if it was made entirely out of the same stone. 

Bea knocks on the door as Honey wipes her sweat from her palms. It takes a minute, but then Honey hears the scrambling of feet and the shouting between one man and his group of buddies, who are just giggling as they do what they can to cut him off from the door. Honey can see it through the thin windows bordering the door, how they rush up the stairs and down the hall. She can also see how they’re holding Trevor back as much as they can.

The brunet from the first day opens the door with a charming smile. “Hi,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Jack, you motherfucker–”

Honey bites back a laugh as Trevor curses and struggles, still in the grasp of the shorter boy from the first day and one of the newcomers– another brunet, a taller one. She looks at him carefully– the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, partially hidden under a baseball cap, the curve of his eyebrows, and the slope of his lips give him away. He must be one of Jack’s brothers. 

“We were invited to come over tonight,” Bea replies.

No matter how many times she hears it, Honey is always impressed by the way Bea turns on her charm and makes the people around her melt. It worked on her, too, when they first became friends all those years ago, and then less and less when Bea moved into Honey’s place when they first came to Litchton together and shared a bed for almost a year before Bea found her own townhouse. Then, her charm just got annoying, like a younger sibling who tags along with you everywhere because Mom said they had to.

It’s better for them when Bea and Honey have their time apart. Honey, especially, needs her time alone.

Jack’s eyes finally find Honey behind Bea and he grins. “That’s right,” he says, tapping his forehead like he just remembered. Honey can tell that all he’s doing is messing with Trevor, though. “The party! You must be the girls that Z invited. Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Jack,” Honey replies, short and sweet. She turns on her customer service voice just for this. She finds Cole next to Trevor and smiles when her eyes slide over the imprisoned boy, as passive as she can be. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hey, Honey,” Cole says with an easy smile. Honey wants to snort and laugh– he’s got a smile that could get him into or out of anything. She wonders briefly if he’s childish and impish, still, even in their adult age, just because he’s got the smile to match.

Jack steps aside and lets the girls enter the house. He closes the door behind them and Honey has a sneaking suspicion that if she turned to glance at him, he’d be staring at one of their backsides. She doesn’t look. It’s not worth the joke that she could make if she caught him.

Bea nudges Honey and points up.

Honey tilts her head, and– “A chandelier made of moose antlers. Wow,” she marvels. She makes a face at Bea, then continues. “That’s really… something.”

“Isn’t it sick?” Cole asks, finally dropping Trevor’s arm and joining the girls where they stand. He spreads his arms out from his sides and spins in a slow circle. When he makes a full turn, he looks at both girls and wiggles his eyebrows. “Want a tour?”

The girls agree and Cole takes them throughout the house, leaving the other boys behind. From their pounding feet, Honey figures they’re headed downstairs, while Cole takes them upstairs. He shows them the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the common areas, the hallways, the outlet in his room that doesn’t work, and much more. They go back downstairs and get the same treatment– Cole even opens the fridge and helps himself to a beverage before offering anything to the girls. They see the kitchen, the living room, the den, the dining room and patio. Cole shows them the wraparound porch and its chairs. Honey takes in the view– it’s just as good as the one from her living room. 

Finally, finally, they make their way down to the basement. It’s a smaller room, minimized by a covered porch and larger patio with a hot tub. The basement is clearly the man cave, the game room, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a pool table, a large TV, a ping pong table, a foosball table… everything a boy could want. 

As evidenced by the two boys sitting on the couches near the pool table, while the other two wield sticks and study the position of the balls on the table.

Honey finds Trevor on the couch with Jack. His eyes found her first as she walked down the stairs and he hasn’t stopped staring. Neither has she, to be fair.

“Pool,” Bea notices. She looks at Honey and Honey shakes her head. Bea nods. “Honey and I are next,” she announces anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks with a little laugh. “Are you any good?”

“I’m okay,” Bea says. She pauses, lets a smirk on her face grow as she looks over to Honey. “Honey’s worse.”

The boys turn to Honey. “Are you?” Trevor asks. 

“I wager she could still beat you, Z,” says the only boy that Honey had not seen when they arrived at the house earlier. He’s got dark hair, but it’s also hidden under a backwards cap. The only difference between him and his brothers, assuming he is one of the brothers that Trevor mentioned on Monday, is that he’s smaller, more sullen. The telltale sign is that his comment is offhanded, delivered with the calm venom of an older brother who knows exactly where to bite. He doesn’t even look at Trevor as he lines up his shot and sinks the ball.

Honey likes him immediately.

When she looks over, she notices that Bea likes him too. Her lips are pursed in thought, only the minutest pout on her mouth. There’s a tiny smile pulling at her cheek and her eyes are twinkling under the bright lights, but they would be hazardous in a club.

It’s a game they’ve played before. Bea sucks at pool– she always has, but… when you suck at pool, either the person you’re playing with will laugh at you or they’ll try to give you tips. The night usually ends with Bea sinking the 8 ball with a little bit of help from her gentleman caller and a celebratory, “thank you” kiss. 

Honey, however, loves pool. She wasn’t always great at pool, but found that, like almost everything, the more she practiced, the better she became. When Bea’s celebratory kisses turned into rushed hookups in the Winston-Salem dive bar bathrooms, Honey got her fair share of tips and tricks from the other men around. Usually, she would try to shack up with the alcoholic middle aged men who had nothing better to do than sip on their beer and play pool after dinner with their wives. It was rare that they flirted with Honey and she liked it that way.

The game goes like this: Bea finds a group of men that puff up their chest at the idea of beating a woman at pool, she “lets them win” against her (as if she would’ve won in the first place), and then it’s Honey’s turn. Honey, of course, feints a few shots and lets the men get comfortable before coming from behind and beating them. Usually, her win results in two drinks for her and her friend.

Today, the drinks won’t be her bargaining chip.

“What would you wager?” Honey asks the boy who last spoke. “If it were a real bet.”

His stormy eyes look her up and down while Jack’s brother, the tall one, paces around the table to find his best shot. “Money, normally,” he drawls. “But I’d rather not lose my money betting on you if you’re worse than her.” He nods to Bea, who takes the chance to blatantly look him up and down.

“How about this,” Bea proposes, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “I’ll play the winner of this game and then we’ll see if Honey can beat Trevor. If I win, I get whatever I want, obviously. If Honey wins…”

Honey meets Bea’s eyes. She nods, knowing that Bea is thinking back to the night when they visited ECU their junior year of high school and witnessed a rugby party in the flesh. It’s their usual punishment when their outings feature a house party and a pool table.

“...Trevor has to do a Zulu Run,” Bea finishes. 

Honey finds Trevor again and smiles, overexaggerated and sickly sweet. 

“What’s a Zulu Run?” Trevor asks, looking to the other boys and finding nothing but confusion. On the girls’ faces, he just sees plotted mayhem. 

“It’s fun, don’t worry,” Honey reassures him. “You only have to do it if you lose. Which, I mean, if I’m worse than Bea, then you should be fine.”

Honey sits on the loveseat across from Trevor and Jack, while Bea sits down next to Jack. Her knee presses against his, subtly, just enough that you can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just a lack of room on the couch and Honey presses her hand to her lips to hide a smile.

“So you’re Jack,” Bea says, interrupting the conversation that he and Trevor had been in when the girls walked down the stairs. 

Honey watches as Bea makes her eyes look wide and soft, very flirtatious and fairy-like. She’s got the perfect complexion for it– the light dusting of freckles over her skin, the ounce of baby fat still left in her cheeks and all the right places along her body, her expression just the right amount of interested but not desperate.

For a brief moment, Honey wishes she was more like Bea.

“You’ve heard of me?” Jack asks with a little smirk.

Bea scoffs and waves him off. “Don’t flatter yourself. Honey didn’t even tell me your name.”

Jack’s bright eyes turn to Honey. “Oh, yeah?” He tilts his chin up in challenge. “What is it with you and names? You wouldn’t tell Trevor yours, you haven’t properly introduced me to…”

“Bea,” Bea supplies.

Honey shakes her head fondly at her best friend’s eagerness. Honey bites her tongue to keep her comments at bay, and instead plasters a tight smile on her face. “I didn’t realize I would be seeing you all again,” Honey says, forcing politeness into her voice. “And I’m not the one who’s weird about names.”

Jack and Trevor share a look. Jack hides a snort poorly.

“What?” Honey asks, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in a straight, unimpressed line. 

Jack smirks and Trevor shakes his head. Jack speaks anyway. “I don’t know how you would have avoided us,” Jack says. “Considering.”

“Considering…?” Bea asks, leaning around Jack to look at Trevor. Honey catches Trevor’s panicked glance and can guess what Jack’s alluding to. She jumps in, hoping to switch the subject.

“Nothing to consider,” Honey and Trevor say at the same time. Trevor sounds rushed, Honey sounds indifferent. Both of their jaws drop and they stare at each other, Honey affronted and Trevor surprised. 

Cole, who had been sitting on the stool-saddles near the pool table, steps over the back of the couch and weasels his way between Trevor and Jack. “Creepy,” he says. “You’re like the twins from the Shining.”

Trevor cringes. “You know, I don’t think we are.”

Honey just hums, picking up her drink and taking a sip. She clears her throat and turns back to Jack. “So those are your brothers?” She nods over to the pool table, where the shorter boy is lining up the 8-ball with the corner pocket. “Trevor said you had family coming.” 

Honey doesn’t miss the smirk and blush on Trevor’s face when she says his name, even as he dips his head and takes a gulp of his beer to cover it up.

Jack smiles, a genuine smile. It’s easy to tell the difference with him, when he’s really smiling or if he’s smiling because he thinks he’s supposed to. 

“Yeah, the goons.” Jack looks over his shoulder and grins as his taller brother loses his game of pool. “C’mon, Rusty, you brought that pool stick all this way and your game still sucks?”

The taller boy glares at Jack and sulks, re-racking his stick. He walks over and stands awkwardly behind the couch, but flicks Jack on the back of the head and Honey giggles before she can help it.

She looks down at her lap after letting out the little laugh and misses the way Trevor’s eyes light up and train on her. 

“Luke, you fucker,” Jack swears, flinching at the impact of Luke’s flick. Jack frowns, his eyebrows furrowed as he rubs the back of his head. “He’s my little brother.”

“Little brother,” Honey repeats. “And you’re just going to let him flick you like that?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Honey. Obviously I’m not going to let him get away with it.” He reaches around and half-asses a punch to Luke’s dick, just hard enough that it expels an “oof” from the younger boy and he doubles over a little bit.

The other boy interrupts. “Quit it,” he says. He glares at his brothers, then his eyes fix on Bea. “Your turn.”

Bea stands and smiles, a smug little smirk reserved for her conspiratory looks with Honey that signifies that she’s getting what she wanted. She joins the man by the rack of sticks and clasps her hands behind her back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Which stick should I use?”

Jack looks a little put out by the loss of Bea at his side, and casts a glare toward his other brother. “And that’s Quinn,” he says curtly. “Pool master, or whatever.”

“So he’s the best in the house?” Honey asks.

“We’ll tally scores at the end of the summer,” Luke jumps in as Quinn says, “Absolutely.”

Jack scowls. “You just think that because you’re older. Remember, Quinn: first is the worst. Second is the best.”

Trevor snorts and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s unnaturally quiet, Honey thinks. Trying to be cool in front of his friends, maybe.

“I take it you’re the second child,” Honey says. “That makes sense.”

“That makes sense?” Jack asks, repeating her statement like he can’t believe she dared to say that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Honey looks over at Bea, who presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. Daring Honey.

Honey rolls her head back, stretching the muscles of her neck. “You…” She starts, trailing off because she’s not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding mean. She scratches her eyebrow and scrunches her nose. “You like attention,” she decides, trying to keep her voice as free of judgment as possible. 

“Do I?” Jack asks, sounding unimpressed.

Honey shrugs. “You– I mean. Jack, you asked. You opened the door for us because you knew it would annoy Trevor, probably because you knew it would bother him that you were opening the door for m– us, instead of him. You flirt and smile when Bea sits next to you but you lean back and manspread when she gets up like you don’t want us to notice that you’re sitting without a girl at your side. You call your little brother a “fucker” and retaliate because you can, honestly escalating the situation from a flick to a punch to the dick. You act annoyed because your older brother is beating you at pool already this summer and it only just started, plus he took the girl from your side. It’s, uh… yeah. You like attention.”

Everyone but Jack starts to laugh.

“Stand up,” Cole says to Honey.

She does, her arms resting by her side awkwardly, her fingers twitching as she waits for him to do something.

Cole looks around the room and swears under his breath. “I didn’t think this through, one second,” he mutters, and disappears upstairs. 

Honey continues to stand there. She pats her hands against her thighs and looks around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but especially not Bea. If she makes eye contact with Bea, she’s going to burst out laughing. 

Trevor is still snickering, hiding his face in his shirt. Honey can still see the little crinkles by his eyes.

“She clocked you, man,” Quinn says with a shrug before pulling out a pool stick and standing it next to Bea. It comes up to the tip of her shoulder, Quinn’s chest. He nods in satisfaction and hands the stick over. Honey lets out a relieved breath of air at his approval, and then stifles a second when she watches Bea’s fingers brush over Quinn’s on the stick, her eyes lingering on his for just a second too long.

It’s too easy for her. 

Cole comes bounding down the stairs with a plastic soccer trophy in his hand. “Found this when I was snooping,” he says, approaching Honey and holding it out. He stands directly in front of her, makes eye contact with her, and stares into her eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sincere nod. “For taking Jack down a peg. He needed that. We all needed that.”

And he hands the trophy off to Honey with a handshake, like she’s graduating from high school and he’s the principal handing her a diploma. He takes the handshake and pulls her into a hug, the trophy crushed awkwardly between them. 

When he pulls away, Cole puts both hands on Honey’s arms and stares into her eyes again. “If you’re going to do that again, please don’t do it to me.”

Quinn breaks the rack with a crack of his stick, standing at a slight angle, and Honey sits back down, cradling her trophy in her hands.

Cole engages Honey in conversation for a few minutes, with Luke jumping in here and there. Jack turns on the TV and pouts. As much as she tries not to notice it, Trevor just stays quiet and sips his beer and sneaks glances at Honey out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, the conversation dies out and the group turns their attention to the television, which is streaming some hockey game that Honey doesn’t have an interest in. The boys are chitchatting away, throwing out names and positions and yelling at the TV when a call doesn’t go their way– Honey can’t tell who’s cheering for what team, but she can also tell that Jack and Luke don’t like the team in white… at all. Trevor seems to prefer them over the team in red. Cole doesn’t seem to care. He’s just laughing, still, at Jack. Jack just sulks, but he seems to cheer up once the team in red scores, late in the first period.

“You all really like hockey, huh?” Bea asks between turns. Quinn has sunken a ball almost every turn, but Bea has only sunken one. Honey grins at her, then glances at the pool table and back to Bea. Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey, playful and easy. If Quinn’s the kind of guy that Honey thinks he is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts teaching Bea some tricks to tighten up the game. 

Cole laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hope so.”

“What do you mean?” Bea asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, like she didn’t read all of Trevor’s Wikipedia page before coming here. 

“We play,” Luke says with a shrug.

Honey and Bea lock eyes and Honey plays along with her game. She tilts her head and blinks, as if this is the first time she’s hearing it. “Are you any good?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head as Bea leans over to line up a shot and Honey notices his hand on her waist when he points at a different ball, explaining that that would be the better shot for her. Bea sinks the recommended ball and jumps up with a cheer, smiling brightly at Quinn and standing just a little closer than she would if she wanted to be just friends.

“We’re alright,” Trevor says, the first words he’s said to Honey since she walked through the door. He stands. “Does anyone want another beer?”

The boys’ voices ring out in a chorus of yesses, whereas Honey stays mostly quiet. Bea agrees to another drink as well, which is when Trevor turns to Honey. “You’re sure you don’t want another drink? I’m already getting them for everyone.”

“I’m sure, but thank you,” Honey says. 

“Why don’t you go and help him carry the drinks,” Bea suggests from her post next to Quinn. 

Honey glares at her, but stands. She leaves her trophy on her seat, saving it. “Fine,” she replies, hoping the edge in her voice is only detectable to her best friend. She follows Trevor up the stairs to the kitchen, like an antisocial cat who has FOMO, but only when it comes to their owner. She crinkles her nose in disgust when she realizes that that’s how she looks, not that Trevor would notice or care. Actually, he would probably be elated if she compared herself to a cat following him around.

Trevor opens the fridge and sifts around, the bottles of beer clinking. The beer takes up most of the bottom shelf, unsurprisingly.

“Do you think you have enough?” Honey asks, unable to help herself when Trevor passes her a third bottle, each a different brand of beer, to carry. 

“Q and J like Michelob, Luke is a Miller guy, Coley likes Budweiser, and I’m more of a Modelo drinker.” Trevor’s head is buried in the back of the fridge, rifling through a pack of Millers that seem to be running low. “We’ve had to go to the store three times since that first day because we keep running out of the one beer that someone wants.”

He retreats from the refrigerator and turns to Honey. He’s got two beers in his hand. He holds them up and asks, “Which one do you think Bea wants?”

Honey weighs her choices, but ultimately chooses the Michelob. Bea will use it as a jumping point for her conversation with Quinn– it’s a no-brainer. As annoying as Bea’s boy-craziness is, Honey is always going to be her wingwoman and helper when she can.

“Cool,” Trevor says and returns the other beer to the shelf. He turns back to Honey and takes two of the beers she was carrying, leaving her with just two, the Budweiser and the Modelo.

“I thought you were a Modelo drinker,” Honey says.

“I am,” Trevor replies, heading towards the stairs. 

Honey follows. “Then why am I holding your beer?”

“Because I want you to hand it to me.”

Honey snorts out a laugh. “Okay.”

When they return downstairs, they distribute the beer. Honey hands Cole his Budweiser and waits for Trevor to finish handing out the beers to the Hughes brothers and her friend. Bea has finally managed to get Quinn to do the work for her, with him leaning behind her and guiding her arms over the cue, pointing out where she should be looking and where to hit the ball. There are no other balls on the table except the 8 ball, which makes Honey chuckle. There’s no way Bea sunk all of hers– Quinn had to have “mistakenly” knocked a few in for her.

Trevor returns to the sitting area and Honey stands, offering him the Modelo in her hand. On purpose, she realizes, Trevor closes his hand over her own to take the beer from her and thanks her with a smile, his eyes far too kind to be harmless and friendly. 

Honey shakes her head with a look, then frowns when Trevor plops his happy ass right down on the other side of her loveseat. She shakes her head again and chooses to watch the end of the pool game, sitting on one of the stool-saddles near the table. She claps when Bea finally sinks the 8 ball after her third whiff. The ball only sinks because Quinn leaned over Bea again and did it for her, working together to finish the game.

“I win!” Bea squeals in delight, jumping in celebration in front of Quinn.

He lets out a little chuckle, the most awkwardly and quietly endearing laugh that Honey has ever heard. “You won,” he agrees. “With my help.”

Bea tilts her chin up and smiles at Quinn, proud of herself. “So we both win,” she says. “That means we both get whatever we want.”

Honey bites her tongue and ducks her head, waiting for what’s coming next. She wants to turn around and look out the window, even though you can’t see anything in the dark mountainside now that the sun has set. The thing is, she also wants to see the boys’ reactions to what Bea is going to say next.

Quinn smiles, a little tiny smile. His focus is only on Bea, who has inched her way closer to him somehow. There’s not much more room between them. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “What do you want, Bea?”

Honey watches Quinn’s face, but she’s torn. She also wants to watch Jack.

“You know that tour Cole took us on when Honey and I first got here?” Bea asks, reaching out and smoothing out the turned-up fabric of Quinn’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, a little confused.

Bea rests her hand on his arm, slowly making her way down so she can wrap her hand around his fingers. She watches herself do it, then looks up at Quinn through her lashes. “I don’t think I saw your bedroom,” she says. “Would you care to show me?”

Quinn’s lips part in surprise and Honey watches his eyes search Bea’s own for… insincerity, maybe? 

At the same time, Jack chokes on a sip of his beer. Honey’s eyes fly to him and Cole pats his back as Jack coughs it out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, clapping his hand against his chest and coughing one last time.

Bea smiles at him, oozing confidence and a little showmanship, as Quinn leads her to the stairs. He lets her climb them first and Honey giggles when Quinn sneaks a glance at Bea’s ass and visibly relaxes before hurrying to catch up with her and get his hands on her hips. Bea’s twinkling laughter grows softer and softer as she bounds up the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier as Quinn closes in on her.

“Well shit, Jack,” Cole says. “I guess you’re not the first to fall into bed with a girl this summer. The streak is finally over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack says, pushing Cole’s hand off of his shoulder. He turns to face Honey, looking hopeful and a little desperate. “Wanna help me keep my streak up?”

A loud honking laugh escapes Honey. “Absolutely fucking not,” she replies, still laughing. She shakes her head at Jack, then notices the small, but mightily proud smile on Trevor’s lips. 

Choosing not to focus on that smile, a smile that she’s inadvertently becoming very fond of because she’s never seen him smile at his friends the way Trevor is smiling at her, Honey hops up from her stool and starts to gather the balls from the pockets of the table. She racks them, then grabs her cue and waves Trevor over. “I believe we had a game to play.”

“You had a game to lose,” Trevor corrects, standing and approaching Honey. He grabs his own stick, the one Quinn abandoned on the edge of the table when Bea proposed her bedroom shenanigans. 

“Hmm,” Honey voices, raising her eyebrows and exaggerating a grimace. “Consider me scared. Your break, Trevor.”

“When I win,” Trevor says. “I want to buy you dinner.” He lines up the cue ball and shoots, the colorful triangle of balls destroyed in a single swoop. One of the solids finds its way into a pocket and Trevor smirks.

“What a boring prize,” Honey muses. “But if you insist on those terms, then I agree.” She sticks out her hand to shake his. “And when I win…”

She leans down and eyes a line of three balls. The striped nine is farthest from the hole, but Honey wants to prove a point, so she angles her stick down at a steep slope and pushes– noticing Trevor’s mouth flattening into a line when her ball jumps over the other two and tips into the hole. She stands back up to her full height, tilting her head to the side. She cocks her hip and positions her hand against it, holding the cue up on her other side.

“I’m really going to enjoy your Zulu Run, Trevor.”

Cole whistles lowly from the couch. “I need to find you another trophy, girl.”

Honey shoots him a wink.

They play on. Trevor takes it easy– plays the safe route. With each easy fall into the pocket, he fistpumps to celebrate. Honey can only imagine how insufferable he is at the bowling alley. 

She shows him up, not even daring to let him pull ahead in their race and convince himself that he has a chance. She sinks the final black ball into the right-center pocket, bending herself all the way over the table to give him a good view of the girl who’s beating him. Her hips are high on the other side of the table, balancing up on her tip toes, facing the seating area. She doesn’t even look at the ball when she hits it, no, she’s looking up at Trevor with a tilted smile and mocking, bragging eyes. 

His eyes evaluate her– eyes, to lips, to chest, to ass. To the boys, making sure they aren’t looking, aren’t gawking at the round globes of Honey’s ass that are presented before them. Back to her ass. Her ass.

Honey stands, slowly, making sure Trevor memorizes the curve of her waist when she does. Her eyes drop to his pants, a smirk growing in time with his bulge, and she rests her hands on the edge of the table. She pulls her shoulders back, broadening her chest. 

It’s just a dominant stance. All Honey enjoys about this is the fact that his resolve and dignity crumble at the mere sight of a pretty girl bent before him. She likes knowing that he’s weak for her, but that she’ll never do anything about it.

She’s not looking for that.

“A Zulu Run,” Honey explains, clearing her throat to rid her voice of its sultry tinges. She shakes her hair back, over her shoulders. Trevor’s eyes darken at the sight of her throat. She smiles, but continues. “Is when you have to strip, sing a song, and streak around the house until the song is over.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the other boys. “Usually your friends get to pick your song.”

Jack perks up at that. Honey turns and hops up on the ledge of the pool table, knowing that Trevor’s eyes have fallen to her behind. Jack looks at Honey with delight in his eyes, seeming to forgive her in an instant for psychoanalyzing him earlier in the night. His eyes slide to Trevor and the look in them seems more akin to yearning for vengeance.

“So, boys,” Honey drawls. “What’ll it be?”

They scramble over each other to reach her, shouting song suggestions as they fly into their head. Honey can’t hear anything they’re saying, so she laughs until they fall silent. Cole’s hand presses into the side of her thigh, she looks down at it in disgust, then back up at him. It falls to the edge of the table, noticeable space between her and the appendage. 

“How about this,” Honey decides. She sneaks a glance at Trevor, gloating as she lets her eyes roam all over his body. She takes in his arms, his thighs under his shorts, the way his shirt falls over his shoulders. “Trevor looks pretty fit. Why don’t we all pick a song?” She winks at him. “Make him run for, oh, eleven minutes or so?”

A flicker of recognition passes through Trevor’s gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by disbelief. He doesn’t know how she would know– weren’t they subtle about it? She lets out a breath of a laugh at the look– no, Trevor, you weren’t subtle, she thinks. but it’s cute that you think you are.

She realizes what she was thinking in a split second and shakes herself out of it, snapping her face forward and crossing her legs knee-over-knee. 

“But only his friends get to pick, so I guess I’m out.” Honey hops down from her perch and breaks through the boys, settling herself on the loveseat with her trophy, laying out to take up as much space as she could. She picks up the remote from the table and places her other hand behind her head, navigating to the Roku menu screen. “Do we have Spotify on this thing?”

Luke, Jack, and Cole each pick a song and Cole helps Honey connect to the outdoor speakers. He re-presents her with her trophy with a flourish and a bow, playful and lame. The boys push Trevor out to the patio with a whoop, pulling at his clothes even as Trevor fights them. 

Honey follows at a distance and watches through the glass door. She looks away when Trevor sheds his underwear and waits for Luke’s countdown to end before looking back up. She doesn’t want to see it. That’s just too far. She gets an eyeful of his ass as he rounds the corner of the house, though. 

As Trevor starts his third song, Cole’s cheesy Taylor Swift pick (“You can’t outrun my music now, bitch!”), Jack joins Honey at the door. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Honey tells him, rubbing over the skin on her arms. 

Jack nods at her, shrugging easily. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Honey leads him up the stairs, hearing Trevor’s whoops grow louder as he finishes the second verse of the song. She knows he catches them walking up the stairs because his singing falters for a moment. His steps speed up. So do Honey’s. 

She walks briskly to the front door, bordering on a speedwalk, with Jack behind her. She swings her keys over her finger and wrenches the front door open. Jack catches it before it hits the wall. 

“What about Bea?” He asks, calling after Honey and making her pause. 

“She’ll find her way home,” Honey replies and steps off again. She has to get out of here before Trevor races up the stairs to stop her from being alone with Jack and she gets an eyeful of his– junk.

“Honey!” Jack calls again. 

She lurches to a stop and cringes, turning to face the boy. 

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to flirt with you anymore."

Honey takes a breath, walking back and reaching up to pat Jack's cheek, just forceful enough that it'll sting for a moment after she walks away. It's not quite a hit, but it's definitely not a love tap. "That doesn't hold the power that you think it does," she tells him with a nod and a close-lipped smile. She goes to leave, but Jack stops her by grabbing her hand.

"Trevor likes you, you know. He was quiet tonight, but he likes you. He's reading that book you gave him and everything," Jack says in earnest, his blues boring into Honey's own eyes. 

Honey picks up on the unsaid words. He's trying, take it easy on him, he might be annoying but he's good, and he likes you. You should like him too, and all of that.

The edges of Honey's smile soften and she gently pulls her hand from Jack's. "It's nice to know he can read," she replies, deflecting. Whatever Trevor feels for her, not that he can really feel anything because he doesn't know her like that, doesn't matter. She's not looking for that right now. "Thanks for hosting us, Jack. I'm sorry for what I... said."

"It's okay." Jack shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

"Goodnight," Honey bids him, and starts to walk away.

"Come back," Jack says, and Honey whips around and finds him looking like the words surprised him when he heard himself speak. He clears his throat. "Friday. Um, it's— it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and National Donut Day." He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Really... important holiday."

Honey can't do anything but laugh. "I'll bring the donuts."

She walks to her car and ignores the chirping of bullfrogs echoing in her ears as she drives down the mountain to her home, alone.

7:90 – TREVOR

Jack glares at Trevor when he walks down to the kitchen early the next morning. As Trevor rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn, Jack shifts under the frozen pack of peas that rests precariously on his shoulderblades. Trevor had barely touched him last night, he was just being dramatic. So he had a bit of soreness on his back from where Trevor pushed him against the wall and asked him what the hell he was doing, who cares? He went upstairs with Trevor’s girl. Alone. 

“Bea’s taking you to church with her this morning for laying a finger on me,” Jack growls out when Trevor looks at him and laughs.

“No shit,” Trevor replies, snorting.

“It’s true,” comes the female voice from the couch. Bea leans forward, her tube top skewed and tilted enough to draw a wandering eye. Trevor rolls his. “You shouldn’t get violent, not on my watch.”

“You weren’t even with me last night, Bea,” Trevor says sweetly, tilting his head down to dismiss her. “You didn’t see me do shit. How can you prove it was me and not Luke?”

“Luke put a video of it on his private story, then showed me,” Bea snickers in the same tone. “So you’re taking me home and helping me choose my best church outfit to hide these hickeys, and then you’ll join me at the service. It’ll be good for your reputation in town.”

“I don’t really care about my reputation in town,” Trevor laughs.

“Honey cares about your reputation in town,” Bea clarifies, a tight, ‘there’s no room for discussion here’ smile on her face. She pointedly looks him up and down. “Little Bear.”

Trevor scowls at her condescending tone and use of the nickname. How dare she flaunt her inner circle-ness to Trevor. 

“I was going to go to church anyway,” Trevor boasts. “Vera told me to bring all of the boys.”

“Well, you’re the only one resorting to violence–” Jack begins, seething, before Bea cuts him off.

“No, this is a good idea,” she says, waving her hand to quiet him. “We should all go to church.”

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think we need to go,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

“I don’t want the town to think y’all are reclusive party folk who have no interest in the happenings of Litchton,” Bea snaps. “You’d be surprised how quickly the old grannies will turn on you.”

“And you get to walk into church with five guys on your arm,” Jack says, still scowling. This time, his attention is focused on Bea, not the man who physically hurt him the night before. 

“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor deadpans, a disgusted look thrown Bea’s way.

She’s unperturbed by it, probably from many years of Honey– Honey.– throwing her similar looks. All Bea does is smile and reply, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.”

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

“Yeah, I fuck,” Quinn agrees, descending the stairs. He veers to the couch first and drops a kiss on Bea’s head in greeting.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.” Jack looks at Quinn expectantly, maybe waiting for pushback.

Quinn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea says with a nod. “And the church, of course.”

Jack scowls and removes his pack of peas from his back. Trevor takes his opportunity to approach the fridge, conveniently behind Jack. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, trying to exude optimism now that he’s not the only boy being forced to attend church and wash themselves of their sins. He turns and purposefully claps his hand down on Jack’s shoulder, hard. Jack howls in pain. Trevor squeezes just to watch him tense up. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Bea smiles, voice dripping with cheerfulness. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs and change?” Her eyes fix on Quinn, whose shirt rides up as he grabs a glass from the upper shelves of the cabinets. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack make a face, but scramble towards the stairs. They push and shove each other all the way up– Trevor is particularly satisfied when Jack bumps into the wall and groans– then split off into their respective rooms. Trevor treats it like a race– whoever finishes changing first wins.

Jack is already back downstairs by the time Trevor returns. Cole is there, and Luke, and both of them seem to be dressed for the service too. None of the boys have the best church clothes, but it’s a small town with farmers. Surely not everyone will be in their Sunday best every Sunday. Quinn is noticeably missing, but Bea is standing by the door with a smile on her face. Her lips look a little more red than they did before Trevor went upstairs. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You, and you,” Bea says, pointing at Jack and Trevor. “Come with me. Trevor, grab your car keys. You’re driving.”

“What about Luke and Cole?” Trevor asks, picking up his keys from their spot on the hook next to the door and trailing behind Bea. Jack trails behind Trevor, still grumbling and pretending like his shoulders hurt for dramatic effect. Trevor ought to show him some real pain next time.

The three people climb into the car, Trevor behind the wheel and Bea in the passenger seat. Jack, once again, finds himself relegated to the backseat. He straps himself in and Trevor catches his murderous glare in the rearview mirror.

“Quinn’s going to drive them,” Bea explains. “They’ll meet us at the church.”

“Whipped,” Jack coughs out. He does a terrible job of masking the word. 

Trevor rolls his eyes, just like Bea. She opens her mouth to say something, sass him, but thinks better of it.

They drive on in silence, the occasional sigh or grunt from Jack as he shifts in his seat. Trevor glares at him again in the mirror and Jack hits him with a fake smile before looking out the window to watch the trees whip by.

Bea directs them to the main strip of shops, then tells them to take a left onto one of the sidestreets near The Reading Nook. They pull up to a big brick house, separated down the middle by a massive staircase. Bea climbs the stairs and turns to the left again, unlocking and pushing her front door open.

She leads the boys into her living room, which is decorated exactly how Trevor expected it to be. The couch is white with pink pillows and a white shag rug beneath it. Her furniture is odd, thrifted and worn in. None of it matches, although Trevor suspects that her theme was “Barbie girl aesthetic.” It’s messy, and comfortable, and Trevor almost envies how she lives. His apartment in Anaheim is sparse– when you’re on the road so much and as busy with your job as Trevor is, you really only need a place to eat and sleep. His decorations reflect that.

Trevor sprawls out on the couch, leaving Jack standing awkwardly next to the coffee table. Bea disappears down the hall and enters her bedroom, her closet door creaking open.

“Jack, come here, will you?” Bea asks. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he starts down the hallway nonetheless. 

Trevor snoops in his absence, Jack’s presence no longer a threat to his comfort. He drags himself off of the couch and stands, advancing towards the shelves of knickknacks on the wall near the television.

Bea has got a number of books on her shelves, overtaking two of the four rows. The other rows are sparse and far more interesting– there are picture frames spread along the rows, six frames that depict Bea’s life and what she loves.

Four of the pictures feature Honey. The other two are groups of people that Trevor assumes are Bea’s family, her extended family on each of her parents’ sides. He can ignore those easily, not caring about about Bea to scan each of her cousins’ faces. The pictures with Honey are a different story.

There’s a picture of the two when they were ten, or eleven, riding their bikes down an asphalt street lined with suburban houses. Bea’s bike is pink with streamers and flowers and a little basket. Honey’s is dark green and sporty, similar to Trevor’s own bicycle from childhood. Honey’s smile is wry, whereas Bea’s is glowing.

The second, from a birthday party. It’s Honey’s birthday and they’re four, from the looks of the lit candle on her cake. Honey’s smile is wide, much wider than the previous image. Her hair is messy and her tongue is stained green, probably from a lollipop or a Jolly Rancher. Her arms are wrapped around Bea’s neck and she’s pulled her friend close, their cheeks pressing together. Bea’s expression is a little different. Only one of her eyes is squeezed shut, the one closer to Honey. Her lips are pursed like a duck and her little fingers are raised in a peace sign.

Trevor chuckles. If his mom had been the one taking the picture, she would’ve said “What a ham” about the girls’ goofiness.

In the next picture, they’re older. They’re sixteen, probably. Bea’s wearing these short jean shorts and a bikini top and Honey wears a matching top under some long, gray sweatpants. She rolled the waistband up and her back is mostly to the camera, Bea lifted off the ground in a swooping hug. Bea’s legs are kicked up behind her like she’s experiencing a really good, Princess Diaries kind of kiss and her face is frozen in laughter. Honey’s is the same. Trevor’s heart clenches at the smile on her face and the way her hair blows out behind her.

Finally, there’s a selfie of the two of them in a handmade frame. It’s from a high angle and Trevor can’t tell if it’s a .5 picture or a regular one. Honey’s eyebrow is raised and she wears an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, goofy enough to tug at Trevor’s smile. Bea’s mouth is open and she has a hand pinching Honey’s chin, while the other is raised to take the picture. Behind them is the Welcome to Litchton sign that Trevor passes each time he goes into town. 

Trevor’s eyes glide down to the handmade frame, the written message along the top and bottom borders.

“New Beginnings!” and smaller, in the corner, a more personalized message. Trevor thinks that she wrote the message in a thin Sharpie– it’s too pristine still, after years. “There’s no one I would rather have join me in Litchton than you. Thank you for always being the Bea to my Honey! Honeybea 4ever <3”.

Trevor reaches out and takes the frame in his hand, inspecting it. He turns it over. More script, also in a Sharpie: “2019”, it reads. He replaces the item, making sure it’s back in the exact right spot. 

“Bea, hurry up!” Trevor calls, returning to the couch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, leading Jack out of her bedroom. She’s clasping a necklace as she walks, then holds out her wrist and a bracelet for Jack to clasp. “We can go now.”

They leave the apartment and climb back into the car, Jack beating Bea out for the passenger seat this time. He’s smug about it too, grinning to himself while he buckles up. Trevor opens the back door for Bea and helps her into the car with a guiding hand in hers. When Jack realizes that he fumbled the chance to look like a gentleman, his face returns to its scowl. 

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Trevor warns when he finally sits behind the wheel again. He shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking space.

Bea directs them to the church and Trevor pulls into the parking lot next to Quinn’s car, which is still running. They’ve got about five minutes before the service begins and Bea chastises the three boys for not going inside and reserving seats early. 

“There’s only a few instances where the whole town goes out to do something,” Bea complains as they walk inside. “Church is one of them. We’re never going to find a spot for all six of us.”

“No Honey?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He expected her to join them, especially since the ‘whole town’ is here.

Bea casts Trevor a look and snickers into her palm. “You’re sweet, Trevor,” she says and Trevor rolls his eyes at her saccharine tone. “But Honey decided a long time ago that she had enough religion in her life growing up. She and God know where they stand.”

Trevor reaches the door to the church first and holds it open for the group, letting them file in. He’s grateful that they’re in the church now, because all of the other boys are either too respectful of the space and what it represents or too awkward in a silent building to make fun of Trevor for seeking out Honey. Or they don’t want to get on Bea’s bad side and act a fool in church and suffer her wrath.

They file into one of the back pews, Bea sandwiched between Quinn and Luke. Trevor sits on the other side, right at the aisle. 

For an hour, he stays quiet and moves and speaks with the congregation. He counts the number of times that Cole tases Jack’s side, sticking his fingers between his ribs to cause him to flinch and make noise in the reverent area. He does this five times throughout the mass before Bea leans forward and threatens to cut his hands off herself. 

For an hour, Trevor stares forward and lets his mind wander to Honey, and all the thoughts he has about her. She’s a mystery and she’s quiet like Quinn, but confident in a way that Quinn never achieved. She knows exactly who she is and won’t budge for anyone, won’t change herself or act in any special ways around certain people. 

Trevor admires it– he’s spent his whole life performing for people, in a way. Hockey is his life and always has been, but sometimes it’s tiring to realize that all of his friends are people he met on ice. To think that he can be surrounded by his teammates and the fans in any arena and still feel lonely– it’s the kind of thing that leaves Trevor wondering if this career was a good idea. 

In another world, he’s playing in a beer league in a town like this, with a girl like Honey on his arm. 

The thought leaves him feeling heavy, weighed down. It ruminates in his mind, even after the service is over. It sours his mood completely and Trevor wishes he was back at the house so he could take a shower or something and stop the prickling feelings from taking over his skin.

In the parking lot, the group chats about nothing. Trevor doesn’t listen. Bea introduces the boys to come of the townsfolk and Trevor smiles and shakes the men’s hands, hugs the ladies or send a special look their way. Vera and Earl honk as they drive past the group, Vera blowing a kiss towards Trevor and Cole through the passenger window. Cole catches it and sticks it to his cheek, then sends one back. It makes Vera laugh.

Trevor tunes back into the conversation as the boys discuss plans for the upcoming week– Jack edges away from Trevor before he mentions that he invited Honey over that coming Friday and that Bea should come too. 

“Well, you’ll rarely find a Honey without its Bea,” Bea teases. She claps. “Okay. I’ll see you guys then. Quinn, take me home?”

Quinn nods and puts his hand on the small of her back to direct her to the car. Bea pauses and waves Trevor over, shooing the other boys away. Quinn stays, his hand still on Bea’s body.

“There’s a fruit stand outside the grocery store on Mondays,” Bea says.

“I know, I’ve been,” Trevor interrupts.

Bea quiets him with a click of her tongue. She chooses her words carefully, her eyes hard. “Go tomorrow at, like, six,” she suggests, a faux-nonchalant shrug lifting her shoulders. “You might find something that you like there. I recommend buying the strawberries. They make a lovely gift, Trevor.”

Trevor frowns, confused. “I don’t like strawberries,” he replies.

Bea closes her eyes and processes his words for a moment, a tight smile on her lips. “They make a lovely gift, Trevor,” she repeats.

“Sick,” Trevor says, his voice hard. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m not buying strawberries for you, Bea. I don’t know you enough to give you gifts.”

Bea stomps her foot. “Good fucking God, Trevor. Quinn, can you explain this shit to him?” She asks, then walks off to the car. She takes Quinn’s keys from his hand and gets behind the driver’s seat herself. 

Quinn watches her walk away, then turns to Trevor. “She’s telling you that you’ll run into Honey, you fucking idiot, and that you should buy her strawberries.” 

He leaves Trevor standing there, eyes wide.

Yeah, he’s definitely heading to the fruit stand tomorrow and buying strawberries.

He concocts his plan on the drive home, silent compared to the other three boys, that are laughing and flopping around the backseat with every turn in a game of Jell-O. They’re not wearing their seatbelts. When they get too loud, Trevor envisions ejecting them from the backseat, leaving them sailing down the mountain, falling through the air.

He holes himself up in his room to nap when they get home, too excited to see Honey to let the time pass organically. It’s like time travel, this way. Trevor will wake up and be two hours closer to seeing her, to getting another chance to win her over. This time, with a gift.

In the afternoon, he laces up his blades and skates with the boys. Quinn has come back by now, not spending much time at Bea’s apartment after church, according to Luke. They all skate and shoot for a couple of hours, playing a game of pickup with an extra player to sub in and out. When that ends, they run some drills. Luke and Quinn play defense, like always, with Trevor, Cole, and Jack recreating their legendary line from USNTDP. It works out perfectly, and each boy pushes himself like they’re playing a real game. It’s the brotherly competition that fuels them– and when the drills start to fall into disarray from hits and other penalties that would certainly be called out in a game, they head off to shower.

The night ends slowly, fizzling out compared to the way it ended the night before. The boys lounge in the game room, sprawling out on the couches and snacking and sipping their beer. Trevor isn’t made to perform another Zulu Run, no one picks up a pool cue, and they watch shitty TV movies on the Spanish channel instead of English. They make up the dialogue as they go and Trevor is the first to go to sleep. He makes it to midnight, but then he forces himself to go to bed. 

He’s got a big day ahead of him… after 5 p.m., anyway.

–end–of–chapter–one–

[murkycran]

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Miscellaneous Vox Fic Rec List!

Soooo after a lot of consideration, I decided to make a third rec list. This one will be for miscellaneous fics, which can mean anything from smaller Vox pairings to fics that are not strictly Radiostatic or VoxVal. You'll see what I mean.

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, too, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work or are wrong!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Radiostatic Fic Rec List

Staticmoth Fic Rec List

------

Alastor Makes a Porno by Charnel_Goat, spappest

Summary: Alastor interrupts Val and Vox's personal time to get his rut over and done with, and they're just going to have to deal with that.

Basically, Alastor and Val try to have a threesome, but they keep arguing, everyone's injuring each other trying to figure out the logistics, and nobody cares what Vox has to say about any of this.

Notes: This has Staticmoth, Radiostatic, and Valastor. It's not strictly leaning more towards any pairing (tho Val does make a pretty sweet comment at the very beginning about Vox lol), which is why it's going on the Misc List. Porn with an edge of hilarity that - despite the tags - made it pretty funny. Three terrible people being terrible to each other. Vox suffers. Heed the tags.

He's Visual, Alright! by dead_boy

Summary: For Valentines Day, Charlotte Morningstar— Lucifer’s brat— had announced the hotel would be hosting a sweetheart poll, allowing winners to vote for the biggest ‘sweethearts’ in Pentagram City! How adorable!

— Of course, when Angel gets involved, things get a little twisted, and hell treats it as a most-fuckable-celebs poll.

Vox isn’t the only one surprised by how high he scored, and how concerning the amount of votes he received was.

But there was no way in hell this “demand” was enough to make him give into Valentino and Velvet’s newest fixation: Making use of this fame and making Vox do some modelling!

Surely he won’t mind the lingerie and toys provided by Velvet and Valentino respectively, right?

edit march 2024: i can’t believe he just won the hottest hazbin character poll. literally manifested

Notes: Poly Vees. Funny af. Vox suffers, but in a good way. Written BEFORE the hottest HH character poll, can you believe that? Lmao.

stray by vol_ctrl

Summary: How Vox met Vark. ♥

Notes: No ship. Written before season 1 release.

After the Credits Roll by leftofrevolution

Summary: Everyone knew the Magnes sometimes liked to spice up their sex life by dragging another demon into the middle of it.

Vox maybe should have paid more attention to that particular tidbit of information than he did.

Notes: Lilith/Lucifer/Vox. Chapter 1 written before season 1 release, with Chapter 2 being released after season 1 release. I read for the crackship, ended up liking the Lilith/Lucifer/Vox dynamic and world-building a LOT. Lol. Poor Vox. Or good for him? Still has yet to be seen.

The Shopping Cart Test by spappest

Summary: Angel never expected Prince Charming to have a TV for a head, but when Vox kills Valentino and saves him from his abuse, well… Maybe Hell doesn’t have to be all that bad. With Val out of the way, everyone can have a happy ending. Angel’s safe, Charlie’s happy, and even Alastor finds love.

Oh, wait. This is Hell. It’s always that bad.

Notes: Angel/Vox. Started before season 1 release. First Staticdust fic I read. :)

Hold Me Up by Sameko

Summary: Vox has been in and out of a relationship with Valentino for years. Always breaking up. Always coming back.

Then one night comes the definitive crack at the expense of one of Valentino's employees, to which Vox never paid much attention other than for shits and giggles.

One night, one word too many, might be enough to shift the perspectives of two people once strangers to each other.

Notes: Staticdust. Pretty bleak and dark at times, but so, SO good. Two broken people trying not to cut each other with their edges while also trying to help each other.

Cruel Melody by Hiding_Behind_a_Pencil_and_Pen

Summary: A man hopelessly in love with a monster, despite how much it hurts.

A person chained to a beast he can never escape, no matter how hard he tries.

Vox and Angel Dust have given their body and heart to Valentino, and neither know how to free themselves from his lies.

But maybe, even if it never gets better, they won't have to suffer alone.

Or,

What if Husk was just a little too late to get to the bar in episode four? And a certain media Overlord helped Angel instead. They find out that they're not so different after all.

Notes: As of now, I think this is Queerplatonic Staticdust.

Revelations in Technicolor by Awesome_Possum

Summary: Velvette had been dead for six years, part of The Vees for four, and fucking Vox for a little over two. They had a good thing going.

On one of their bi-weekly Vox-mandated movie nights, Valentino put a plan into motion and Velvette learned something new and surprising about her business partner and part-time sugar daddy that made a shocking amount of sense.

It ultimately ended up bringing The Vees closer and if Valentino claimed that was his intention all along, no one had any reason to believe him.

Notes: The Vees are a V and Vox is the hinge, so he's in a relationship with both Valentino and Velvette. Interesting headcanons for Vox's human life. :) (What is the ship name for Velvette/Vox again?)

System Shutdown by Swoolie

Summary: Taking a leaf from Alastor's book, Vox goes on a small break from everything.

He doesn't stick around long enough to see the chaos that ensues after his sudden disappearance.

Notes: This is tagged with both Radiostatic and Staticmoth. It's too early in the story to tell definitively which direction it's going to end up, so for now it's going to be on the Misc list. I'll probably move it when it becomes more clear what the main pairing will be.

Dapple Rose by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Everyone always assumes the same thing about Alastor and Vox's relationship: That it's one-sided, that it's based on fixation, and that the reason for their falling out was due to the obsession turning into something that couldn't be controlled.

All of those assumptions are correct. The only problem is, everyone gets the 'who is obsessing over whom' part of the equation wrong.

When Vox and Valentino end up stuck at the hotel, suddenly the entire relationship between the radio and television is put on display, casting it and Alastor in an entirely different light.

Notes: Tagged with both Radiostatic and Staticmoth. Due to both this and the entire story itself (you'll see what I mean when you read it), it's going here on the Misc List. I freaking love this story, because so far I've not seen another fic where Alastor was obsessed with Vox while Vox was not obsessed with him in return. :3 Everything Penny_Tails writes is gold!

Here I Come by Heliosolar

Summary: Vox contemplates his lackluster life as he stands over the edge of the city.

Or, the fall of Vox, both mentally and physically.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. No ships, just Vox. Heed the tags.

Entertainment for Two by Heliosolar

Summary: With the radio demon joining them for the night, Vox puts on a show the two overlords will never forget.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Staticmoth and Radiostatic, at the same time. 😳

Proposition by Snorp_Lord

Summary: Alastor does not, strictly speaking, have a 'relationship' with the King of Hell. But they certainly have a something.

A something which does not include Vox. But Alastor is at least willing to indulge Lucifer in whatever this new idea is.

The new idea is Vox.

Notes: Contains Radiostatic, Radioapple, and Staticapple, but for this installment, Radiostatic is definitely the focus. Very intense, pretty sweet. 😳 Has 2 more parts in the series which are definitely worth the read, though they don't feature Vox as much.

meteor shower by spoondrifts

Summary: alastor, rosie, vox, and a study in non-traditional love.

Notes: QPR Alastor/Rosie/Vox. Very good! (What's the ship name for this?? Radiostaticrose?? Radiorosestatic?? Roseradiostatic?? Staticradiorose??)

spiraling down thy majesty by spoondrifts

Summary: “Okay, um, time out,” Lucifer said, because he felt like they were maybe losing the plot a little. “I feel like I should remind you that I’m not here because I was like, uh, overwhelmed with lust for you, in particular. I’m here because Husk said you were Alastor’s ex and I have poor impulse control and thought it’d be funny, but I’m realizing now that this is actually just really weird and you, my friend, have some serious issues that I am not equipped to handle.”

Or: Lucifer and Vox have a shared problem that starts with Al and ends in stor and has a in the middle—thankfully, there's a solution! (The solution is sex. It's just sex.)

Notes: Staticapple. Revenge sex. As in...they're both getting revenge on Alastor...using each other. Lol.

(Fic rec list to be continued as I read more)

[celebbun]

Rejoice, children, for I have decided that an unhinged rant is in order

I have come to the conclusion that, despite what much of the fandom would like to think, Legolas is, in fact, not a prince. My reasoning to back this up is based on two main pillars: the Woodland Realm’s monarchy system and Legolas’ lack of royal title throughout the books.

In regards to the Woodland Realm/Eryn Galen/Eryn Lasgalen: it was founded when Oropher and Thranduil arrived at the Greenwood with a handful of people and integrated into Silvan society, with the Silvan later making Oropher their king. Now, I can’t find the exact passage that describes Oropher becoming king. It’s not in the Unfinished tales of the Appendix B of The Return of the King; it might be in The Peoples of Middle Earth, but I can’t find a pdf of it to save my life. However, the Tolkien Gateway describes his ascension as him being “taken up by the Elves of the wood as their king” and “taken by the Silvan Elves as their lord” in the pages for Oropher and Mirkwood, respectively. The Thranduil page also uses very similar phrasing.

The implication here is that the Silvan chose Oropher as king, rather than he declaring himself as such, which led me to think that this could very well be taken as Oropher being elected king; and therefore the Woodland Realm would have an elective monarchy. In regards to Thranduil being king after Oropher, I’d chalk it up to a mere coincidence. After Oropher’s death at Dagorlad, Thranduil led Greenwood’s armies for almost the full 7 years of the Last Alliance, so it’d only make sense if he were the one  elected as the next king.

In an elective system, only the person who’s elected holds the title that they’ve been elected for, so there is no Royal Family, or titles adjacent to that of king. In the case of Oropher becoming king, only he would hold a royal title, which means Thranduil would be the son of the king, but not a prince. Later, that same pattern would repeat itself when Thranduil is elected king. Legolas is the king’s son, but that doesn’t grant him any titles or authority.

In fact, Legolas’ lack of titles is something that stands out quite a bit in the books. Despite him being introduced as the son of Thranduil, he’s never once called a prince, and his parentage is never acknowledged by any other character. Even when Aragorn introduces him in Rohan, he does so by calling him “Legolas of the Woodland Realm”, once again ignoring who his father is, and foregoing any weight or influence of name dropping the Elvenking. Sure, it can be argued that in this instance, Aragorn wasn’t sure of where Rohan stands in regards to the war, so revealing Legolas is the child of someone important might be risky, as well as that he emphasised the Woodland Realm to differentiate Legolas from the elves of Lothlórien, whom the people of Rohan distrust; still, it’s quite interesting.

“But what about the queen?” No queen. “Oh, but Thranduil had a child, so he must have had a wife!” Why? Because you believe in the myth of the nuclear family? Can a single man with not a drop of mental health not raise a child alone as though it’s his emotional support crusty white dog? He even followed the guidelines: adopt, don’t shop. “Oh, but the movies!” The Hobbit movies have dealt irreparable damage to Thranduil’s character and nothing they said matters to me. I was in this fandom before they came out, I remember the glory days of Thranduil’s tag on Tumblr and AO3 and, yes, I’m bitter.

Anyway, even if Thranduil were married to whatever “heart of gold, died tragically” OC the fandom has lined up, she wasn’t voted in, so no royal title for her.

But yeah, Legolas isn’t a prince, he’s just some guy who happens to have a very powerful dad and no authority of his own.

[tmntxthings]

一Holiday Comps・゜・。

author’s notes: so last weekend me & mine decorated our own gingerbread houses, call me inspired ✨

author’s notes 2.0: *sigh* i couldn’t get this done during xmas, so sad, but i want it OUT of my drafts, totally lost the motivation after Donnie’s 😭 forgive meeeeee

warnings: cursing? competitive nature x10, unedited asf it’s 2:00 am rn :3

—————————————————————————

Leo

Obviously he would be trying really hard. Because if anything suddenly becomes a competition all this turtle is concerned about is being numero uno.

“We should up the stakes a bit. April! You’ll be the judge, anddddd add in stuff to like throw us off our game. Make it harder! Oooh time limit of 40 minutes?”

He’s like adding shit and making things way more complicated than just a, “Oh cool gingerbread house contest? When everyone finishes the judges can decide who wins!”

No! Nope! Not happening. This will be the X-Games of Gingerbread Comps. Glory or death type shiz. So how does this process that he thrust upon the whole gang work? Well let me just say he has no problem abiding by the time set.

But his house looks messy as hell. He had a very hard time getting the roof to stop collapsing and may have looked over at Donnie to see how he got it done. Icing? Everywhere. He has no problem when one of the challenges was to “Switch hands! Use your least dominant,”

Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Though some could argue that it didn’t matter what hand he used, it would have been messy either way. If one challenge was to switch seats and work on a brother’s gingerbread house be ready for a slick sabotage. One that Mikey may not have realized until his own foundation started fumbling, why were the walls caving in?! And what happened to the tree gummies that had been set aside?!

Leo happened, that’s what. Though he is quick to deny and not know the nature of those issues at all. By the end April is video recording to also get Sunita and Cass’s vote. Including Splinter that’s four! One for each turtle if everyone is lucky.

The responses on Leo’s house are making him pace. He can’t stay still as he hears Cass laugh out loud, wondering why the hell his gingerbread man is on the roof. “This one is a bit all over the place but, it’s got personality!” Is the saving comment from Sunita who revives Leo’s confidence in the whole ordeal

In the end I think with the time frame Leo definitely got shit on his house, but it doesn’t look all that pretty, one vote at least!

He’s butt hurt about whoever wins if it’s not him and definitely calls out his brother’s own flaws in their own work. Petty. P-E- to the T-T-Y~!

Donnie

If given an unlimited amount of time, I do believe Donnie would be a real rival in this house decorating competition. First of all he’s good with his hands, precision baby, precision!!! He has the most practice with fiddling around with crazy small parts. Those little sprinkle balls aren’t falling to the floor due to his hands.

Now he may not get a lot of them on, because this turtle will take up a lot of time just getting the foundation of the house perfect. The walls have to be straight! The roof cannot be uneven! April may have to stop him from using outside sources or trying to break the whole model build and go for something more his style.

Once he finishes with that Donnie probably took about 10 minutes alone with it having to be perfect. Icing is up next and oml this may be his downfall. There is so much to secure, and you have to take into account the drying time! The challenges he has no problem with either but they eat up his time completely!!

If April decides to do a bit of trivia, winner gets to penalize whomever he chooses, Donnie is most likely winning those even if April chooses a fair category like Jupiter Jim or Lou Jitsu. Trivia is just Donnie’s jam, and the only way he can get Leo to stop for two minutes or be able to eat one of Raph’s essential pieces like a peppermint decor!

Donnie’s build would be the cleanest, icing looking beautiful! Like touched of snow on the house! But he would hardly have any decorations due to sheer lack of time. He’d have a vote for sure but would get comments like, “It looks pretty simple!” or “This one doesn’t have a doorknob!”

“If I had more time,” would be his immediate come back. Puffing up and feeling defensive because this competition is definitely in his wheelhouse, but Leo of course had to make it to where a genius couldn’t thrive under such terse conditions. Hmph!

I’m sure April’s vote would be for Donnie

Mikey

He’s an artist, artists thrive in silly little gingerbread house competitions. I mean come on he’s the one who has the most creative ideas. Probably the most aesthetically pleasing as well!

But I fear Mikey will lack in the actual house building part. Which is literally just four slabs of gingerbread and the two more for the roof. He’d struggle to get it to stand. He’d struggle to get it to stay still. “Why does it keep MOVING?!” He’d be yelling out his frustration for sure

Even more so when he finally gets everything to stay in place only for one of the challenges to be switch houses. Leo getting his house and while Mikey doesn’t pay too much attention to what Leo is doing, when he gets his gingerbread house back it’s suddenly collapsing again?! He thought he had solved that problem! ACK! “LEO!!!” But no amount of calling his older brother out would change the fact that his house still isn’t put together

When…If he does get it together in time, you best believe he’s rushing to finally get to his favorite part! The decorations! He’s definitely eaten a couple of things without noticing it happening himself. It’s not exactly good candy, but candy is candy!

I think Splinter would vote for Mikey’s even if the house is crumbling, it’s a pretty crumbling house, out of all the brothers I think Mikey would win in a contest that wasn’t rigged by Leo!

Raph

I’m sorry, but he’d eat like half his materials. HE WOULD! So there wouldn’t be a house, maybe a shack if he’s lucky.

And on top of his appetite getting the best of him, everything is pretty darn small, and his fingers are chunky. This activity is just really not made for him but he’s doing his best, okay? His best with what he has left LOL

The hardest part would be decorating since the candy would be the smallest pieces to get on. He’d have icing everywhere, mostly on his fingers to which he would be licking clean, losing more material!!!

“Raph are you even trying???” Leo would goad, feeling that much better about himself and his standing even though he’s not doing much better as we have seen! Raph doesn’t let Leo get to him, he’s happy to just be doing something with the fam! And eating!

I think Cass would vote for this guy’s shack. Probably for some odd reason that I could never guess because she’s such a wild card to me sksksksks

[beardedmrbean]

"Accidents" and deaths may be inevitable in extreme climate activism that could merit blowing up thousands of pipelines, author and radical climate activist Andreas Malm said in a startling new interview.

The "How to Blow Up a Pipeline" writer and activist gave an interview to The New York Times on his upcoming follow-up book, "Overshoot: How the World Surrendered to Climate Breakdown." At the top of the exchange, Malm was questioned on how "it’s hard to think that deaths don’t become inevitable if there is more sabotage" like blowing up pipelines. 

"Sure, if you have a thousand pipeline explosions per year, if it takes on that extreme scale. But we are some distance from that, unfortunately," Malm answered.

When pressed on that response, Malm argued, "Well, I want sabotage to happen on a much larger scale than it does now. I can’t guarantee that it won’t come with accidents. But what do I know? I haven’t personally blown up a pipeline, and I can’t foretell the future."

Malm admitted that he has recently taken part in actions that have been "illegal" and "militant." The interviewer, David Marchese, then pushed back against his condoning of political violence in a democracy.

"We live in representative democracies where certain liberties are respected. We vote for the policies and the people we want to represent us. And if we don’t get the things we want, it doesn’t give us license to then say, ‘We’re now engaging in destructive behavior.’ Right? Either we’re against political violence or not. We can’t say we’re for it when it’s something we care about and against it when it’s something we think is wrong," the interviewer said. 

"Of course we can. Why not?" Malm pressed.

"That is moral hypocrisy," the interviewer responded.

"I disagree," Malm said.

He went on to suggest that violence could be used as a proper response when overthrowing a violent system such as slavery.

"The idea that if you object to your enemy’s use of a method, you therefore also have to reject your own use of this method would lead to absurd conclusions. The far right is very good at running electoral campaigns. Should we thereby conclude that we shouldn’t run electoral campaigns?" Malm said.

He also revealed that he has shown his four-year-old child the film adaptation of his book.

"There were a couple of scenes that stayed with them, particularly when people were wounded. They found this fascinating. They know that their father is a little politically crazy, if I can put it that way," Malm said.

The Times wrote in a note on the interview that Malm believes specifically in property violence, not in violence against people. "Just to be explicit about this: Malm does not endorse or advocate any political violence that targets people. His aim is violence against property."

At one point, Malm said it would be "disastrous" if someone in the movement killed another person with a gun to advance the cause.

"Political history is replete with movements that have conducted sabotage without taking the next step," he said. "But the risk is there. One driver of that risk is that the climate crisis itself is exacerbating all the time. It’s hard-wired to get worse. So people might well get more desperate… We might smash things, which people are doing here and there, but no one is seriously considering that you should get a gun and shoot people… The point that’s important to make is that the reason that people contemplate escalation is that there are no risk-free options left."

Malm, who wrote a book titled "How to Blow Up A Pipeline" in 2021, admitted that he does not live a "zero-carbon lifestyle."

"No one who lives in a capitalist society can do so," he said.

Malm added the climate movement would be in a very difficult position should former President Trump win the 2024 election.

"What should the climate movement do then?" he asked of the climate movement's reaction to a Trump victory. "Should it accept this as the outcome of a democratic election and protest in the mildest of forms? Or should it radicalize and consider something like property destruction? I admit that this is a difficult question, but I imagine that a measured response to it would need to take into account how democracy works in a country like the United States and whether allowing fossil-fuel companies to wreck the planet because they profit from it can count as a form of democracy and should therefore be respected."

The New York Times previously published a guest essay by Malm in 2022 where he supported the disruptive tactics of the Just Stop Oil organization and promoted property destruction.

[mcheang]

Revelation AU

What if Felix took Adrien’s place again the day Lila tried to take over class rep duties.

Let’s just say thanks to his stalking, Felix knows Lila is a liar who makes Adrien uncomfortable and Marinette unhappy. He warns Kagami about it, who in turn wishes to expose Lila after being manipulated by her.

Knowing Lila has had too much time to sway the school to her side, Felix proposes an idea but needs Kagami’s help. Like Lila, Felix is a master at deception, at least when pretending to be Adrien.

When Gabriel fires Lila Rossi, Felix suspected Lila would want revenge on Adrien to hurt Gabriel. As such, he insisted that he take Adrien’s place for that day in school. Kagami lured Adrien and knocked him unconscious, allowing Felix to take his place while Kagami stayed with Adrien to keep him from interrupting their plan.

When Marinette tried to argue that Chloe should be punished for cheating, and how Caline suggested that Chloe was going to need a lot of work, Lila suggested she take over Marinette’s duties since Marinette is too busy with her love life.

Felix: I’m sorry, Lila. It’s just what you said. The reason you were not around to vote for Marinette is because you were on one of your MANY trips for charity. I know you’ve had more time for us now, except last I heard, you said you were going overseas. I know you’ll try to be there for us, but we all know how you can’t help answering the call for help from your many other friends overseas, even changing your plans at the last minute because you told us how much you cherish bonds overseas, knowing you can’t dismiss friendship that easily.

And just like that, Lila is also unreliable for being class president.

Lila: I will try to be there for the rest of the school year, even my mother put her foot down about that.

Felix quickly interrupts: Oh no! Are you that exhausted? We shouldn’t put more pressure on her.

Lila: But I have more free time on my hands.

Felix: Um, I heard you refuse to join Mylene’s cause to help Ramier’s cause to build pigeon shelters next week. And Marinette is not even going to be there! Not to mention I’m worried that Chloe might take advantage of you like she’s taking advantage of Sabrina, she’s already trying to take back power, but we all know that Chloe will dump her deputy duties on Sabrina, again. You’re too nice, Lila.

No matter what Lila says, Felix is ready to counter her.

And then comes the killing blow

Felix: I know you mean well, but my father also told about your special disease

He looked at Miss Caline Bustier, who now recalls Lila’s lying disorder

Felix: It’s embarrassing but my father does do background checking, Principal Damocles told him about your uncontrollable lying disease. I know Miss Bustier wanted to keep this a secret so we would not worry over you like we do over Rose, but we’re your friends Lila, you don’t have to hide this from us.

Alya is unsure if Adrien is telling the truth or he really wants to defend Marinette

Caline: I think you’re right Adrien. Lila needs all the support she can get, and she can only get that if we help her be honest

She just confirmed what “Adrien“ said.

The class is stunned. Lila really was a liar. And Ms Bustier did not even tell them. It was hard to tell whether their feelings of betrayal were directed more towards their naive teacher or Lila.

Lila herself was feeling quite furious with Adrien.

Naturally Hawkmoth was attracted to the akuma class…again.

He sensed Lila Rossi’s hatred to Adrien. Not a good idea. (Sure Lila tried to direct some hatred Marinette’s way but the latter was clearly surprised by Adrien’s move). Nathalie was already breathing down his neck on his treatment of Adrien.

Someone else in the class will have to do.

There was obviously a divide.

Some actually thought Lila had a lying disorder and could not control it.

Others like Alya Cesaire were immediately apologetic for not believing Marinette, cursing their own gullibility, and angry at Ms Bustier for keeping it from them.

Yes, Alya’s guilt was prime for akumatization.

Except…what is this? Her resistance to the akuma…it was so similar to…Viperion/Luka. Alya knows Ladybug’s secret identity.

True, Alya rejected the akuma and Hawkmoth summoned it back, but the idea that two friends of his son knew Ladybug suggested the possibility that the heroine herself was within Adrien’s social circle.

But who? He had akumatized most of them. All except…Marientte Dupain-Cheng!

Oh wait. If Alya is aware that Marinette is Ladybug, how could she actually believe that Ladybug is best friends with Lila?

No one is that stupid.

He discusses this with Nathalie.

Nathalie: but Alya is that gullible. Didn’t she believe Chloe of all people was Ladybug? Despite witnessing Ladybug saving Chloe from Stoneheart?

A pause.

Gabriel: it’s time we invited Marinette to our home again. It will be a chance for Adrien to tell her about his trip to London. (Aka akumatize and see if she really is Ladybug)

Meanwhile, Alya confessed Monarch discovered she knows Ladybug and has to leave town. She joins Luka with his dad and Penny.

Marinette feels guilty for telling Alya the truth. Tikki reminds her that Alya knowing has helped her before.

Before Alya left with Luka, the latter warned Marinette to be careful with her secret identity. “Monarch might decide to investigate our common friends. And you’re the one of the few he hasn’t akumatized.”

Marinette: few…Adrien! Wait, what am I saying, Adrien can’t be confused for Ladybug.

At the invitation for brunch, Gabriel knew Marinette was still oblivious to Adrien’s impending departure (he would have akumatized her otherwise).

Gabriel: I wouldn’t want to keep two lovebirds apart in these precious moments Adrien has in Paris.

Adrien dropped his fork. “Father!”

Marinette looked at her boyfriend in concern. “Adrien, what’s wrong?”

Gabriel: you didn’t tell her?

Adrien shut his eyes. “I’m moving to London at the end of the school year.”

Gabriel: as soon as the school day is over, he’ll be packing his bags.

Adrien: but I’ll miss the dance!

Gabriel: so is Kagami but I don’t hear her complaining to her mother.

Marinette understood immediately. Gabriel disapproved of her so much, he was willing to send Adrien away, take him away from his friends. “You can’t do that! It’s not right!”

“Oh, and what would you know of right, Ms Dupain Cheng. My own surveillance cameras have caught you spying on my house. Your male friends threw a wild party under my very roof while I was absent, draining even my back up power reserves. I’ve already shown my generosity by not suing them for the power disruption or demanding a restraining order on your presence. Do not test my patience.”

Marinette and Adrien were horrified, for different reasons. Adrien knew about Marinette’s stalker habits already but to hear that his father was capable of using the law to punish his friends…he knew he needed to tread carefully. Marinette was horrified to see her own flaws turned against her.

Gabriel settled down, forcing a smile on his face as he civilly asked, “And what do you think of my pancakes now, Marinette. Do you think my new recipe is better than before?”

Both knew they could not insult him and make their own situation worse, not when Gabriel has already proven himself of capable of following up his own threats.

“It’s certainly efficient,” Marinette finally managed.

They finished the breakfast in silence. Gabriel happily eating his pancakes. Marinette and Adrien holding hands tightly under the table.

Nathalie came in. “Adrien, your piano teacher is here.”

Gabriel: it’s been nice having you here again, Marinette. But good times never last long.

It took all Marinette’s willpower not to run or call Gabriel out for his cruelty. As soon as the coast was clear, she sank down against the wall and cried.

Her despair just begging Monarch to akumatize her.

Unfortunately for him, Tikki was also on alert should Marinette be depressed enough for an akuma. (Being in an akumatized purse was not fun!)

Tikki: Marinette, an akuma!

Marinette freaked and ran, worried that Ladybug’s immediate purification would give her identity away.

Rather than let the butterfly go rogue and cause another startrain, Monarch summoned the butterfly back. He can be patient. Sooner or later, Marinette has to break down and he will be ready.

Knowing she had to stay positive, Marinette devotes her energy to try to be optimistic, thinking of how she can get Gabriel to change his mind, or ways to make a long distance relationship work.

This was enough to make Gabriel give up and instead wait for Adrien to leave for London.

By that time, Marinette had already tried several plans to convince Gabriel to stay. She got Wayhem to organize Adrien’s fans to strike about Adrien’s departure but was countered by Gabriel saying Paris was too dangerous for Adrien. She threaten to call child care services except Adrien (influenced by the Graham wedding rings) vetoes this plan. She considered using Cosmobug to visit Adrien except Marinette doesn’t have the money or time to make such frequent visits plausible.

Eventually Marinette came to accept Adrien’s departure and both agree to work out a long distance relationship.

Gabriel is extremely disappointed that Marinette isn’t more unhappy when Adrien leaves. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. project Alliance will continue as plan.