#the two of them posing in a pick-up truck

[cameronspecial]

I Will Slap You, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Mean Y/N, Mentions of Sex and Birth

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.9K

Summary: Pregnancy doesn't look so great on Y/N and Rafe, but good thing it's almost over.

Masterlist

Rafe isn’t going to lie. Pregnant Y/N is a scary Y/N. She’s a lot more moody and demanding than his usual angel is. Any little thing can make her snap and he has been walking on eggshells for almost nine months. His family would say that Rafe is just as unbearable. If they thought he was doting on Y/N before, then her being pregnant showed an even more overbearing side. Rafe helps rearrange the pillows on the couch and places about ten blankets over top of Y/N, who is getting ready for a nap. “Are you warm enough? Are there enough pillows?” he frets over her, rearranging one of the blankets that is slipping off. Sarah chuckles, “I think she has enough, Rafe. She could survive in the North Pole with how many blankets you have her buried under.” “I would never let her be in that situation,” he barks. How could Sarah think that he would let anything happen to Y/N? “Would you two shut up? Cranky woman trying to nap here,” Y/N complains, turning on her side to sleep. At least she doesn’t blame her pregnancy for her mood. Rafe rushes to her side, “I’m so sorry, Angel. Sarah and I will go in the kitchen.” Rafe kisses his wife’s head and forces his sister into the other room. 

The siblings talk in whispered voices after being scolded again by the pregnant woman. It’s been about an hour and Rafe has started to get his angel’s snack ready. A piercing yell causes both Camerons to dash to the living room. “Angel, are you alright? What’s happening? Do you need a massage?” he cries out, rushing to her side. Sarah follows in worry for her sister-in-law. They find Y/N hunched over with her hand on her stomach. She glares at them, “No, you dingus. I’m going into labour.” 

Rafe’s face flushes and he turns to his sister. “Get the go bag, please. It’s in the nursery. I’ll get her in the car.” Sarah nods and runs off to do as asked, while Rafe picks Y/N up bridal style and brings her to his truck. Every bounce of Rafe’s rushed manner intensifies the pain shooting through her body. “Slow down. You aren’t trying to win a race. We also have to time the contractions, dumbass,” she critiques between her screams. Rafe starts an internal timer in his mind at her scream, “Right, thank you for reminding me. You are so smart, Angel.” He places her in the car and she glowers at him with another yell. “I don’t care how smart you think I am. Get me to the damn hospital before I do it myself,” she growls. Rafe is quick to get to the driver’s side, texting Sarah to meet him at the hospital. 

———

Y/N and Rafe got to the hospital a little earlier than medically required and the staff were almost not going to let them into a room, but Y/N’s angry demeanour and Rafe’s money-slipping hands caused the staff to change their mind. It’s been about sixteen hours and the couple is absolutely exhausted. Finally, it’s time for Y/N to push. She had insisted on giving birth in Goddess pose and Rafe isn’t one to argue about it. “You are doing so great, Angel. I am so proud of you,” Rafe praises, smoothing her sweaty hair down. Y/N has had enough of his pampering. She’s been here for so long and that’s all she’s been listening to. “I will slap you, Rafe. Stop talking or I will have them throw you out. You don’t know how much this hurts, so I only want to hear my own voice from now on,” she snarls at him. Rafe immediately stops, instead resolving to silently encourage her. 

Rafe’s focus is between her legs, waiting for the moment his child enters the world when he feels her hand cross his face. One hand rubs his cheek, “What was that for?” “For getting me pregnant and not being the one to give birth,” she explains, squeezing his hand harder. He pouts at her words, “I am so sorry that I can’t be the one going through this, Angel. It kills me to know you are hurting and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I am never having sex with you again. I never want to go through this again.”

“And I fully support that, Angel. We can always adopt or foster if we want to have more kids.”

———

An hour later, Asher Wesley Cameron rests on his mother’s chest, sleeping in her warmth. “He’s perfect,” Y/N whispers and kisses his head. Rafe admires the new mother, “Because he is a mixture of both of us.” He takes a second before asking his next question. “Did you really mean what you said about having sex?” Y/N giggles at the worry in his voice, “Only a little bit. We definitely won’t be having sex until the doctor gives the go-ahead but after that… How else are we supposed to make this little guy a sibling?” “I thought you said you didn’t want to give birth to another baby,” his eyes twinkle as he looks at her. She shrugs, “It hurt like hell, but it was worth it. I would do it one more time even if they are only half as perfect as Asher. I do want to foster though. There are so many children that need a safe home.” Rafe’s lips find her forehead. “Whatever you want. I will follow your lead, Angel.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

[ghostofaboy]

Perfect Pin-Up

Summary: Marcus has a surprise for Frankie, something the pilot never expected

Pairing: Frankie Morales/Marcus Pike Rating: Explicit | Word count: 1201

Warnings: Lingerie, oral sex, little bit of face fucking, tiny bit of cum eating

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This was a request from @chujo-hime as part of my 200 Follower Celebration. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Hey Frankie! You know those vintage pin-up girls?”

“What?” Frankie peeked his head up from under the hood of his beat up truck at the sound of Marcus’ voice. “Marcus? Baby? Are you home?”

“Yeah!” Marcus’ voice drifted in from the kitchen. “Sorry I’m a little late. I dropped by... I had to pick something up.”

“For dinner?” Frankie straightened up, wincing as his back loudly cracked. Pausing for a moment to listen for Marcus’ reply, Frankie frowned as he headed over to the garage sink to wash the oil off his hands. “Baby? For dinner?”

“No.” Marcus sounded like he was just on the other side of the door. “It’s a surprise for you. I want to... I wanted to do something for you and well... I really hope you like it.”

“Ok. Be there in a second.” Frankie smiled as he scrubbed as his nails, making sure he got every drop of oil off his hands. Marcus sounded nervous. 

But this was classic Marcus, worrying over the small details or panicking that he hadn’t done enough. Whatever he had planned, Frankie already knew he’d love it. Glancing over at the calendar, Frankie frowned to himself as he dried his hands. It wasn’t a special date, at least not one he was aware of. Their anniversary was months away, with a plan already in place to celebrate two wonderful years together with friends and family. So what was this surprise, and what was it in aid of?

Pulling open the door, Frankie headed into the kitchen, expecting to find Marcus there. But as he stepped into their cozy kitchen, Frankie instead found the room empty.

“Baby?” Frankie called out, making his way slowly down the hall towards the sitting room.

“Up here!” Marcus’ voice came from up the stairs… and their bedroom.

Frankie couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he climbed the stairs to seek out his boyfriend. If Marcus was in the bedroom then he clearly had something fun in mind and that thought had Frankie already pulling off his shirt. As he began to untuck his t-shirt, Frankie pushed open the bedroom door and immediately frozen in place. His plaid shirt, somewhat sweaty from a day spent tinkering in the garage, fell gently to the floor as he took in the sight in front of him.

Posed on the bed, leaning back on his elbows with his legs cross delicately at the ankle, was Marcus. His gorgeous Marcus lay out for him, wearing nothing but lingerie. 

His legs looked deliciously long, covered in a pair of sheer black stockings that pulled Frankie’s eyes up to a lacy sage green suspender belt. The outline of Marcus’ thick cock was just visible through the green satin panties, and Frankie flicked his eyes up to his partners to see them blown with lust. 

“What do you think?” Marcus’ voice trembled as he ran a hand done the green satin bra covering his chest. Frankie could just make out a pebbled nipple through the thin fabric.

“I never would have imagined…” Frankie found himself moving forward towards the bed, his eyes wandering Marcus’ body over and over.

“I…” Marcus shifted on the bed slightly, his shoulder tensing for just a moment, and Frankie could feel the anxiety rolling off him. “You like the calendars and the old bomber art and I…”

“You look amazing, baby.” Frankie beamed, locking eyes with Marcus. “I just need a minute here. You’ve kinda frazzled by brain with this.”

A smile slowly grew on Marcus’ lips and keeping his eyes fixed on Frankie, the younger man began to crawl up the bed.

“Never had anyone do this for me, baby.” Frankie looked down at his pin-up boy as Marcus playfully nuzzled against his obvious erection. “I don’t know where to start.”

Tugging open his fly, Frankie pulled out his cock, sliding it into Marcus’ waiting mouth, sighing as the hot warmth enveloped him. Hitting the back of Marcus’ throat, Frankie wound his fingers through the younger man’s hair, holding him in place for a few seconds before letting Marcus pull back sputtering.

“I love how you chose my favorite color.” Frankie sighed happily as he rocked into Marcus’ mouth. “We’re gonna need photos, of course. I want you spread out on the hood of my truck like this.”

Somewhere between the wet gagging sounds and his loud needy whines, Marcus grinned around Frankie’s cock. Rocking backwards with his back arched, Marcus sucked hard on the ft blunt tip of Frankie’s length before releasing it with a loud, lewd pop.

“Really?” Marcus panted, looking up at Frankie through his long lashes. “Where were you thinking?”

“I know- Ahh!” Frankie’s eyes rolled back into his head as Marcus swirled his tongue around Frankie’s cockhead before hollowing his cheeks and taking him to the back of his throat once more.

“I know the perfect spot, mi vida.” Frankie rolled his hips, relishing in the growing fire inside him as the heady fog started to take over his brain. “It’s nice, secluded, fuck, we can make a day of it. Drive out… oh shit… I’m gonna…”

With a loud growl, Frankie felt the tension snap as he spilled himself down Marcus’ throat. Below him, Marcus swallowed what he could, but as Frankie’s sense returned he could see his sticky release running down the chin of his smiling boyfriend.

Lowering himself down into the bed next to Marcus, Frankie wrapping his arms around his trembling form. Glancing down, Frankie felt a swell of heat inside him as he noticed the large wet patch on the front of Marcus’ beautiful panties, his untouched erection pushing and distorting the fabric.

“I’m gonna get some fucking gorgeous photos of you.” Frankie rolled over to cover Marcus, brushing his lips along the other man’s collarbone. “The spot I’m thinking of is the perfect backdrop, and oh fuck, the sunsets… you’re gonna look so fucking pretty.”

Wiggling out of his panties, Marcus spread his legs, letting Frankie take control as he smiled blissfully up at him.

“You really like me like this? I was so nervous. I’ve always wanted to do this but you’re the first one… well, it’s the first time I felt comfortable.”

Growling possessively into Marcus’ satin covered chest, Frankie didn’t think he would love Marcus any more than he did at that moment. Gently taking hold of the other man’s cock, Frankie began to tenderly pump, each movement pulling soft moans from Marcus.

“I want to get some prints done. Of you in this outfit.” Frankie kissed his way up and along Marcus’ neck to the shell of his ear. “We can put them on the bedroom wall. Then other outfits maybe?”

Marcus whimpered and buck up into his hand in response. “Y-yes. I have more.”

Those three words lit a fire inside Frankie. A need. A need to see Marcus in all his outfits, to capture each one on film, and then fill their home with beautiful art of his gorgeous boy. And as Marcus gasped and moan, arching his back off the bed to cover Frankie’s hand in his cum, Frankie was already plotting out a few ensembles of his own.

[websterss]

MATTERED TO ME MORE — WES BENNETT

REQUEST: Smoking with Wes 🙏🙏

WARNING(S): none really, angsty, fluff, mentions of smoking????

WORD COUNT: 2,130

PAIRING: Wes Bennett x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! @biqherosix​ it’s done bby! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

Wes had been reclined back in the lawn chair behind his house. The secret place, the only place really to give him any peace of mind. He inhaled the Swisher Sweet cigarette, then watched as a puff of smoke blew out past his lips. He was too lost in his own thoughts, that he missed that creak of the gate door being pushed open. 

“Thought that was you...” He blew out another puff as he turned to see the culprit who disrupted the quiet he was bathing in. 

“Hey?” He raised a brow, confused as to why you were suddenly in the Secret Area. “What are you doing here?” He sat upright.

“Saw the fairy lights on from my window...” You pointed in the direction of your house. “Thought I’d come say hi...so hi.” You breathe out a laugh, feeling awkward under his stare, you hadn’t missed the way his eyes raked you from head to toe. You looked away to avoid his awed expression. 

Wanting to cut the tension and silence with a knife, you looked up playfully, a smirk on your lips as you flaunted and posed in a funny way. “What do you think? I was going for How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and The Wedding Date?” You give him a little twirl.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me...I would’ve guessed What a Girl Wants.” He smirks. You roll your eyes as you walk over and plop into the chair beside him. You sigh feeling the heat from the firepit, thankful for the warmth you were provided. You reclined back into the seat, your gaze trailing up to the minimal stars in the sky tonight. Wes couldn’t help the faint smile as he watched you. Two people admiring something beautiful to them. He would’ve thought that you’d be at after prom, taking advantage of a fun night with the rest of the student body, but to his surprise, you were home, and now you were here...right beside him. “What time you’d go to prom? I didn’t see you there.” He took another drag. You turned away from the sky to find his eyes already on you. You almost gasped at how intensely his eyes met yours. You didn’t want to fully get into the awful night you were having, but you always felt the need to let yourself be just a little vulnerable in front of the curly-haired boy. 

“I...actually didn’t even go to prom.” You chuckled to ease your nerves. 

“What? What do you mean?” He sat upright once more. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you but...you know how you usually see the protagonist or the best friend getting canceled at the last minute before the school dance in movies?

“Yeah...” He furrowed his brows.

“You expect it right? Because the climax of the movie makes it obvious, you expect it.” Wes nods a ‘yeah’ at you. Then it only takes a second for the obviousness to hit him like a truck.

“Don’t tell me...” He frowns.

“You just don’t expect it when your actual prom date says he’s taking someone else right before he’s supposed to pick you up. So there’s that...” You shrug. You exhale, feeling stupid and insecure. You shake your head, a chuckle spilling past your lips. “The worst part was that my mom was so excited, she had bought a disposal camera and everything. So imagine her disappointment when her daughter tells her, her date is suddenly taking someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n...” Wes didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s not your fault.” You turn to him, eyes wide in sincerity. He reciprocated your smile. Not an inch of sadness written across your features, if you were consoling how you were really feeling, then you weren’t showing it. “It’s cool...besides I’m getting to spend my night with my favorite neighbor.” You nudge his sneaker with yours. 

“Me? I thought for sure that Liz would claim such a title.” He laughs.

“No...Not after Michael ditched me last minute to take her...but I guess I can’t be entirely mad, she did like him after all.” You finally confess. A careless shrug not missed by him. This had him sitting forward.

“Wait- Michael? As in Michael Young? Michael Young ditched you for Liz Bauxbum.”

“Saying his name three times in a row won’t soften the blow, Bennett...” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, he did. Gimme.” You motion to the cigar in his hands. He passes it over, watching as you take a drag out of it. Not as experienced as he was, you let out a cough as the smoke hits your lungs.

“What an ass.” Wes takes the cigar back from you.

“Eh, what else can a girl do? Cry over him?” You sigh. You dig the toe of your shoe into the dirt.

“That’s not right though. It’s your prom too. He ruined it.”

“Can’t ruin something that I wasn’t looking forward to in the first place Benett...besides he wasn’t the one who I really wanted to go with anyway. He too had a date.” You spare a glance at him, hoping he didn’t catch on. “It’s better this way, better to have stayed here than have gone alone. I don’t think I’d have had any fun anyway.” 

“Yeah no, I can’t accept that.” You watch baffled as he gets up and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Come on.” He extends his hand out for you to grab.

“What?”

“Come on get up.” He motions with his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere.”

“Okay...” You eye him questionably as you take his hand and stand. Once you're up he pulls you to one side of the fire pit. “What are we doing Bennett?” You laugh as he pockets his phone. 

“Michael’s an ass. You deserve at least one dance tonight.” He offers his hand to you again, not forcing you to take it this time. He gave you the option to choose for yourself. You’re taken back by his offer. You’re even more taken when Alina Baraz’s “Electric” featuring Khalid starts to play from his speaker. 

Darker than the ocean, deeper than the sea You got everything, you got what I need Touch me, you're electric, babe

Your head turns to the music filling your ears. Wes waiting patiently. It was quite odd to you. His behavior all of a sudden. Wes was kind, that wasn’t a lie, and he liked to mess with Liz any chance he got, he was playful, sometimes annoying, but he wasn’t always so forward with his feelings. Hell, the dude never really did a good job to hide his infatuation with the redhead that lived in between you two. You were sure he liked her, so you questioned this moment. Wondering why? Why would he care so much to ensure you got to have at least one dance? You didn’t even go to prom? Maybe he was just being nice. 

Wes was nice. He was nice and attractive and...

“You took Alex to prom...” You said out of the blue. The thought crossed your mind all of a sudden. 

“I-I did...” He took his hand back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You took Alex to prom but Liz didn’t have a date then. You took Alex to prom.” You stated out loud. “Liz was without a date so why wouldn’t you have asked her instead?” You turn around and walk a few steps away from him. Wes was confused about what you were trying to get at. “That doesn’t make sense to me. You’ve liked her since the second grade. I’ve watched you tease and torment her for years, and chase after her. You have room in your damn driveway, Bennett. You weren’t fooling anyone by taking her spot. It doesn’t make sense.” You pull at your hair. “The girl you've been in love with for years was right there, and you took Alex! What the fuck dude!” You exclaim. 

“Are you serious right now?” Wes’s shoulders drop. 

“Yeah, I am! It’s not like she had a date!” You had missed the hurt in his eyes as he looked at you. He could not believe what he was hearing. Had you really not noticed?

It looks like it.

“Yeah, she did!” He exclaimed louder than you.

“So the girl you really wanted to go with had a date? That’s what you’re going him. That’s your excuse?” You scoff at him. Hands crossed over your chest. 

“Yes! I don’t understand why we’re talking about Liz. She doesn’t matter right now. I wanted to dance with you.” The last sentence goes over your head entirely as you shout at him next.

“Because you’re being ridiculous. She was free and you just passed up the opp-”

“No, she wasn’t!” Wes grows frustrated with you.

“Liz didn’t have a date yet, Wes!” You try to reason.

“No, but you did!” He points at you. You freeze up.

“Wait what...” You mutter.

“I’m aware that Liz didn’t have a date, I am, but you did. So I took Alex instead...” He looks away. 

“You took Alex because I had a date?” His words slowly begin to register.

“Yeah, and imagine my surprise when you didn’t even show up.” He kicks out a rock. You furrow your brows. 

“But Liz-”

“What about Liz, Y/n? Who cares about Liz right now.” He lets out a chuckle.

“But I thought you- all the years you’ve- the frogs down her shirt?”

“Liz always had a knack for keeping you all to herself. The so-called teasing and tormenting was to try and get her to tell me something about you. The only thing she ever really told me willingly was that you were allergic to nuts.” He smiled as a memory invaded his mind. “I remember my mom used to get so mad at me for throwing out her pecan pies.” He chuckled, his twinkling eyes met your awed expression. “Just the thought of you even being near anything with nuts scared me.” He confessed, a faint smile painting his lips. 

“You knew about my allergy?” Your eyes glistened. 

“Since we were seven.” Wes nodded. 

“Is that why you never offered me Snickers or the yellow M&M’s, except to everyone else?” You breathe out a faint laugh. It was all making sense.

“Yeah...I didn’t want you to swell up or break out into hives. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”

“I just thought you had some vendetta against me or something.” You giggled. 

“With you? Never Y/L/N.” He shook his head. You nodded and looked down, then brought your gaze back up to him. 

“I never knew you did all that.” You smiled graciously. “I haven’t had an incident in years, except last month, but you’ve all but kept me nut free.” You joked. Wes perked up at the mention of you having a recent reaction.

“Last month?” Wes frowned.

“I guess you could say it was kind of a sign. Michael made me have a reaction.” You wince. 

“Were you okay?”

“Yeah, luckily Liz was there too. She knew where I kept my EpiPen.” You nodded. “If anything, you’ve taken my health more seriously than anyone else ever has. That alone I can’t thank you enough for.” You slowly walk up to him and go in for a peck on his cheek. But just to your luck he turned his head right as your lips were about to meet his skin. “Oh.” You gasped, as your lips were collided together for a mere second. You pull away slowly but get pulled back closer this time. Wes wraps a hand around one side of your waist and tugs you closer.

“I don’t know if you even remember this, but when we were six, you had a really bad reaction. I don’t recall what exactly it was, maybe something my mom gave all of us. I remember turning to look at you and you couldn’t breathe.” You furrow your brows trying to recall the memory. “I thought you were gonna die because you kept gasping for air and I just remember my parents rushing you over to your house. You were fine after an hour, but I knew then I never wanted to see that happen to you again.” He reached up to caress your cheek. “Since that day, your health has never mattered to me more.”

"It has?” Your eyes glistened again.

“Still does.” Those two little words welcomed a deeper meaning. It was all it took for you to reach forward and bring his lips down onto your own. He sighed in relief, as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. 

[stardewremixed]

Alex headcanons

Wanted to be a knight when he was a child. Horse and lance, sword and suit of armor. Shiny. Made one out of tinfoil, scraps of Evelyn's fabric, and a broom stick. Neighbor kids made fun of him. He didn't dress up again.

Joined a yoga class on a dare. Well actually because he saw a pretty girl through the window and straight up walked into the glass. The instructor made him take the class. Something about balance and coordination.

Almost thought about joining the army right outta high school. He barely passed and wasn't sure college was for him. But the thought of dying while his grandparents (his only relatives) still lived qnd didnt have anyone to take care of them was too unnerving. He didn't want to leave them all alone. Still likes war movies sometimes.

Conscientious about his scent. Keeps his pit hairs trimmed. Religious about showering after working out. Keeps a spare deodorant in his truck. Leaves a trail of cologne - clean, just-out-of-shower scent, not too weighty, a bit soapy, rainforest mist like.

Has helped Sam out with his community service before because this man weirdly loves digging fence posts.

Also loves carrying things - groceries for his grandma (or the pretty farmer), barrels of ale and whiskey, folding tables from festivals, tools up a ladder, etc. Both arms full. Things normal people can carry on multiple trips. Alex gets it all and doesn't break a sweat. Would carry the farmer too (if she'd let him - and you know he's carrying her bridal style on their wedding night).

Loves a challenging ropes course. Can rappel down a wall or a mountain side. Can complete a obstacle course faster than anyone else. Would give Kent a run for his money at army crawling. Absolutely goes nuts about hiking, bouldering, free climbing too. Would probably do spelunking too if... he wasn't a teeny but afraid of the dark... because...

Kept a nightlight in his room until he was a teenager. It's why he never did sleepovers with the other kids. That and he hit puberty early. Towering over grade schoolers was only cool for like a minute. But you can reach things on the top shelf, I guess.

Occasionally freelances for the Adventurer's Guild. Gives guided hiking tours up into the mountains above the Valley or secret woods for tourists. He would be enthusiastic too - swinging his arms and waving his hands around while telling stories and pointing out cool sights.

His hugs are big, and leave you feeling wrapped up, but in a good way. Like a cozy warm blanket. You feel safe and loved.

He's a cuddler... while you watch TV together, while you read books together (yes, he likes sports magazines and biographies of his heroes), and while you sleep. He's definitely the big spoon and makes you feel cherished. That's until he starts snoring... lightly. You'll have to nudge him to stop. And those arms do get... heavy. And he's definitely elbowed his companion in bed before.

He's a bit of a wimp when it comes to shots. It's why he would never get a tattoo or get his ears pierced. He doesn't like needles. (They might also remind him of his mom and her treatments when he was little).

He once posed for a campaign poster for a lumberjack festival. Lewis had little success. Only a dozen young girls showed up on the bus that day. No actual woodchoppers. Needless to say, Alex kills it in plaid. Think Brawny paper towel guy vibes without the facial hair.

Also did a modeling gig for Pierre once to sell some winter gear. Haley took the photos. Alex is a natural in front of the camera. Again, lots of female visitors... erm... customers to the town for a period of two days. He may or may not have autographed the ad for one of the ladies.

He's shouldered a lot of responsibility from a young age. His dad ran out on them. His mom was sick. His grandparents aren't the healthiest. Alex has picked up odd jobs since he was eight. Recycling bottlecaps. ♻️ Washing cars. Lemonade stand. 🍋

Delivering newspapers was one of his first real paying gigs. Granny gave him one of George's old newsboy caps. Alex wore it with pride. He's got an incredible swing for it. Also led him to be interested in baseball. He played three seasons in Little League as a pitcher before he became fascinated with gridball. 📰

It was actually Grandpa George who got him into gridball. Watching games together on TV, critiquing the players, talking technique. Male bonding stuff. He wants to take George to a pro game one day, proudly wheeling his Gramps into the stadium. 🏈

One of his first jobs as a young adult was at the local hospital. It's how he paid for his first apartment. He wheeled people up from their appointments to get picked up at curbside. Just like with his mom when he was a young teen. It felt like a good way to keep giving back even after she was gone. New moms. Dialysis patients. Kids with broken legs from falling off a skateboard ramp...

That's how he met Sam actually. (I like to think these two would be sort-of friends). Sam talked about music and boarding and surfing. Alex talked about the high school Alma Mater fight song and baseball and weightlifting.

Sam and Alex built an epic sandcastle village on the beach one year at the Luau. Both were bored. Vincent helped too. It was impressive... until high tide came in. Haley snapped a photo first at least.

Inspired by Grandpa George, he took a dance class. That's how he met Haley (when they were late teens). He was her favorite dance partner. He could actually lift her without dropping her. And he didn't step on his toes. He's actually pretty light on his feet. Tried tap dancing too but that wasn't as successful (or cool looking).

Named MVP for his high school gridball team. Would've gone on to play in uni but just didn't have the grades. And he needed to stay close for Granny and George. Still keeps his trophies from every sport he's ever played in his room.

Would challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest any day. Has actually made some money at the Stardew Valley Fair this way. Out of towners might underestimate him. Amateurs! Shane is the only one who's come close to besting Alex and only then because he was drunk. Sober Shane might have stood a chance.

Bought George a big recliner with his very first paycheck from his adult job. Comfy cushions, high quality leather, great arm rests. George never sits in it because he had his mining accident shortly after and so it sits unused in a storage closest somewhere collecting dust. Still every once in a while, George wheels by and thinks about his grandson's thoughtfulness.

Will carry any of the Farmer's picked produce back to the bins, trekking across the fields, or will personally deliver products to Pierre's. By the armful. Corn, lettuce, bushels of broccoli, squash, grapes, tomatoes. He can carry 3 or 4 buckets at a time. Or by the basket. The big round baskets that the average person can only carry one at a time.

Likes the smell of freshly washed cars. And the air after it rains. New leather on a ball. Granny's freshly baked cookies.

Would literally be your shoulder to cry on. No seriously, people have. His mom before she passed. Evelyn after her frustrations with George. Haley after a boy she liked dumped her. Even Emily after one awkward moment as she was taking out the trash behind the Saloon and felt overwhelmed about a disturbing vision she had. He is always willing to comfort those he cares about.

Doesn't really cook but he can make a mean cheesy macaroni casserole. It's one of the few recipes he learned as a boy that has stuck with him.

Feels strongly about cheating in sports. And popping pills to make someone stronger. Especially because his mom was ill. He knows there are people out there who really need medicines. Illegal drugs are a disgrace to the profession.

Would absolutely spend his days fixing up the farmhouse, repairing the barn, sprucing the greenhouse, patching up the chicken coop while the farmer worked the fields and orchards and took care of livestock. I have this longstanding belief that Alex would make an excellent handyman in the Valley. Maybe it starts out as an apprenticeship with Robin. He's gifted with a sander, a wrench, a saw. And this man looks great in a backward cap, tight jeans, and a tool belt. He likes to feel useful, stay busy, and work with his hands. Painting your bedroom and repairing your shower leak would be his first projects once moving to the farm.

[urne-buriall]

so I said there was one more spirit of the west alternate scene to go. this time we pose the question: "what if Cas wasn't away at the lawyers' after the final fight with John?"

John would look for him at Bobby’s or Ellen’s. He couldn’t bring them into his mess.

He had the option to pass through town or around it, but he didn’t want to attract attention. The Impala was a beautiful car, but everything that made it so distinct made it impossible to hide. He felt that just driving through with his broken window, even if all the others were rolled down, people would simply take one look and know. The evening deepened, but it wasn’t dark yet. They’d peer in the windows and they would see a battered boy, see the way Dean gripped the wheel to hold himself up when his whole back curved in a vain attempt to ease the horrible pain in his ribs.

It was tempting to go to the laundromat, to try finding Cas once more, but there was nowhere in town to conceal his car. Street parking only. He didn’t know if John would try to follow him now or later. Whatever happened, he couldn’t afford to be found out.

He didn’t even know if Cas was there. He hadn’t been this morning. He’d be so busy and he wouldn’t want Dean’s problems and...

No, that wasn’t it. That had never been it. Dean spent so long not wanting anyone to know, but he’d announced it for the first time to Kate, yesterday. That barrier had broken. The worst had happened. There was no point in trying to hide. This was the time it had to come out. What else could he do? What else could he lose? He’d lose Cas if he hid from him now.

Still, he had to get off the map  before he figured any of this out.

He took himself out of town. He didn’t have much money, didn’t want to spend the last of it on a motel room that would only grant him one or two nights of shelter. As darkness fell he pulled the car in at a truck stop favoured by long-haul drivers. There was a row of payphones along one wall. The one nearest the kiosk door was in use, so he took the furthest possible to avoid being overheard. He put a quarter in and dialled Cas’ number from memory.

It rang three times and Dean despaired, but before it could ring the fourth Cas picked it up.

“Hello?” He sounded tired. He was likely sick of phone calls. He didn’t like phones at the best of times, and Doc’s death compounded the amount of time spent answering calls.

“Cas, hey,” said Dean. “It’s me.”

“Dean.” His voice relaxed over the line. “Cesar said you were looking for me.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Same here,” said Cas. “I was wondering if I should call.”

“No,” said Dean, too quick. He cleared his throat briefly. “No, it’s. You can’t call the ranch for a while.”

“Oh.”

So much could be said about that ‘Oh.’ Dean closed his eyes. He should talk more, but his words were too thick in his throat. He closed his eyes.

“Is there something wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded his head first, even though it couldn't be seen. A tear slipped down from his closed eyes. He turned his body to angle away from the parking lot, bent towards the phone and the separating glass. “I just—” he said. Tried to get control of himself. He couldn’t confess to it all over the phone. That didn’t feel right. “I just had to leave there.”

“Where are you now?” It was a fast question, splitting down straight to the important elements without first asking why.

“Truck stop,” said Dean. “Thirty minutes out of town. I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Can you come here?” asked Cas.

“No, Cas,” said Dean. “I can’t be in town. Because the car… I mean, the— the gossip. People would know where I am.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Cas,” said Dean. By which he meant, he was not in current danger. Likely. If he was spotted crying to his boyfriend over a payphone at the edge of a truck stop, that might not be the case for long. He straightened up, although it strained his sore ribs again to do so. He wasn't sure how bad he looked yet. Sometimes it took a while before bruises found their colour.

“You want to stay somewhere out of town,” Cas clarified, thinking out loud.

“I don’t have loads,” said Dean. “I thought maybe a motel, but that... that won’t work long.”

“Can you call me back in ten minutes?” Cas asked abruptly.

“What?”

“I have to ask someone something.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dean didn’t want to hang up the phone. He didn't want to lose his connection to Cas. He was afraid he’d never get it back. “I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

“Ten,” Cas said again.

Dean checked his watch after he hung up so that he could be precise. He went back to his car, closing the door and looking over at the passenger seat covered in glass. The rock that John threw sat against the door. Part of Dean wanted to get rid of it, to pitch it into the pine forest that bordered the large parking lot, but part of him didn’t have the spirit. It reminded him of his father and of why he could never go back. A horrible talisman of what had just happened. It felt too powerful for him to mess with.

After ten minutes passed, he went back to his previous phone. He ignored a few looks from two truckers standing by the front end of an eighteen-wheeler. He was looked at sometimes. He knew his deficiencies. This time, he couldn’t tell if what they eyed were his injuries or his too-delicate features. He didn’t want to stay past this phone call, jumpy under the attention. He felt increasingly unwell. The sky was dark not just with encroaching night, but with rain clouds carried in by a cool wind.

“I have somewhere you can stay,” Cas said after he answered.

“You serious?”

“Missouri mentioned it to me at her barbeque. That she had a place a little quieter and out of town. She’d been renting it to a writer, but he left. I have a lease on the apartment, but I said I’d remember it. It’s still available. We can go there tonight.”

“We?”

“I— I won’t stay if you don’t want me to,” said Cas. “But I want to make sure you’re set up.”

“No, I want you to stay,” said Dean. “Just…” He didn’t want Cas to expect too much. He didn’t want to share the only thing he had to bring: the pain and the damage. “It’ll be good to see you. We’ll... We’ll talk when I get there.”

Cas gave him directions, said he’d be there before Dean. Dean pretended he didn’t see one of the truckers peel away from the cab to slowly make an approach. He got into the front seat and started up the car, feeling the eyes follow him as he drove away.

In the night, it was slow going to make out the roads, the varying turns. His muscles kept spasming as if they only now understood the pain. He felt ghastly and sick. He wanted to fall asleep. It took all his focus to keep his vision straight. He wanted to stop driving and rest instead.

Finally he reached the cottage with its open gate. He parked the car under a leanto, where he might avoid rain coming in the window. The motorbike rested there too.

Inviting light seeped around the curtains of the front windows. Dean opened the door to step in and Cas looked up from where he’d been unloading a paper bag of groceries.

The expression on his face changed. Dean knew what it meant. Knew how bad he must look. That distress as Cas swept forward from around the island to meet Dean at the door. When Cas hugged him it was fast but careful. An arm around behind his shoulder blades, one around his waist, close but not tight. Leaving it to Dean to lean his body in and grip Cas tightly in return. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, and his eyes felt hot again with unspent tears.

“I thought— You said you were okay,” said Cas.

That was all it took. Someone saying, definitively, that this was not okay. Dean shuddered with the first wave of tears, face bent into Cas' collar. And he was held, rocked, hair stroked until he’d collected himself enough for Cas to lead him to a couch and sit down with him. An arm still around him, encouraging him to stay close.

“What happened?” His voice was low as gravel, quietly encouraging.

“Sam left,” said Dean.

“Sam left,” Cas echoed.

“And I knew it was over. I told Adam’s mom what he’s like, and he found out.”

“He’s done this before,” said Cas.

“My whole life,” said Dean.

Cas let his hand stroke over Dean’s shoulder, a reassuring touch, thumb rubbing. He paused and looked over at where his hand rested, then down at Dean. “You never fell off Jagger.”

Dean shook his head. “Bad fight. Went down the stairs.”

Cas slid his hand back across Dean’s shoulders, then gently lifted it to Dean’s face. His thumb traced outside the edge of a bruise. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked.

Dean gestured  at his ribs. Cas helped him out of his flannel shirt, lifted off his t-shirt to check on the bruises.

“Lie back,” Cas said as he stood. “I’ll get you some ice to help the swelling.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” said Dean, and Cas stopped. He looked at him steadily, and even though his expression hadn’t changed there was something about that look, that suspended moment. Dean wiggled his way to lie down against the couch.

“Please let me look after you,” said Cas. And Dean nodded his head.

No one had taken care of him before. He’d hidden every hurt. Even from the person who caused them, never letting on to John the consequences of the pain he caused because it would only inflame his anger all over again and make him despise Dean more than he already did. For being weak, for being useless, for accusing John of bad conduct by holding his own actions up to him. Dean had spared everyone but himself from witnessing the reality of his distress.

Cas came with painkillers and a glass of water. He had Dean hold an icepack wrapped in a tea towel to his cheek and Cas iced the worst parts on his ribs. The throbbing pain abated some under these two influences. Meanwhile, Cas returned to the kitchen to make up a can of vegetable soup and buttered toast. While he found the pots and plates in the kitchen, Dean’s eyes danced around the ceiling of the cottage, then took in the furniture.

“This place reminds me of somewhere,” he commented, the first words he’d spoken in some time.

“Where?” Cas asked.

Dean tried to place it, thinking of any guest house he might’ve stayed at while travelling for events, but his mind came up with nothing. John favoured cheap motels when they weren’t at the farm, and with so many horses to look after they didn’t leave it often.

“I can’t remember,” said Dean.

Outside, the rain picked up, sounding against the cottage roof and hushening the rest of the world. Cas looked up from scraping butter across toast and said, “I’m glad you’re not out in that.”

That night Cas stayed with him, sharing the bed in the cottage’s pale blue bedroom, a white afghan draped only up to their waists in the warm night. One side hurt less to sleep on than the other, so Dean slept facing Cas, their arms and knees intertwined. Cas’ soft, even breaths did more for Dean’s peace of mind than anything else could’ve.

Still, he had a dream that didn’t seem like a dream. Watching his mother move through this cottage, her blond hair loosely braided, setting Sam down in a white wicker bassinet while Dean, just four years old, leaned over with her to make sure that Sam was okay, and to be there if his mom needed anything, like the hug she then wrapped Dean up in, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead.

He woke from the dream with an aching mix of feelings. Confusion and tenderness and a wish that he could’ve known how to make things right. In the moonlight he took in Cas’ sleeping face. Those dark eyelashes against his cheeks, his lips faintly parted. It struck him in a way that he hadn’t quite understood before that this was right. This was where he was supposed to be, and who he was supposed to be with. This was the beginning of the life he wanted to have. The love he wanted to have. This was the choice he got to make.

It wasn’t about that final fight. It wasn’t about the fear of John or the feeling that he couldn’t return home. Dean wasn’t accepting whatever fate handed him: he was choosing this. He would choose a life with Cas, whatever that future might look like. He would choose someone who could heal rather than hurt. Who didn’t need to offer anything other than a lifetime of love and regard. Who believed in Dean and saw him as the person Dean wished himself to be. The person he could be with Cas’ love.

He fell asleep again with more love swelling his heart than he had ever known. This night had set him free.

[jungle-angel]

Menaces to Society (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You thought your boys were feral as children......wait until they turn twenty one

Warnings: Perry slander, Tillerson slander, taking a leak on somebody’s truck for revenge, drunken shenanigans etc. 

Tagging: @sebsxphia @lewmagoo @bradleybeachbabe @nobody7102 @creativitybeware​ @rhettabbotts​

The group of boys had all gathered at the Handsome Gambler, crowding around the bar as their favorite music blasted from the jukebox in the corner. After weeks spent on midterms and constant studying, the boys of the Delta Tau Epsilon Fraternity were more than happy to be blowing of steam, among them, Tatum and Tanner Abbott and Colt Tillerson. 

“CHUG IT!!!! CHUG IT!!!! CHUG IT!!!” the boys chanted as they lifted Tanner up by his legs for the kegstand challenge.

Tanner took in as much as he could, the bar owner timing him as his frat brothers cheered him on. Finally, he swallowed the last little bit before Jimmy Peterson, the bar owner, clocked him in and put his time record up on the chalkboard. 

“You my man,” Tate Dutton said, clapping a hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “Are the fucking kegstand CHAMP!” 

Tanner and the other frat brothers cheered loudly as Bo Andreola, one of the football players, lifted him up onto his broad, husky shoulders. Around 1:30, Jimmy announced it was closing time, only to be cued by the playing of Luke Bryan’s “Time To Take My Drunk Ass Home”, the boys and all the bar patrons singing along like a bunch of screeching seagulls. 

Out of the bar they stumbled, Tatum, Tanner, Colt, Tate and Jake Dutton, Joey Wheeler and a few others heading to the parking lot. “Alright fuckers,” Tatum slurred. “Let’s get us home, I’m drivin.” 

“Uh the fuck you are!” Danny Gonzales told him. “You’re drunker’n I am. I’ll call my brother.” 

Danny luckily had his brother, Antonio, on speed dial. Antonio never really drank and thus had become the designated driver along with three others. Unfortunately for them, Antonio was across town and wouldn’t be able to pick them up for at least a half hour. 

They wandered up and down the streets, looking for a place to wait it out, when they spied two familiar vehicles parked on the curb. “Oh shit,” Tatum muttered after letting out a rather rude burp. 

“Wassup?” Joey asked him. 

“You know who’s trucks those are, right?” 

“Aw shit,” Joey answered when he came to the realization. “That’s Trevor and Perry’s trucks.” 

“What are those fuckin assholes doin in our neck of the woods?” Jake questioned. 

“Probably doin each other in an alley somewhere,” Tate chuckled. 

Tatum and Tanner gave each other a look as soon as an evil little germ of a thought began to bloom in the back of their heads. Even Colt could tell what they were thinking without even saying a word. “You know what we gotta do right?” Tatum said. 

“Better do it now while we’re loaded,” Tanner told him. 

Tatum readily instructed for him, Tanner and Colt to take Trevor’s truck while the others could have at Perry’s. “Alright boys,” Tatum announced. “This one’s for Dad.” 

All at once the boys unzipped their flies and relieved themselves right there on the horrible men’s dirt spattered trucks, laughing the whole entire time. Too bad Jaime’s car hadn’t been nearby. Tate, Jake and Joey would have absolutely loved the thought of taking that one on as well. Bo and Danny held up their phones, taking a video of the drunken frat boys for later. It wasn’t long either before they were taking photos of their little graffitied creation, the words “Fuck you Perry” and “Fuck you Trevor” having been inscribed in the dirt with their own streams while the boys pointed at it and made stupid faces or stupid poses with it. 

The sudden blurt of police sirens and the flash of lights made them all straighten right up. Sheriff Joy hopped out onto the curb and shut the doors to the cruiser, sighing and laughing all at once when she saw the culprits. 

“Oh God, not you idiots again,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“HEY AUNT JOY!!!!!!” Tatum and Tanner greeted loudly and happily. 

**************

“Rhett can you get the door?!” you called from upstairs. 

Rhett groaned and rose from the couch, straightening his reader glasses on his nose before making his way to the door. When he opened it, he was a little less than pleased to find Joy on the porch.

“Hey Rhett,” she greeted. “I just picked up your little miscreants outside the bar and came to drop them off.” 

“Oh God, what’d they do now?” Rhett groaned. 

“Check their phones, I guarantee you there’s photos,” Joy laughed before heading back to the cruiser. 

“Oh damnit,” Rhett muttered. “Darlin, ya’ll better come down here, it happened again!” 

***************

The boys were absolutely silent as Rhett scrolled through Tatum’s phone and his camera roll, his face contorting into confused and wide-eyed expressions every so often. 

“So let me get this straight,” Rhett said, breaking the long, pregnant pause that had come over the kitchen. “You idiots were loaded beyond all human reasoning, were waiting for a ride home and decided to take a leak on a vehicle?” 

Tatum burped again. “Yep.” 

Rhett bit his lip, trying hard not to laugh, looking at you as if you’d break first. “Alright, you jackasses go upstairs and make yourselves cozy, I’ll discuss this with your mother.” 

The boys all stumbled up the stairs, trying their best not to wake Amy and Jeff’s baby who had just fallen asleep in yours and Rhett’s room. “Are they in trouble?” you asked him. 

“I’ll be nice and let’em off the hook this time,” Rhett chuckled. “Tomorrow when they’re all hungover is a completely different story.” 

[tea-potato-gt]

Kæmpe Stør’s Life Part 2:

Part 1 here

By now Stør has been living with Joseph and Rudy for about 6 months. In that time, they have been teaching Stør how to interact with people smaller than him. They bought several mannequins for Stør to pick up and use all his strength on so he can know the limits of himself and other creatures. And eventually, Stør was allowed to pick up his parents when they ALL felt ready.

Stør is taught to only pick up people when absolutely necessary or if a person wants to be picked up. Stør cannot touch people outside his family without expressed permission and consent.

He’s also scolded for picking up objects that aren’t his, because of how easily he could accidentally break something. At the age of 6, Stør can pick up a motorcycle with one hand. It’s only a matter of time before he could pick up a car or a truck.

Joseph and Rudy never want Stør to think of objects or people as toys, which wasn’t really a problem in the first place, but they wanted to be sure. In order to adopt Stør, the couple made an agreement, that Stør could be taken away by the government at any moment for messing up or hurting someone.

—————————————————————————

House wise, Joseph and Rudy moved to a lot by the sea. There, they built a entire new house and off to the side a large barn that would house their growing giant child. Nobody knows how big Stør would/could get, so the couple decided to be safe and just build him a separate room/building that he can grow into. They also added several skylights on the house roof with hatches on the outside so if Stør gets tall enough he can open them and look inside the house.

The food and clothes issue was solved at the same time. Joseph’s best friend (Elijah) married (Magie) one of the most powerful Witches in the world. (Strega’s parents.) Joseph asked for her help. Magie developed a potion that, when put in food, would multiply its nutients and portions size to Stør’s. His clothes were enchanted by another powerful Witch. When Stør isn’t touching his clothes they are human sized, but as soon as Stør picks them up they grow proportional to his giant stature.

But the family needs to constantly get refill on Stør’s food potions, which leads to the young boy hanging around the Witch house hold a lot. There, Stør met and befriended Strega and her two older siblings (Lin & Jadis). Strega is 4 years old.

Learn more about Strega here

Stør and Strega: ☺️🥺

Stør also spent his days at the Witch house because both his dads had to work during the day. Elijah is a stay at home husband, so he watches Stør and Strega while Lin and Jadis go off to school.

When Stør first started being watched by Elijah, he’d cry when his dads dropped him off. He had SEVERE separation anxiety and worried his parents wouldn’t come back.

Stør at this point has not gone to school, his parents want to make sure he’s comfortable around other smaller people and understands the power/danger he could pose to those around him.

Elijah, Joseph and Rudy all worked to fill in Stør’s education he already was missing before sending him to a real school. Basic reading/writing/etc.

———————————-———————————————

After six months, Stør’s fathers felt he was ready to go to a real school.

At this age, being only 11 and a half feet tall, Stør can go inside the school, though he hits his head on the ceiling and door frames. He needs a large bean table for a desk.

At recess, Stør is forbidden from playing with the other kids for fear he might accidentally hurt them. So he sits to the side with the teachers all recess.

It's here that Stør meets Yilan, his future best friend.

Yilan didn’t want to play with the other kids during recess, so he hid behind Stør. There they begin talking and quickly become friends.

Yilan, much like Stør, was alone. Yilan is half human and half snake, a very dangerous combo leading many people to fear the 7 year old, much like people fear Stør.

More about Yilan here

_______________________________________________

Keep in mind, Stør is still a very energetic 6 year old and being cooped up all day unable to expel that energy is not doing the kid any favors. He became jittery, restless and irritated. Joseph and Rudy had to get creative.

They turned to the ocean in their very back yard. Rudy taught Stør to swim, he learned quickly and grew to love it. Everyday after school Stør would go to the beach with his fathers and swim. If he was frustrated? Swim. Happy or excited? Swim.

Being in the water became calming to him. He loves all kinds of water, the feeling of a stream through his fingers or just floating in the ocean. (Maybe that's why he likes to be around Mizu so much?🫣)

_______________________________________________

Part 3 here & Part 4 here

Master list

[snarky-sims-creations]

Pick Me Up, Darling Pose Pack (CurseForge FREE)

I thought I'd squeeze in one more romantic pose pack before the end of February, so here's a set of 5 romantic couple poses for one super duper tall Sim and one short Sim. I made these with two male rigs but the poses are pretty gender-neutral. Just keep in mind Sims can have very different body shapes so some clipping/floating is still possible.

WHAT'S INCLUDED

5 romantic couple poses

Pickup Truck pose prop (find in Decorations > Statues)

Custom thumbnails for poses and truck

WHAT YOU WILL NEED

Sim Teleporter

Pose Player

HOW TO POSE

Check out my guide on Sims Community!

OTHER INFO

For truck poses, place teleporters directly in the centre of the truck, facing to the right

TOS

DON’T reupload or edit!

DON’T put behind a paywall!

DON’T claim as your own!

(Optional) DO tag me if you use them! I love seeing other people enjoying the stuff I make.

DOWNLOAD ON CURSEFORGE (Free, No Ads)

@ts4-poses

[skyiar-biog]

Why cars is almost my FAVOURITE animated movie of all time 

For those of you who aren't familiar with Cars let me sum it up. It starts with this rookie driver (Lightning Mcqueen) in a world where cars are living, there’s a race going on and due to his cockiness, it ends in a three-way tie, this leads to a final race being held in 7 days to decide the championship. On the way there Lightning falls out of his truck and gets lost only to destroy a road and end up having to fix it as no one there knows who he is. He is challenged to a race to leave early but slides off the track due to it being on dirt, Doc tells him he must turn right to go left to make the turn, Lightning does not believe this though. Until one day he finds out Doc is a famous racecar and later catches Doc driving and making that very turn. In the town, he begins to befriend the locals and get to know people before one night the town flocks with news crews and he is picked back up in his truck, leaving his newfound friends behind. 

 In the final race he isn’t doing too good until Doc comes over the radio and tells him to focus, the reappearance of his friends gives him the confidence and motivation to push through. As he catches the other two competitors once again, one pops his tire, and he must pit in which it is the fastest pit stop ever and shocks everyone. On the final lap he is behind the other two when the same person bumps into them sending Lightning off into the grass whilst the other two are sliding around, in this moment he remembers what Doc taught him and saves it gaining the lead in the process. Behind him the same person spins out the other racer sending him flying and tumbling. Upon seeing this lightning stops before the finish line and proceeds to drive back and push the crashed car across the line.  

This single act of sportsmanship sends a strong message to children watching it to which it is aimed at, the act of giving up one’s glory for another person to show that not everything has to be done for you and you can make a big difference on other people. And I think that character development is why it’s such a great movie. Lightning goes from being an overconfident and selfish racing driver to being a warmhearted friend. 

Another reason I love Cars is the music which fits the mood of each scene. The genre between locations changes, being more country while in radiator springs as a pose to being on a racetrack, this also changes depending who is on screen at the time too. I also like the cover versions of pre-existing songs which give a nice spice of vocals and come off more playfully and memorably.

((I’d like to mention that while it is an amazing movie the How to Train Your Dragon franchise still seals the deal as being my favorite.))

[useramor]

fwb snippet :)

i'm on ft with @diazly as i pack, and i told her if she correctly guessed how much lighter my luggage got after i moved some clothes out, i would post something for her. she got it within the two pound margin, and asked for a snippet so here y'all go lmao

throwback to chapter two!!

“I tried getting off yesterday, you know?” Buck says, pressing the heel of his hand into the growing bulge in Eddie’s pants. “I kept wishing it was your hand. You know the last time I wanted someone else’s touch like that?”

Eddie swallows. He can hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest, holds his breath to see if it’ll make it calm down but it only seems to make the blood rushing in his ears louder. 

“You should do something about it, then.” Eddie hopes Buck doesn’t pick up the waver in his tone. It wasn’t even from nerves, not really. It wasn’t so much anxiety as it was anticipation. Eddie just doesn’t feel like stroking Buck’s ego by letting him know just how much he’s been waiting for this. 

He’d rather stroke something else. 

“Like what?” Buck asks.

Eddie nearly trips in his haste to take his pants off, and Buck starts to laugh before nearly tripping himself. Eddie snorts. Buck flips him off. They stand up at the same time, and, wow. They haven’t gotten a chance to do this sober, yet. Always a little drunk, and maybe that was safer — it’s not gay when there’s a little too much alcohol involved, or something. 

But they’re stone cold sober. Eddie’s gonna regret it later when he’s sitting in his truck, but he’s stupidly horny and Buck’s more attractive than Eddie remembers him being. Maybe it’s the lighting. Something is doing wonders for his abs. 

“Like what you see?” Buck teases, flexing and posing in a way that makes his v-line stand out. Eddie’s sure girls probably go crazy for that. 

“I’m not gay, man.”

“Your dick is interested.”

“My dick can’t tell the difference.”

Buck nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. Eddie doesn’t know why that unsettles him so much. 

Eddie, because he’s kind of tired of them standing there with their dicks out and doing nothing about it, closes the gap between them and wraps a hand around Buck’s cock. 

It twitches in his hand, pre-cum dripping out the head of it. Buck’s big. Feels almost bigger like this, in the bright lights of their station, the weight of it heavy and solid wrapped up in his fingers. Eddie goes slow, because he’s got a feeling that Buck probably takes his time when he does it to himself. Probably teases himself, grip nowhere near tight enough for any real relief.

Eddie’s suspicions are proven correct when Buck inhales sharply, his head tipping back against the shower wall. 

He pulls away for a second, smirking at Buck’s whine of protest, and turns the water on. 

“You want to waste water? You know we’re in a drought, right?”

“California’s always in a drought,” Eddie tosses back. “Besides, you’re sweaty, and I stink.”

Buck smiles, and whatever tension there was between them seems to disappear down the drain. 

“Also, I don’t need B-shift to listen to me jerking you off.”

Buck opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something, a quick-witted retort to Eddie’s teasing, but Eddie suddenly tugging hard and fast on his cock seems to make his brain short-circuit. 

Being suddenly so sharply aware of everything should probably make him freak out more. He knows he’d be losing his shit if this was just a year ago, but it’s like he said at the museum — he’s comfortable with himself. Enough to not get grossed out by the way Buck’s dick is smearing precome all over his fist. 

“Fuck, let me—” Buck gets out between breathy moans before wrapping his own hand around Eddie. 

They moan at the same time. It echoes, bouncing off the shower tiles, and it makes both of them pause, waiting to see if anyone heard. There’s distant chatter, but it’s too quiet and muffled to be coming from inside the locker room. 

Buck moves first. Eddie follows shortly after. It’s kind of an odd angle; Eddie’s reaching around Buck’s  arm, and it’s like there’s some sort of weird no non-dick touching rule that they both agreed upon, because they make sure not to let their arms brush. 

It’s one thing to shut his eyes and let fingers and touches and tugs get him off. It’s another to have Buck’s hand attached to Buck’s arm attached to Buck. 

Though, he’s really not sure why. Because it’s not like he wants to do this with anyone else. And it’s not like he doesn’t get the opportunity. Hell, every call to a public place is an opportunity. Women flirt with him left and right, but it never felt right. 

He needs trust. And there’s no one in the world he trusts more than Buck. 

Buck, who is hitching his hips up into Eddie’s fist and coming with a loud groan that’s only muffled by Eddie’s hand smacking over his mouth to shut him up. 

And, because he’s incredibly mature, Buck licks between his fingers.

[licially]

Reminisce

// I'm no stranger to writing canon characters, but writing one with little to no material is something I've been trying. Have my rendition of Atlas May, a very short one.

The man stood silently near a footpath, near a bunch of buildings that closed off the street from the main road. He’d been here multiple times before, the same spot with the same corner with the same exact pose. His cane almost denting the stonework beneath him, as cars drove across every aspect of the busy main road. His focus for the roads diminished as much as his awareness for the time; after all, the clock that was up ahead were just off by a few seconds. Amidst the burning fuel and rubber, he stood still with an unexplainable expression. It was neutral, but with every passing moment he seemed more and more mysterious. Untethered to his consciousness, but rather absorbed in his subconscious.

The traffic didn’t seem to help him out of it either. He had been standing out in the street adjacent to the speakeasy with the specific intersection being near the bridge that turned towards street just by the Little Daisy Café. A lot of traffic from Illinois towards Missouri goes through here, and he observed vehicles like birdwatching. Sometimes, some trucks with his supplies will turn at his road without hesitation. Other times, he’d watch the busy road towards St. Louis as passersby go on with their lives, unaware of the person whose hobby is to observe.

Although he indulges his time alone, inevitably something will come up that will distract him, and tether him back to reality. It’s only a reward for what he’d done for the business he’s keeping alive with his partner, and his wife. Work, however tiny it is, had been his focus for all the times he’d been here, and he’s not letting anything stop it. As the traffic slowed, his hearing picked up two pairs of footsteps that walked towards him, his ears slightly twitched as his eyes reeled towards the source of the sound.

“Atlas!” A more than excited, gruff voice came up behind him. He immediately turned around, and saw his companion walk up to him with a glass of sparkling wine in his hand. “Where’d you been? The party inside is much warmer than out here!” He puts his hands on his shoulder that had him holding his cane, nothing too rough so that they lost balance. Atlas quickly looked at a brightly smiling Asa, alongside a concerned Mitzi that he turned his attention to. 

“Let’s go back inside, darlin’. You’ve been out here for too long.” She spoke up, reaching out for Atlas’ free hand and holding onto it. Her hand, however, showed a different warmth in comparison to Asa’s. 

To Mitzi, her hand on his was a way to show her love to him. Normally at events like this, Mitzi wears gloves to not let her hands be dirtied by anything. This time around, however, he saw her other hand had the glove that she took off. Her white dress was dimmed by the night’s light outside, and for her to dredge through the dirty roads and footpaths was dedication. She held her hand out to him, and his reluctant hold turned into a much more assuring one. 

Yet Asa felt cold. His voice reeked of alcohol, foods, and everything in between that contradicted his surname. Although they both helped each other to achieve this status and where they are now are held together by their alliance, his breath was shaky at best, and his hands didn’t have the same amount of togetherness that he had thought. His smile didn’t seem genuine either, it’s as if he only wanted him to be back in there for his benefit and showing off instead of letting him be.

Although both had intentions that were the same, the sincerity of each of them was a massive difference. He didn’t want to say much – as if he had much to say – so he nodded, taking Mitzi’s hand and slightly batting away a tipsy Asa. Mitzi smiled at him, as they all turned back into the street towards the speakeasy. His observations, however, lingered in his mind. He’d never been wrong about anything that he’d suspected before, and this time he’d still be right. 

Albeit it’s the last truth he’d ever find out.

[hedgiwithapen]

The AU where Team Leverage is attempting to con Victoria Kord during the same few days that the Scarab is stolen.

Hardison adjusted the dress uniform he'd spent half the night sewing patches and arranging medals on. Authenticity was important, even if no one ever looked closely enough to see if one of the medals was a startrek badge. It wasn't--he wasn't going to risk a whole con, days of prep, on one of The Shadiest companies in Florida--for a geek joke. But he was tempted, sometimes, and never more than when he was posing as some stiff military monster at a party, talking atrocities with the Mark. Victoria Kord was certainly high on the list of 'People I feel Dirty Just Breathing The Same Air As' which was only not an official list because Eliot had pointed out that keeping such a list might bite them all in the ass.  Hardison had no intention of admitting he was right, but still. 

The food, catered by Eliot, was delicious, which counted for something. He glanced discreetly at his watch, pleased that the man he was impersonating was the type to wear real watches, and nodded to one of many hidden cameras. Originally, the plan had been to crash the party and find the paperwork about the illegal land seizures, find a way to get people back the homes they were being wrongfully evicted from. Snooping had revealed a bigger threat, and bigger target.  Parker would start her run for the secure project's room, plug in his code, and wipe all the OMAC data from Kord's system, ruining Victoria's credibility for her investors and tanking the company in three... two...

"Uh, guys? We have a problem. Like, capital p Problem," Breanna's voice hissed through the coms. 

"What?" he asked, then feigned a smile at Kord, "is that  fantastic--" he pretended to cut himself off. "My apologies, I was distracted by these canapes.  I tell you, we do not get food this flavorful in DC. You know how to make your investors feel welcome."

Over his chatter, Bre continued "Someone else just hacked the system. Majorly. I can't get it back. Hmm. I think I...might have seen this before..."

"We've got another problem," Eliot said from where he stood in chef whites, slicing meat at a table. "One of Kord's goons just walked in. Hardison, Parker, you need to bail. Now."

"Why? I'm almost--" 

"School of the Americas. That's Carapax. We'll find another way to shut them down, you need to move, now."

"And what are you going to do?" Breanna asked.

"Hey!" Parker said to someone in the hall with her. "You're messing up my heist!"

"Your heist? This is ou--my heist," said a young voice on the other end. 

"Parker, who's with you?" Eliot hissed, moving urgently now. Carapax was blocking the line of escape for Hardison, and that would not do at all.

"Uhhhhh blue buggy dude?"

Hardison's eyes bulged. "Excuse me," he said to Victoria, then muttering 

"Like... Blue Beetle?"

"I am Khaji Da," a new voice spliced into the com system, over the sound of Breanna's "Oh, no you did not just hack my coms." 

"Yes, I did."

"It's an expression," the same young man's voice said. "Um. Look. Why don't you steal whatever it is you're stealing, I'll get what I came for and we go before we all get killed?"

The overlapping chatter was going to give Eliot a headache.

"Oh, HEY," Breanna said again. "I do know you. Hey, can your hacker hear us? Tell him it's GarlicBre52. From the forums. Uh, Eliot, red truck, oh shit, and you're about to have company. the bad kind."

 Eliot rolled his eyes, and located the truck. Carapax seemed to have noticed it too. 

"Bre, Hardison, get ready to pick up Parker and go. I'll warn your nerd friend." Eliot rolled his shoulders, ready for a fight.  

Several stories up, a pulse of blue light shattered a row of windows, drawing all attention up. Eliot hoped the distraction would be enough to steal a superhero… and his back up.

[not-alien-girl-v]

hi please, could you right some sweet hurt/comfort about reader comforting kit walker? ty :)

warning: language, excessive gooey lovey dovey bullshit if that’s your thing, angst

note: this got sappy as shit in the end idc tho its cute

You hate walking home alone. You hate the way you jump at each unsettling noise you hear on the journey. The wind picking up leaves to scrape them along the sidewalk, some reptilian entity rustling around in a bush. It frightens you more than you like to admit to anyone, especially a smug Kit, who ‘insists’ on walking you home everyday, as if you wouldn’t beg him to otherwise.

The walk is brief, but its cold, and on a night like this, when Kit got caught up at work for a few extra hours after sundown, lonely. It was fine. He called you on the payphone at the shop, his euphonic drawl with an added rasp from the last cigarette in his pack smoked. You thought it was your lucky day, getting a call from the love of your life in the middle of a crappy workday, but less so when he revealed you would have to walk by yourself.

You can handle yourself fine, and you did, all the way home in the cold, in the dark, the middle of the night, and other downsides to the situation you’d have to remember to give Kit shit about when he got home. 

The night air swirls around you in a big gust of bone chilling wind, wracking through your body, blowing the skirt of your waitress uniform. You work 6 to noon on weekdays but 4 to 10 on weekends for the dinner rush at your local seedy diner. Sometimes Kit comes in before he heads in to work, half for a barely palatable cup of coffee, half so he can sit at the counter on a stiff stool and stare at you for 30 minutes.

He seemed so worn, so spent over the phone that you were under the impression he had a long stretch of work ahead of him before he could clock out, so you’re a bit confused when you see his truck in the driveway and the lights on in the living room through the window. 

Your key turns in the lock and you peel the open, hinges squeaking eerily like a scene from a bad horror movie. That damn door, you’d fix it had you obtained the ability to do so. That was more Kit’s area of expertise, but he’s been so busy lately, you didn’t want to stress him further.

He’s there, reclined in his favorite chair, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he must of had the time to run to the store and buy another pack, and television turned on to some kitschy old movie.

“Babe?” You ask, and he’s jolting awake from a light slumber, sullen eyes fixing on you, looking like a man much older than 25. He’s so often like this, so worried or stressed over things he looks years older than he is.

He scans you up and down, admiring for just a moment before panic sets into his face. “Shit, did you have to walk?”

“Yeah, it’s alright, I didn’t bring you dinner though. Why are you off so early? Thought you said you’d be late,” your last words are posed as a question, though you mean to be a simple statement, as that is what he told you. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, sweetie, boss had some personal emergency, everyone got let off early cuz he didn’t want the trouble of us unmanaged, I must have fell asleep,” he follows you into the kitchen where you hang your purse on a dining chair. You trifle through the bag, trying to find your wallet, but to no avail, it’s not in there.

“It’s fine, hun, um, I think I dropped my wallet outside, I’m gonna go grab it, but lay down, go back to sleep. You’re so stressed lately, you deserve some good rest.”

He looks a bit unconvinced that you’re not upset with him in any way but if there’s one thing he can agree on, it’s that sleep sounds magnificent for him right now, especially now knowing you’re home safe with him.

As you open the mahogany slab of wood that opens to the outside world, you can’t help but cringe a bit at the loud creaking noise, but one glance back at a relaxed Kit in his chair again stops you from saying anything to him. It’s almost like a chain reaction, the two of you. Kit works so much, causing him stress, which makes you worry about him like a concerned mother rather than a troubled girlfriend, and then you’re both running around like chickens without heads because of it.

You hug your thick jacket tighter around your body, well, Kit’s thick jacket, as the unforgiving night air welcomes you back in to the cold like a menacing embrace. One quick glance around, and you find your wallet right on the doorstep, it must have fallen to the ground when you were searching for your keys. 

You chuckle at your mindless stupidity, and open the door quickly to escape the frigid temperature and there it is again, that goddamn squeak. It almost seems louder once you realize how fucking annoying it is. You’ve had enough of this.

Slamming it shut behind you, “this isn’t gonna work, Kit.” 

Your back is turned to him, but his is turned to you as well, so you don’t notice the way he jumps then freezes in his chair, eyes wide in panic, and he doesn’t notice how you’re regarding the door rather than him. 

“What?” Still, not turning around, as if he can make you change your mind as long as he doesn’t look at you, like he can make you stop.

“Look, I mean, I didn’t want to say anything yet because of work and the stress, I know it’s a lot for you, and I didn’t want to add more bullshit to your plate, but I really can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick and tired of it,” you come and stand in front of him now, and he can’t deny you anymore, he has to stand up and face you like a man, though he really, really doesn’t want to. 

“Why can’t things just stay the way they are?” His eyes are welling up with tears, and you’re shocked, you didn’t know he cared this strongly about the door. 

“Because it’s a nuisance! Everyday I get home, I mean, first thing I see, I can’t just ignore it! It’s driving me fucking insane? Isn’t there something you can do to fix it?”

It seems the more fired up about the door you get, the more emotional he becomes, and it’s a weird chain reaction, much different from your usual stress-related one. You’re not sure why he cares so much about it, but seeing as you have strong feelings about it as well, you can’t blame him.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry! I can fix this, I can be better, I swear, just please don’t break up with me,” he’s dropped on his knees now in a begging stance, and your eyes are wide in horror, realizing a massive misunderstanding has taken place in your home. 

You mean to do something, but soon, you realize you’ve simply been standing there staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. His tears are streaming down his own, a common sight to see from him, though it still breaks your heart to see every time he gets emotional, which is often, seeing as he’s so open with his feelings.

He’s gazing up at you with fear and sorrow and so much love in his eyes, it almost overwhelms you, how much he loves you, once you really think about it. But that’s not the point here.

You kneel down to meet his level, to meet his eyes, and your slow to come in contact, you start with his fingers, lifting them one by one until his hands rest in your own, when you slide yours up his arms, coming to a halt on his shoulders, and his damp eyes follow your fingertips as they explore his clothed skin, leaving goosebumps under the sleeves of his work shirt that you can’t see, but somehow are aware of.

Pulling him in, you wrap him in a hug, your arm working under his own to rub up and down soothingly on his back, another going over to rest on the back of his head, cradling him to your shoulder which you can feel becoming wet due to his teary-eyed state, but you allow it as you stroke his hair. 

You mainly want him to calm down first before you begin to explain this all, but when he doesn’t seem to be slowing his breathing, when his tears are at full force into your shoulder, you change your plans. Lightly pushing him by the shoulders to break free from the hug, you rest one hand on the back of his neck, letting the skin on skin contact soothe him, and digging your hand into the hair on the back of his head, you make him look at you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, my love, you’re okay,” you massage his scalp for a moment, feeling awful knowing that your inability to be precise in your words led to this, and you’re really not sure what to say or do to make this better.

“No, how can we be okay? If you’re tryin’ to leave me 'cos I work so much? How can I fix this? Don’t know how,” he cries to you and you continue to hold him tenderly.

You just nod your head, struggling to find words. “Okay, um, a few things I need to say baby. You ready to listen?” He desperately nods his head and you feel like crying too.

“First of all, I love you. I love you so much, baby, too much. It’s ridiculous, truly,” he opens his mouth to say something but you won’t have it. “Ah, not done. Okay, um, second of all, I wasn’t trying to break up with you. But, I totally see where you’re coming from, looking back at it, I could have been clearer. I was talking about the door, you know that stupid squeak it makes when it opens? Yeah, pisses me off, not that I know how to fix it. That’s your job, huh baby?”

When he realizes you’ve finally opened the floor for commentary, he decides to indulge in it. “Yeah, ‘s my job. What you keep me around for.” His sad little smile is a beautiful sight to see, like a prayer of no words to the damned. You giggle, and he mirrors your emotion, a small laugh emitting from his handsome face.

“Feeling better now?” You stand up off the ground, reaching your hands out to pull him up with you, and he accepts. He nods and stares at you in adoration. “Good, now will you fix that door before I lose my marbles again?”

He laughs, throwing his head back in the moment and he realizes he would probably do anything you told him to, as long as it would make you happy. Whatever that feeling is, that emotion that’s just a little past love, he wants to savor it, bottle it, put it on a page of a book he can read over and over again, he wants to taste it every morning and every night for breakfast and dinner, he wants to feel it on his skin, in his brain, deep down inside him for as long as you’d let him.

As he fixes the hinges of the door, you sit on the floor before him, watching his strong hands do what they seemingly were made to, you feel so lucky to have him, so glad to be his, here, on his living room floor, where he looks so tender and domestic that you might just die if you looked at him for a moment longer but you can’t tear your eyes away from him, you never want to let him out of your sight for as long as you live. 

“There we are, honey. All better. Come give it a try,” he must not have noticed your excessive staring, for he seems all fine now, and you trap him in a hard kiss once he turns around to face you, not bothering to try the door, trusting his skills alone. 

You kiss him rough, passionate, so hard that he fears you may just suck the soul out of him through his lips, only hoping it will be safely kept in your loving hold. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d gladly give his soul to you if you asked, if it was possible. He’d do anything for you. 

[creatorthegod]

Yandere Trenderman x mannequin reader

This is based of a story I read but can find anymore so if you find it please send it to me so I can give credit to the maker. Also I don’t know much about trenderman so it may seem a little OOC

For two years I sat in the corner collecting dust all while he looked away from me. I regret nothing that I did, cheating on him, why you may ask it was because he was to clingy and I though that was the only was out. Of course it hurt when he turned me into a mannequin, the most painful thing I ever experienced but I waited, I learned his routine and when he was out I would make my move. I knew he would be gone for the day and after an hour of him leaving I stood up. My joints creaked as I did not move for a long time and I moved to the door opening it and closing once out.

I don’t know how long I was walking but when I spotted a moving company truck with a clothing store logo on it I knew I had a chance to leave this place. Sneaking in the truck I spot a paper and pen I Wright on it ‘ Meet (y/n) they are a jointed mannequin so you can pose them anyway you want, but make sure they are taken care for’ I stick the paper on me, the truck started moving and I just wait.

When Trender returned home he went to his office but the usually warm room was almost ice cold and he shivered looking around he found nothing missing that was until he looked to the corner where all he found was dust around the shape of a person.

”I am so glad we got that mannequin (y/n) was it” a boss said to there employee “ More people have been coming in because of them” said mannequin was in the front stand right where the people would enter and they are what people first see when they glanced in. “Also a new mannequin just came, just get them dressed and ready for display” the employee grumbled before shuffling away to the back room to do what they where told and a few moments later the employee come back struggling to drag the other mannequin up before setting them up next to me. ‘Oh no’ I thought at the outfit and glasses on the mannequin looked familiar, I was staring at him and I think he was staring at me, but I could not tell, we both don’t have eyes.

At night after the employees locked up the store, I hop down and almost run away from Trender but I didn’t get far before I felt a hand grab my wrist. I turn around to face him “ Let go” I hissed venom in my voice, he then put his free hand on my cheek rubbing it. I slap it way “ what are you doing here” I ask glaring my non existent eyes and frowning my non existent mouth. “ I missed you” he replys grabbing my waist and pulling me towards him, bumping into his chest I pull away “didn’t you throw me into a corner for 2 years” he then got down on his knees “my dear (y/n) will you be mine again” I stared at him shocked “NO” I yelled stumbling backwards “but my dear you don’t have a choice” he replied walking towards me “God this is why I cheated on you” I state making him freeze “you where and are so possessive I could barely breath, and when I do manage to leave you have to come and ruin it for me and now I have to leave. Because. Of. You” I add poking his chest, and he was quiet for a bit before he suddenly grabbed my face, forcing a kiss from me and for a few seconds I was stunned, he pulled away “I don’t care what you did in the past, I need you in my life now we can be together have a happy family and you won’t ever leave me. Ever” his face had a dark look on them, tendrils coming out of his back one picking me up, I wiggle trying to get out of the grasp “ Now dear why don’t we go back home”

[amplifyme]

Gimme Shelter

The X-Files. MSR, Angst, UST to RST, Paper Clip. Rating: Mature. WC: 3114. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They hide out in the woods behind the Strughold mine until the hit squad finally gives up and leaves in a great cloud of dust and skidding tires. A brief conversation follows, and they both agree that going back for the car would be a mistake. Mulder hadn’t stopped moving long enough to count their number when they’d piled out of their black vehicles with rifles in hand, and he figures they might have left one or two assassins behind. They aren’t willing to risk becoming easy pickings just for the convenience of four wheels and a quicker escape. Instead, they hike east until they come to the rural two-lane blacktop that’d brought them to the mine hours earlier.

Luck is on their side, and not long after he sticks his thumb out, an older man in an even more antiquated pickup truck pulls over and waves them into the cab. Mulder takes the middle seat, a lanky, odorous, high-strung wall between Scully and whatever danger the driver might pose. He makes small talk with the guy and surreptitiously hands over his wallet to her. Scully twists and gives the two men her back long enough to hide what she’s doing and soon after whispers the results to him as a tinny Your Cheating Heart floats from the radio speakers, providing more cover for her words.

Between them they have seventy-four dollars and five credit cards they can’t risk using. They are fugitives with one useless badge, no authority, a couple cellphones short of a pair, two guns, and a bad case of shellshock. They’re both out of their minds, albeit temporarily, and neither of them are truly aware of it. At least not on any level that might make a difference.

The old man drops them off in front of a broken down ten-room motel on Route 320A just outside Craiger, Maryland. There’s an open diner a short jog down the road and Mulder heads that way with a twenty in hand while Scully secures a room. He returns with sandwiches and sodas and finds her standing in front of the door of #7, illuminated by a bare bulb above her head, swatting at the moths that flitter around her, drawn there by the light.

“We good?” he asks as she wheels and opens the door. Mulder follows her across the threshold, and she locks and chains them in before flipping the light switch.

“I’m not sure. Let’s see what thirty-five bucks gets us first.”

They stand side by side and inspect the cramped room and its contents, decorated in varying shades of shit-brown: a double bed and single nightstand, the tiny round table and lone chair. A small older model TV sits on a narrow dresser across from the bed.

“You think they have the History Channel?”

Scully chuffs under her breath. “I’m surprised there’s even a TV. Although…” She crosses in front of him and pushes open the door of what is hopefully a usable bathroom. She toggles the wall switch and light bounces off the mirror over the sink and illuminates a swatch of brown carpeting, bisected by wood molding marking the transition between it and the tile of the bathroom floor.

Mulder does a slow inspection of the small perimeter of the room, toeing at the baseboards and checking the corners where the walls meet the ceiling. “No sign of roaches that I can see,” he reports.

“The bathroom is clean,” she announces with relief. “Needs a serious update, but it’s clean.”

Their eyes meet, brows lifting in mirrored expressions. It’s no worse than some of the places they’ve stayed. He’ll take the floor and let Scully have the bed. “Ham and cheese,” he says, lifting the bag in his hand. “I got you wheat bread.”

She crosses in front of him again, this time carelessly swiping her hand down his arm before she settles on the edge of the lonely chair at the table. He empties the bag and divvies up the contents as she studies the toes of her boots.

“What are we going to do, Mulder?”

“I dunno,” he admits. He reaches across the table and yanks the curtains closed. “Eat. Try to get some sleep, maybe. We have to call Skinner at some point.”

“Yes. I need to know about Missy.” The sandwich she’s unwrapping is pushed away. Instead, she picks at the corners of the paper enclosing their straws, gets them free, and then decisively jams them into the lids of the soda cups.

“I’m sorry about your sister, Scully.” He drops on the foot of the bed and scrapes at a smear of drying mud on his jeans with the edge of a thumbnail. When he raises his eyes, hers are already there waiting for him.

“She’s going to be okay, Mulder. She has to be.”

He agrees with a sharp nod, even though he isn’t sure she’s right. He’d done all he could and had made the call as they’d left the Gunman’s. If Albert Hosteen could bring him back from the brink of death, maybe he could do something for Melissa, too.

He takes to his feet and tries to gather his thoughts as he paces the small room. It doesn’t do him any good, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the image of his father, bloody and still on the bathroom floor, comes into focus and he rapidly blinks it away.

“Why was my name on that file first?” he asks the heavy silence. “What did we find in that mine, Scully? And my father… what part did he play in all this?”

“I don’t know, Mulder, and right now I can’t even process the information rationally enough to make any sense of it. I just can’t.”

This is a rare confession from her, and it knocks him even more off-kilter. “Let me call Skinner,” he abruptly offers, moving toward the nightstand and the old-fashioned black dial phone. But she stops him before he gets there.

“No! No, just… In the morning, Mulder. We’ll call him in the morning. We need to… I need to sleep. I’m no good right now. Neither of us are. Let’s just regroup and start over tomorrow.”

He doesn’t know why the pendulum’s swung from the urgent need to know about her sister to firmly declaring she’ll think about it tomorrow, like some modern-day Scarlett O’Hara. But it’s easier to just go with it than question it. Easy is good right now. Easier than thought.

“Okay. We’ll call him in the morning.” He takes another look around the room, his hands spasmodically fisting at his sides and notes their uneaten sandwiches, raises an arm and sniffs himself, glancing at the narrow band of light from the bathroom. He wheels back to her. “What’s the date?”

“What?” She peers up at him, confused.

“The date, Scully. What’s today’s date?” He’s already working open the buttons on his shirt.

“Um, the twenty-fourth.” She glances at her watch. “Very soon to be the twenty-fifth. Why?”

“Almost five days then. I’m good,” he mutters and looks over to find her staring at him. He pulls off the shirt and tosses it to the floor. “I gotta wash off this stink. It’s safe to do it now.”

“Safe?” she echoes. And then her eyes settle on his torso. “Mulder, your shoulder.”

He tucks his chin, trying to see what’s alarmed her. Oh. Of course: the puckered and pink place where she shot him. He’s conscious now of the dull ache and his shoulder lifts in sympathy of her awareness, tucking his arm closer to his body. “It’s okay,” he tells her, but she’s on her feet and standing in front of him before he knows it.

“Let me see,” she urges, laying her hands on him and probing the skin around the healing entry wound. He winces and she whispers a terse apology but keeps poking at him anyway. He’s about to tell her to knock it off when she steps behind him to check the corresponding exit wound high on his back, taking her time doing this, too.

He’s used to it, to Scully doing her doctor thing on him when it’s necessary. Most of the time he doesn’t even think about it. But this time it feels different. The sensation of her hands against him is weightier somehow. Charged, he realizes; like tiny little lightning bolts where she touches him. The words leave him sluggishly: “You do good work, Scully.”

She’s still behind him, lingering there. He wonders what the hell is going on with her but can’t bring himself to ask. And then one palm deliberately smooths down his spine and he can’t help but flex against it. He’s like a cat arching its back in pleasure when it meets a human with an especially adept hand at petting. She is his human, and he’s certain he’s going to come right out of his skin if she keeps this up. He can almost hear the crackling of the sparks arcing between them.

“Scully,” he murmurs when the tips of her fingers briefly slide beneath the waistband of his jeans and her knuckles brush the small of his back. He isn’t certain if her name is a question or a plea. But she’s so close and she’s quivering just the same as him. And then, as if suddenly coming to her senses, the gossamer thread between them snaps as she steps away and shows him her back, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

“You’re right, Mulder,” she eventually offers. Her words are ragged and breathy. “You definitely need a shower.”

He nods at the back of her head and pushes out the air he’s held too long in his lungs. “Say no more. I’ll get right on it.”

He toes off his boots and makes for the bathroom. He’s soon naked and standing before the showerhead, waiting for the water to get hot enough to do some good. He idly takes himself in hand; he’s half-hard from what’s just happened. It’s not like he’s never thought about fucking her before, because he has. But he’s a pro at gulping down his feelings; adroit at deflecting his desires onto the safer celluloid women who live in his VCR and won’t judge him and find him lacking in some essential way. He doesn’t want to disappoint Scully or chance scaring her off with the depth of his feelings. Because if he does, she might leave him. He knows now that he won’t survive that, not a second time, and especially not if it’s a choice she makes. It’s not worth the risk just to indulge whatever this attraction is that thrums between them.

And yet… And yet he isn’t at all surprised when she steps into the shower behind him as he’s rinsing off a thick lather of soap. She wraps her arms around his waist and presses close, as naked as he is. She turns her face into his back, and he almost doesn’t hear her over the sound of the shower.

“Just this once,” she tells him. “It doesn’t mean anything more than this. It’s just –“

He turns in her arms and shuts her up the only way he knows how. He doesn’t need her rationalizations or excuses. He needs her. And for once, she seems to need him right back.

They’re not long in the shower. They won’t hazard the possibility of damage from a slip or fall, and neither seem to possess the brain power necessary to navigate sex in such a setting. Soon he’s backing her out of the bathroom soaking wet, tongues busy in each other’s mouths, and onto the mattress he quickly strips of its suspect bedspread.

She is a revelation nearly too enormous to comprehend, once he stops long enough to take in full sight of her naked beneath him, grasping at him with a hunger he never expected but which is so very welcome. She’s much smaller out of her clothes, compact and lithe with her marvelous breasts capped by taut strawberry nipples, and her lean, almost boyish hips.

He’s thought about this, too. About the specifics, if they were ever to do this thing. He’s promised himself that he’ll pay attention to everything, he won’t forget a second of it. He’s also imagined moments when time will slow down, and they’ll move through this occasion languidly and with great tenderness. Because he loves her and wants her to know it.

In reality he can’t seem to focus on anything long enough to make it indelible. Scully won’t let him. This is frantic and messy, and she clearly wants to be in charge. He feels like she’s dragging him through a fun house of utter decadence, her heels dug-in against his resistance to rush things. He wants to stop and look around. She wants to do everything all at once. But her everything feels spectacular, and it’s fitting somehow that this is how they come together. So he finally, and with great pleasure, lets her drag him where she may.

There are two things he is certain he will remember for all time, even if the rest of it fades into murky recollection. The first is looking down his body in disbelief as she takes him in her mouth, those juicy wet coral lips wrapped around him and the lascivious sparkle in her eyes as she peers up at him, triumphant. The second is the instant when she lowers that last inch atop him and sheaths him completely inside of her. He’s never felt anything quite like it. And now is when she decides to slow down. Now she studies his face intently as she leisurely rides him, rocking slow and deep. And now is when he decides he can’t abide this tenderness he’d thought he wanted. Now he has to drive things forward. It’s his turn to drag her through the fun house. Because if he doesn’t do it right now, he will surely come apart at the seams. He’s seconds away from losing his fucking mind.

Using his size and strength he effortlessly flips her over and presses her into the mattress. He reaches back and grabs her ankles, bends her nearly in half, and pounds into her as he grips her behind the knees, her heels digging into his collarbones. He doesn’t care that the bullet hole in his left shoulder screams in protest; it only adds another layer of vivid awareness to this extraordinary thing they’re doing. Scully is alive and electric beneath him, scrabbling with sharp nails, her head tossing against the threadbare sheet, grunts of pleasure forced from that perfect, perfect mouth of hers with every thrust of his hips. She drops a hand to her belly and slides it down to where they’re joined and comes not long after, her body drawing tight for endless moments, and he’s there now too, just behind her. He squeezes his eyes tight and relinquishes everything he is right back to her. Eventually he lowers her legs and drops down onto his forearms, burying his face in her neck and gasping for breath.

They’re both sticky with sweat and other assorted bodily fluids and he knows he should move off of her, give them both some air. But when he shifts, her legs come up and wrap high around his thighs, anchoring him to her. He sinks back down, brushing the tangled hair from her face and peppering it with tentative kisses. He’s not sure how much longer his arms can hold him; he’s shaky in the aftermath of their frenzied union. But he’s not going to leave her. This next move will have to be hers.

Mulder lifts his forehead from the curve of her shoulder a few minutes later to check on her, hoping to find her looking as joyous as he feels. In what doesn’t come as a huge surprise, he instead discovers that she’s fallen asleep. He smiles down at her relaxed features and gently eases her legs straight. He rolls away from her and stares up at the water-stained ceiling until his eyelids grow heavy and he lets them slip shut. Maybe if he’s stealthy enough, he can sneak up on sleep and let it have its way with him. But it seems that not even transformative sex with his beloved partner and friend can stave off insomnia, and he’s on his feet less than an hour later. After its short vacation, his mind is spinning again, tumultuous with unanswered questions both recent and very, very new. He manages to ease the sheet and blanket from under Scully’s legs and covers her to the neck. She whimpers softly in her sleep and rolls over on her side. He heads back to the bathroom for a second and far less remarkable shower.

Getting back into his smelly clothes is out of the question tonight. So after Mulder dries off, he wraps himself in the discarded bedspread and switches on the TV, turning the volume dial all the way down. Out goes the overhead light and he settles in the chair, cocooned in scratchy polyester that smells of cheap detergent and cigarette smoke. He watches Scully sleep and wonders what will happen now. If they’re acting at all true to form, they won’t talk about what’s happened here, no matter how monumental it may be. He is too afraid. And Scully… well, he suspects she has her own fears. Not for the first time, he acknowledges that they’re both deeply damaged. But they’re also so very good together. He has a hard time remembering what his life was like before she came into it. He can’t begin to imagine what it would be like without her.

He finishes the job she started earlier and unwraps his sandwich, finally eating his simple dinner. He mindlessly chews bites of ham and cheese and rubs at his gums and the roof of his mouth with a finger, cleaning the places where the sticky white bread latches on, washing it all down with contemplative sips of watered-down Coke.

It’s up to her, he decides. Whatever happens next lies in her hands. He’ll follow her lead in this, as difficult as that might prove to be. He won’t risk losing her. There are very few moments of tonight’s events that he recalls in any real detail, but the ones he does will be neatly tucked away, something secret and unspeakable.  And maybe they’ll be enough to sustain him. Maybe.

“Just this once,” he repeats her edict quietly. And he desperately hopes he can learn to live with that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Notes:

I’ve wanted to write this little tale for a very long time, as a sort of companion piece to Apocalyptic Poet, where I posited that Mulder and Scully were occasional lovers and their first time had taken place during the episode Paper Clip. I’m not completely happy with how this turned out, but it is what it is. They can’t all be homeruns.

This fic has no connection to the Rollings Stones song of the same name other than the muse saying, “Yes, this shall be the title. No, I don’t care what you think. Do you want this written or not?” Yeah, she’s still being an uncooperative bitch.

Things the muse tolerated this time: ~ Whatever is in the blend of tea my brother put together for me. It smells lovely and tastes just as good, especially on these chilly afternoons. ~ Homemade split pea soup. No, don’t tell me you don’t like it; you’ve never tasted mine. I am the Soup Queen of the Midwest™ and this stuff will change your life. ~ The playlist my good friend SmallestGrackle compiled for their unfinished ASOIAF fanfic, Kindred. It still transports me to a whole ‘nother level of sensory perception. Congrats on marrying the love of your life earlier this fall! Blessings to you both. ❤️ ~ All my fellow Tumblr dwellers. Thanks for keeping my dash so interesting. ~ Mindy’s edible gummies. The Honey Melon flavor is *chef’s kiss* perfection. ~ David Duchovny’s appearance on the Drew Barrymore Show not long ago. Sometimes I wonder if my decades-long obsession with this man is misguided. But it’s not. He continues to enchant me every single time he opens his mouth. ~ The Holy Trinity: water, wine, coffee.

Till next time…

[oscarpiastriwdc]

the little landoscar in standing at your door gave me life and the fact that in your mind its canon that lando is a misdiagnosed carrier as well and oscar is too blind with fondness to notice he got him pregnant is just way too funny to me—it’s so them. also oscar’s mum taking one like at lando and going “buy a pregnancy test” takes me out. would love if you actually wrote a little story about it but in the end it’s totally up to you hihi.

also love the single dad charles idea, it’s so hilarious

A tiny snippet of unknowingly pregnant Lando spending the holidays with Oscar's family:

Lando has met Oscar's family before, at races and random McLaren events, but spending the holidays with Oscar's family in Australia is different. Bigger.

It's been an exhausting season. The last two months are a painful blur of jet lag and physical exhaustion and muscle aches and getting unprecedentedly weepy every time he or Oscar are on the podium. Oscar's dad picks them up from the airport, claps Lando on the shoulder and wraps his son in a bear hug that makes Lando coo and Oscar blush. He falls asleep in the backseat of the pickup truck, lulled into a drowsy state by the motion of the vehicle and Oscar's gentle voice telling his dad about the final race.

When they arrive at the house it's just past noon in Melbourne but it's the middle of the night in Monaco; Lando doesn't even manage to greet the rest of Oscar's family before he's out cold.

Lando wakes up a few hours later to an empty bed, disoriented by his surroundings. It's still light outside, and the sun streaming through the window highlights Piastri family photos on the wall. He grins at one of Oscar and his sisters at the zoo, posing like flamingos.

He follows the sound of voices downstairs where he's met with Oscar sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter talking to his mom who's posted at the stovetop.

"Oh hi Lando, dear! How did you sleep?"

"Hi Nicole." Lando steps around the counter into Oscar's mom's open arms pulling him into a hug. "That mattress is amazing."

"How was the flight? I bet you're feeling hungry."

Oscar snorts, makes room at the counter for Lando to join him. "Mum, you don't need to baby us."

"Yes I do, I don't care how fast you drive those cars, while you're under my roof you're still my baby. Oscar told me you don't like fish but you do like chicken tenders, so I made sure to pick some up at the grocery store. I'll pop some in the oven, how's that?"

"That sounds good, thank you."

"Of course, dear." Oscar's mom sets to preheating the oven, removing the frozen chicken tenders from the freezer, and arranging them on a tray while she asks Lando about Quadrant and his parents and plans for the rest of the holidays. The chicken tenders go in the oven and, soon, the kitchen is filled with the scent.

Lando's stomach turns. He must make a face because Oscar turns to look at him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just jet lag."

Oscar's mom glances at them before removing the tray from the oven. Lando catches another whiff of the chicken and gags the way he only ever does when faced with fish. Oscar rubs a hand up and down Lando's back, soothing him.

The tenders get plated and slid across the counter. Lando picks one up, aware of the way Oscar's mom scrutinizes him, and nibbles a bite out. He has to force himself not to spit the food out.

"Have you been having unprotected sex?"

At that question, Lando does spit out his food while Oscar turns bright red.

"Mum!"

Oscar's mom tuts. "Calm down, Oscar. I'm going to run to the pharmacy, I'll be back in half an hour. Your sisters should be around if you need anything." With that, she promptly exits the kitchen, fetches her purse, and heads out the front door.

"What was that all about, Osc?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Well she's your mum, isn't she?"

Oscar and Lando bicker for a minute before they're distracted again, resulting in an impromptu make-out session on Oscar's parent's couch. They break apart and shuffle to opposite sides of the couch when Oscar hears the front door opening and pushes himself off Lando.

Oscar's mom marches in and sets a box down on the coffee table. Lando leans in to inspect. It's a pregnancy test.

"There's no way Oscar's pregnant, he never tops–"

Oscar throws his hand over Lando's mouth. "Please don't talk about this in front of my mum. And I don't think it's for me."

"Is it for one of your sisters?"

The room is silent while Oscar and his mom stare at Lando with mirrored, unblinking expressions. A minute later, Lando connects the dots.

"Oh. Oh shit."