#and my insurance will be lower for my new car | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vintagemulti · 2 years

Text

rainfall

pairings: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x pilot!reader

desc: you’ve always had a thing for your best friend. this mission didn’t help.

warnings: this is quite long😵‍💫, swearing, sex references and innuendos, alcohol and drunkness, death and family member loss, dissociation mentions, i know NOTHING about pilots/flying sorry, this WILL be a series !!!

a/n: someone tell me to stop making series. i beg. this is my little writer brain not being able to watch anything without making a character WHOOPS. anyways, i’ve not seen the first top gun. so. cannon? who? we don’t know her. also i hate called bradley rooster i can’t work out why but i’ll only refer to him as it when flying. soz.

series masterlist

masterlist

you had been in bali when you got the call. you and bradley, in bali, relaxing. but who ever said naval pilots get to relax?

it was something you had gotten far too used to, having to pack up your things and get the first flight back to the states. sure, you had been the one to chose this career and the disruptions you faced were consequences of your own actions, but you had really - really, really - hoped that you didn’t get called up when you did.

two weeks in bali with bradley bradshaw, the highlight of your year. it had been planned for almost a year, which was saying something. normally you and bradley would say you’d do something, and it would never actually end up happening. but no - this vacation had went ahead, and you’d had six days of utter bliss before the dreaded number showed up on your phone.

bradley had been phoned right after you, his reaction being about the same. annoyed, upset but somewhat excited. what the fuck was all this about? both you and him being on the same mission?

and so you had packed all your stuff and made your way back to california, dropped your bags off at your separate apartments and rushed to put together an emergency bag, with your uniforms and workout clothes inside.

that took you up to now, sat in the passenger side of bradley’s new range rover, forty minutes into the drive back to the naval base on lake tahoe. it wasn’t far away now - only ten or so minutes, but the sun was beginning to slowly dip it’s head, ever so slightly.

you were still dressed in your summer clothes, a tight, black dress with white lining and held up by a strap around your neck. it was low cut, a little lower than you’d like for the first time meeting your other teammates, but there wasn’t any time to get changed.

bradley was dressed in the same way, tight white tank top covered in a hawaiian shirt, nude-coloured cargos covering his thighs. and, of course, his aviator glasses. was it really bradley without them?

he turned into one of the roads leading to the hard deck - a bar frequented by everyone within a mile vicinity - and you turned to look at him, right as the sunlight hit him. golden rays washed over his skin, his collarbones shining and under his sunglasses you could see his brown eyes - turned like honey in the light.

you thought he looked beautiful, but you’d never tell him.

“this better be good,” he spoke, breaking the moment of silence. “that hotel cost a fuckin’ fortune.”

rolling your eyes, you nodded. “you’re lucky i remembered we get travel insurance. who was it that was determined we didn’t, again?”

“oh, shut up,” bradley said, but you could see the outline of a smirk on his mouth. “no one ever told me we get that.”

“lies!” you laughed. “they put it in the ads, that if you get called up while away, they pay you back whatever you lost.”

it was bradley’s turn to roll his eyes. “alright, miss ‘i always read the fine print’.”

“at least i can read,” you joked back.

electing to ignore the snide comment he made back, you reached into the passenger side compartment, searching for your own sunglasses - feeling nothing. you looked around the car, sighing in defeat as you realised you must have left your pair at home.

spotting another pair of aviators on the dashboard, you picked them up. “can i borrow these?”

bradley looked at what you were referring to, almost laughing when he saw his spare glasses in your hand.

“go ahead, sugar, i won’t need ‘em.”

putting the sunglasses on, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach that flew around with the pet name.

the hard deck came into view, looking busy already. it was so loud - you could practically hear the music playing from the jukebox all the way out here.

“takes you back, huh?” you asked.

“that it does,” bradley pulled into a parking spot. “feels like yesterday we were here last.”

“wrong,” you undid your seatbelt. “yesterday we were in a five star villa in bali.”

opening the car door, you stepped onto the concrete, your heels clicking against the ground. why did you wear these again? good god, it would be a long night. bradley joined you, walking towards the front door of the bar. it was so loud now - it was like you were already inside.

he pulled the door open, letting you in first. fireworks exploded all over your body as his hand moved around your waist, letting him manoeuvre himself to be standing next to you. you let him take the lead to where the rest of your team appeared to be, and you watched him walk - his swagger that was just so fucking hot almost making you forget you were stood completely still.

most of the faces you recognised - actually, you recognised all of them. pheonix, hangman, fanboy and payback we’re speaking to bradley, and someone you had recently been introduced to was the first person to notice you.

“rainfall! hey, how’s it going?” bob smiled at you, the other people snapping their heads to look at you as well.

“yeah, alright, how’re you?” you answered, him nodding a reply.

“wow,” hangman spoke first. “both rooster and rainfall arrive late, not in uniform? been busy, you two?”

“about as busy as your mum, hangman.” you retorted, those around you letting out a surprised laugh.

“that’s not the most important question,” pheonix tilted her head. “what the hell is this? what can they possibly be trying do here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, prompting her to go on; “well, we’re the best there is. who the hell can teach us?”

the question took you by surprise - but it wasn’t irrelevant. the only briefing you had was this was a training program for an intense mission, and only those who had came top of the top gun class would be accepted, so, pheonix was thinking right. who could possible teach the best pilots out there?

a bell rang throughout the bar, interrupting your thoughts. everyone cheered, knowing exactly what the bell meant.

“poor guy,” rooster mumbled. “i’m going to the restroom, get me a drink?”

you nodded, walking over to the bar.

he wasn’t recognisable at first - he looked so different. but it was the eyes that gave it away, he was still young behind the eyes.

“it’s you, then.” you mumbled, taking the empty spot next to him at the bar.

maverick looked at you, realisation hitting when he clocked who you were. “nice to meet you, rainfall. i’ve heard lost about you.”

“so have i.” looking at him, he wasn’t the man you had built up in your head. he looked nicer.

sighing, maverick nodded slowly. “i thought that’s who you came in with.”

“he won’t want you to teach him, you know that, right? you… you ruined his life, maverick. his mum’s, too.” you said, although you knew it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times already.

“yep,” maverick clicked his tongue. “i thought that would be an issue.”

“he hates you.”

“i know.”

bradley might have hated maverick, but you didn’t. sure, he was an arrogant ass from what you had heard and he destroyed your best friends family, but you personally had nothing against him.

penny walked over to you, interrupting your conversation with her greetings.

“wow, y/n, you’re here too? damn, what a mission.”

“hey, pen,” you smiled. “i know, i know.”

she raised her eyebrows. “must be serious, huh?”

you raised your hands in defence. “i have absolutely no idea what this mission’s about, swear.”

humming in response, she changed the subject; “what’re you for?”

“uhh, a blue WKD for me and the house beer for brad.”

she nodded, looking at the man next to you. “he’s paying, by the way.”

you almost laughed, turning to maverick. “unlucky son of a bitch. you better take a loan out, maverick.”

“how was i meant to know the rules, huh? i’ve not been here in god knows how long.” he grumbled.

both you and penny chuckled as she served your drinks, taking one in each hand and moving away from the bar, you turned to look at maverick again.

“mav,” you called, and he looked around. “good luck.”

he smiled, nodding. you would admit it would be hard work for him, and it must be difficult to teach the boy who’s father you watched die. but then again, he could have declined the job.

spotting bradley, you walked over to him and handed him the glass of beer. he thanked you, face contorting in disgust as you noticed what you were drinking.

“i don’t know how you stomach that stuff, sugar, it’s all sweetener.”

“says the man who threw up after three of them. they’re only like, three percent as well.”

bradley narrowed his eyes. “all sweetener.”

laughing, you walked with him to join the rest of the group. your feet already began to ache with every step you took, straps digging into your ankle. god - it would be a long night.

if you were counting how many drinks deep you were, you’d have used up all your fingers. you’d been here for a few hours, at least, the sun was almost setting now.

you could see it from the small window in the bathroom, the blur effect on the window turning the sunset into just colour. you didn’t need to pee or anything, just a minute. it was a fair assumption to say you were an extrovert, and loved to be around people, but the noise of the crowd in the bar had become slightly too loud, especially as maverick had just been thrown overboard.

the sound of a piano playing came muffled through the door, followed by a familiar singing voice. it made you smile; hearing bradley drunkenly scream out ‘great balls of fire’.

washing your hands and quickly drying them, you walked back out of the bathroom and into the crowd, thanking the girl who had been holding your drink for you. you walked towards the piano, seeing bradley completely in his element.

“kiss me baby, ooh! that feels good, good!” he sang, everyone joining in.

leaning against the piano, you joined in, the lyrics coming as a second language, this song was practically indented into your brain.

as you sang, you watched bradley’s hands hit every note perfectly, his fingers tracing the keys with a gentle-harshness, something that just about set you off. a man who was good with his fingers? lord have mercy.

he looked at you, as if on cue, smiling as you sang out the words. bradley took a spilt second to remove his hands from the keys, gesturing to his lap.

you tilted your head. he can’t be serious, can he?

“sit!” he called, hands going back to playing the instrumental section.

maybe it was the drinks you’d had, influencing your system. but it took you the whole of two seconds to decide to follow his order, slipping under his arm and placing yourself down on his lap. people around you whooped, especially the ones in your team. had this happened before? you couldn’t remember through the tipsy-horny-lovesick haze that had clouded your vision.

bradley’s leg bounced, making you laughing against his chest. when he started singing, you joined in with him, your voice coming out as more of a tuned shout compared to bradley’s angelic singing voice.

“kiss me baby,” you looked up at him. that second you made eye contact - that whole second - felt like an eternity. it felt like no one was watching, thay for once the love that remained behind your eyes finally appeared behind his, too.

or maybe that was the vodka shots talking.

“ooh! that feels good, good,” he sang.

you looked away, staring at his hands once again while you sang the words. if you had kept staring, you would have seen the way he looked at you while he sang; “i’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

if you had seen that, you probably would have melted on the spot.

the song came to an end, everyone cheering for bradley’s fantastic piano performance, yourself included. you fell against his chest, laughing like a schoolgirl. he laughed too, taking his hands off of the keys to embrace you.

was this normal for best friends, you wondered? did everyone do this when they were drunk? the answer: wait and find out.

“i’m gonna get a drink,” you smiled at him, finally standing up.

“alright, darlin’, get me a beer?”

“god,” you feigned annoyance. “one day you’ll pay for your own beers, bradley bradshaw.”

you walked away before you heard his mumbled comeback; “yeah, our wedding day.” but, even if you hadn’t walked away, what would you have done?

walking to the bar, you leaned against it, ordering with penny for the god-knows-how-many-th time that night.

“thanks,” you smiled.

“is that a tan line i see?” penny asked, pouring out a beer.

“yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “i was in bali with brad, was supposed to be there until next week.”

“oh,” she sat down one of the glasses. “but you got called up?”

nodded, you took a drink of bradley’s beer, instantly regretting it. “fuckin’ hate the navy sometimes.”

penny stopped in her tracks. “oh, y/n, did i just hear what i think i did?”

your eyes widened. “no, penny, please, i’m seriously broke right now, i’m begging-”

the bell ringing cut you off. hanging your head, you felt multiple people clap your back.

“oh, no, what do we have here?” bradley appeared at your side, laughing.

“this one,” penny giggled. “was insulting the navy.”

bradley exaggerated a gasp, putting his hands over his mouth. “no!”

“yep!”

“tut, tut, tut, lieutenant l/n!” he joked.

you raised your middle finger in response.

“honestly, rooster,” penny was half way away, walking to serve another customer. “get your girlfriend under control!”

the heat rose to your cheeks, head snapping up. luckily for you, you were ninety-nine percent sure that bradley didn’t hear her, but when you were sober, you’d have to tell her off about almost spilling your decade long secret.

“my god, brad,” you walked away from the bar. “i’m gonna be so broke tomorrow.”

he giggled, a sound your drunk mind would have registered as the trumpets of heaven, the best music in the world - every lovely sound put together. god, how in love were you?

“come on, rainfall,” bradley led you to the table the group were all sat at. “the night is young!”

there’s a saying, if you had a dollar for every time this happened, you’d be rich. well, if you had a dollar for every time you’d gotten blackout drunk the day before the first day of training and had to get up at the crack of dawn, you’d have slightly too many dollars. every time, every single time.

as you sat, shoulders straight and hair tied ever so slightly too tight, the commander speaking about something you weren’t properly listening to - the thought of about seventy aspirin was popping into your mind, almost soothing your headache with the sheer thought of it.

footsteps came from behind you, but you didn’t turn around. you knew who it was. instead, you looked at bradley, who was sat in the chair next to you.

as his eyes fell on maverick, you noticed the way his whole smug demeanour fell - for just a moment. you then noticed how he put those walls straight back up, clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. he cleared his throat, making eye contact with you and raising his eyebrows.

looking away, maverick started speaking.

you must have been truly hungover, because from the second maverick opened his mouth to right now felt like it went by in a blink - you couldn’t tell if you had dissociated the entire time or if you weren’t interested enough to actually pay attention.

zipping up your flight suit, you smiled to yourself. this was your first training exercise for what seemed to be an impossible mission. getting in and out of a thin passage within a minute and a half seemed unrealistic, but compared with the insanely low hard deck and the pull up? you’d be lucky if you made it out alive.

a few planes were already in the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, helmet in hand. looking to your right, you saw two planes, to your left; pheonix and bob doing push-ups.

the exercise was simple; don’t get caught. if you do, you have to do two hundred press ups.

you had almost laughed when maverick set the exercise, how insanely easy it sounded. unfortunately for maverick, he had never flown with you before - he hadn’t quite learnt the meaning of your call sign.

radio chatter sounded from your headset as you climbed into your plane, spotting bradley on the tarmac as well. everyone had insisted you two went last - the top two of the class. even hangman bit back his ego for two seconds to admit that you had finished top of the class, so you should go last.

that’s right, you came top of your class. one of the best pilots of the last decade, apparently. it had earned you quite a reputation, pilots almost always recognising you wherever you went. you were some kind of a legend.

buckling yourself in and triple checking your belts were secure, you pulled your helmet over your head, and your ears were filled with radio chatter. bradley got into the plane next to you, doing the same thing.

“when are we ready to take off, mav?” you asked, closing the top of your plane.

“any time now, rainfall.” he replied.

it was a feeling you always craved, taking off. as a little girl, you used to love going on holiday, just because when the plane would take off and your stomach would turn, it made you smile. from that moment, and from the moment you saw the pilots in all the different documentaries, you knew you wanted to fly planes.

just in a little more extreme way. a way, way more extreme way.

gaining speed, you clicked the needed buttons and flipped the right switches in order to take off, and the tarmac got smaller and smaller as you flew higher into the sky. hearing bradley take off a few moments later, you knew the game was about to begin.

you knew this would be personal for bradley - getting beaten by maverick. anything maverick did to him, it would be personal. you prayed he would be able to separate the pilot from the person, just for a minute.

“good morning aviators,” maverick spoke. “ready to play?”

“oh you are on,” you smiled, still gaining height. “old man.”

bradley laughed over the radio, making you smile even wider.

“for everyone listening over the radio,” you spoke. “get ready to listen to the best flight of your life.”

down on the ground, the rest of the team laughed.

“ready?” maverick asked. “three, two, one… the game has begun.”

you understood the purpose of this exercise - dogfighting. to watch out for yourself while attacking at the same time. playing both offence and defence.

seeing bradley slip into your peripheral, you looked around for the other plane. still gaining height, you hoped to god that your technique would stay reliable.

everything felt like a blur - you were flying so fast, so high, nothing felt real. keeping your eye out for maverick, you swerved through the clouds.

“all alright, rooster?” you hated calling him by his call sign. if felt so… impersonal, weird.

“all good here, rainfall. you?”

you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see it. “no sign of him.”

looking down, you could see bradley underneath you and to the right. he wouldn’t even notice you, if he hadn’t learnt to always look up.

“oh hello, you,” he said, the smugness seeping through the radio.

“hello, rooster.” you smiled.

as you stared down at him, a second plane came into view, far enough away that bradley wouldn’t notice him.

“rooster, on your left!” you called, swerving away as soon as you said it.

“shit,” he mumbled, and you could see him fly away.

“language, folks, come on.” maverick laughed.

“alright grandpa.” you joked back.

looking below you, you could barely see the two planes dogfighting, but from the small glimpse you got, it wasn’t looking great for bradley. maverick was too fast.

“hurry up, rooster,” you spoke your mind. “he’s faster than you.”

“yeah, thanks for that observation.” he grumbled back.

“cheeky.”

from your point of view, the dogfighting was getting even more intense, bradley constantly being tailed by maverick. you hoped once again, that bradley didn’t take this too seriously.

a dial tone broke your thought.

“and rooster, you are out.” maverick spoke over the radio, making you sigh.

“fuck you.”

and there it was; all of your proof that bradley had taken it personally. fuck, this would be a hard one to calm him down from.

“ready to fight, rainfall?” maverick said, and you could almost see his smirk.

pushing everything else in your mind to the side, you let the calm, slightly arrogant side of you take control.

“do you know why my call sign is rainfall?” you asked, already spotting maverick below you.

“i suppose you’re going to enlighten me?”

you let a beat of silence pass, making sure you were in the right position. it was obvious maverick was looking for you, but you were at least fifty feet above him, slightly in front of him. why did no one ever look up?

“or not?” maverick added.

“because,” you paused, gripping your gearstick a little tighter. “rain always comes from above, and you don’t see it until it’s on you.”

with those words, you descended with absolutely no warning. as you came closer to maverick, he seemed obviously surprised, fumbling for a moment to move out of the way so you didn’t fall straight into him.

“jesus, kid,” he mumbled.

“did you know that i came top of my class?” you pulled back up without hesitation, g-force pushing you back ever so slightly.

“yeah, i read it somewhere,” maverick was flying parallel to you. “i wasn’t too of my class.”

“oh, i know,” you somehow managed to keep your tone casual. “iceman, right?”

maverick hummed over the radio, obviously too focused on getting you out.

but your technique was working perfectly. descend on them, climb up, and when the least expect it….

pulling away, you circled around maverick, seeing the outline of a target appear in your helmet. he hadn’t even realised what you had done.

a dial tone sounded through the radio silence, everyone on land holding their breath - even bradley.

“you,” a voice cut through the radio. “are out. good game, maverick.”

the people on ground cheered almost loud enough for you to hear all the way up in the air.

“what the hell?” maverick was in disbelief. “what?”

“i’ll see you on ground, mav.”

the sun was already setting by the time maverick had finished his press ups. he must not have taken in personally, offering to buy you a drink for how well you had flown.

but you didn’t want a drink, you were too concerned with other things. it had been hours since the training had ended, and bradley was still outside, doing press ups.

you walked onto the tarmac, out of your flight suit and in casual clothes, the figure of bradley noticeable - everything still apart from him.

he was shaking, sweating, almost sunburnt. the most noticeable thing was his red eyes, they were so red you thought he must have burst a blood vessel.

“bradley?” you called, getting closer to him. he didn’t answer.

walking right next to where he was, you sat down. sat, right on the hot tarmac - it heated up your legs. “bradley, please,” you called again.

this wasn’t new - for him to do exercise until he just about burst. some people punch walls, some people drink - bradley worked out. maybe it was just as unhealthy as every other coping mechanism.

his arms were so shaky, he almost couldn’t even keep himself up right. you wanted right then and there to take him into your arms, let him cry his heart out and tell him that one day - one day in the future - it will get easier.

as if he could hear your thoughts, he stopped. collapsed onto the ground, arms finally giving in. you could hear him, choking out sobs between breaths - it just about broke your heart.

“come here,” your fingers brushed his arm, and it was like he just needed the instruction to do so, because he moved into your arms and clung onto your shirt, just like a baby.

you didn’t care where you were. no one was looking, anyway. everyone went home or went elsewhere hours ago, you and bradley were most likely the only two people left there.

“what is it?” you cooed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“he- my dad, he- maverick-” and that was all he had to stutter out for you to understand.

“i know, i know,” you bent over him, almost encasing him in your body. kissing his head, you repeated the phrase over and over again.

it was in that moment that for the second time in twenty four hours you thought to yourself - is this normal for best friends to do? it is, right? like, you would do it for any of your other friends?or maybe that’s what you liked to tell yoursef to deny the simple fact;

you were in love with bradley bradshaw, your best friend.

4K notes · View notes

alexfromjersey · 9 months

Text

LONG ROAD TO GRIEF & RECOVERY

Vada Cavell x G!P OC

word count:

warnings: none

a/n: quick little chapter. I kinda neglected this story for my other Jenna one…sorry 😬.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

GIF by lowkeyvada

“Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened from her slumber”

Deep breath in.

“I’m older than both of you so what I say goes”

Hold it.

“I wish you would just let your balls drop and talk to her. The longing gaze from across the room is so Twilight”

Hold it.

“Happy Birthday youngsters”

Hold it.

“DEVYN!”

Hold it.

“JORDAN!”

Hold it.

“You have to keep your eyes open. Don’t close them”

Exhale.

You let out the breath you were holding into the spirometer. The doctor took the device from you and logged in the numbers. It's been a week since the school shooting. You were shot in your lower abdomen and the bullet lodged into your hip bone. Thankfully, nothing major was nicked or hit, But the doctors had to leave the bullet in otherwise it would cause extensive bleeding.

“Okay Miss Vaughn, your lungs seem clear and strong. But if you start to have trouble breathing or cough/vomit blood, unbearable pain in your hip, go to the ER immediately” The Doctor insisted.

You nodded at his words. Your mother sat in the chair bouncing her leg up and down.

“What about the physical therapy for her leg? Is there a program or something?” Your mom asked.

“There is a physical therapy program we have but without insurance, it costs $250 per session. Based off Jordan’s injury, she will need sessions twice a week” The Doctor explained.

You look over at your mother who seems to be in deep thought. Your face falls when you realize where her thought process is going.

“Okay, thank you Doc” Your mother nodded. She grabs your crutch and helps you to stand. The two of you walk out the office together. You make it to the car and with a bit of a struggle, you manage to get in the front seat.

Your mom gets in the car and pulls out a cigarette. The two of you just sit in silence inside your heads.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know I promised I’ll never go back but…you need those sessions baby” Your mom mumbled.

“I don’t need them. I can do it myself. I can find tutorials on YouTube and do it like that. You don’t have to go back” You said.

“Jordan you’re not a Doctor. You don’t know if doing it yourself will help. These shifts at the diner barely pays the bills and I need you back at 100%” Your mom stated.

You stare out the window with a despondent expression.

“I’m doing this for you. You are my world and I love you forever” Your mom said and grabbed your face to look at her.

You look into her slighted dilated eyes to see nothing but genuine love in them.

“I love you too Mom” You spoke genuinely. Your mom gives you a kiss on the forehead before starting the car.

“Can I go by Quinton’s? I want to check up on him” You asked.

“Of course” Your mom answered.

For the next 15 minutes, you sat in the car with your head against the window looking at the passing scenery. The radio was softly playing in the background and the smell of cigarettes filled the car. You and Quinton hasn’t talk since he told you the news of Devyn passing. You were preoccupied with recovering but you also wanted to give him space to grieve.

It was going to hard moving on with life without Devyn. You felt about the idea. You didn’t want to move on. You wanted to be swallowed up with guilt. Guilt that you survived and he didn’t. Guilt that you could possibly be happy one day.

“Hey Jord, we’re here” Your mom shook you out of your thoughts. You looked up and saw the house you’ve been to numerous times. It felt weird, you started to get nervous. You kept rubbing your sweaty palms on your pants. Your mom took notice and she grabbed your hand.

“Hey, why don’t we go together” Your mom offered.

You swallow harshly and nod at her offer. She gave you an encouraging smile before getting out and coming to your side. She helped you exit the car and walk up the stairs. She knocked on the door for you.

A few moments later, the door opens to reveal Mrs. Hasland.

“I…I” You struggled to find words to say.

Suddenly, you are eloped into a huge. Mrs. Hasland hugged you tightly with tears pouring out her eyes. She kept muttering Thank You Lord into your shoulder over and over again. You wrap your arms around her tightly to return the hug.

Quinton appears from behind his mother. After his mother was finished hugging you, he pulled you into a tight hug too. The two of you pouring everything you needed to say in the hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of days go by, you spent most of your time at Quinton’s house since your mother started having her company over. You didn’t want to see the men or hear the noises so you went over to Quinton’s, his parents not minding a bit.

You attended Devyn’s funeral which surprised you and everyone else because you absolutely despised funerals. If you could get out of going to one, you 100% did. But this was Devyn, one of your best friends. You couldn’t not go, you wanted to say goodbye to him one last time. You also didn’t want him to haunt you for not attending.

Another surprise was seeing Mia Reed and Vada at the service. You didn’t expect them to show up at all but you and Quinton appreciated it. The four of you all exchanged socials and phone numbers to keep in contact with one another and check up on each other.

Ding!

The sound of the text message sound brings you out of your thoughts. You grab your phone from the nightstand to see a text message from Vada.

Vada: hey (2:34 am)

Jordan: hey (2:35 am)

Vada: im surprised ur still up (2:35 am)

Jordan: could say the same thing for u (2:36 am)

Vada: i couldn’t sleep. the nightmares wont let me (2:36 am)

Jordan: same (2:37 am)

You watched as the text bubbles pop up and disappear. They pop up again with a new message.

Vada: this is probs a stupid question to ask but how r u? (2:39 am)

You sigh at the question. You could lie and say your okay or you could tell her the truth.

Jordan: fine as I can be. how bout u? (2:42 am)

Vada: good as anyone could be after something like that (2:43 am)

Jordan: understandable answer (2:43 am)

Vada: im sorry about devyn (2:45 am)

Jordan: thnx (2:48 am)

Vada: do u remember anything anything before u passed out (2:51 am)

Jordan: no. all I remember is falling out the stall and then blackness (2:52 am)

Jordan: truth be told I thought I died (2:52 am)

You don’t know why you lied to the girl. Maybe you think you are protecting from remembering anything from that…or protecting yourself.

Vada: we should hang out sometime (2:56 am)

Jordan: we should. when do u want to? (2:57 am)

Vada: maybe this weekend? (2:58 am)

Jordan: im down (2:59 am)

Vada: great 🙂 (3:01 am)

Jordan: 🙂 (3:01 am)

Vada: i should get some sleep. I’ll text u this weekend (3:02 am)

Jordan: looking forward to it (3:03 am)

Vada liked the message and you locked your phone. You placed your phone back on the charger on the nightstand.

“Looking forward to it, ugh” You cringed.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x oc #jenna marie ortega #g!p reader #jenna ortega #the fallout #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader

213 notes · View notes

dreadsuitsamus · 7 months

Text

Anytime | Kensei Muguruma x Reader |

author's note: this hurt a little bit to write lmao and i apologize in advance if it hurts you too

pairing: kensei muguruma x fem!reader

warnings: reader and kensei are divorced, a little bit of angst and jealousy

"I'm on my way."

It rings in your head, over and over, as you sit on the side of the road and wait for your ex-husband to come save you. Stomach a pit and each and every nerve wired and frayed, tears nearly brim in your eyes at the anticipation of his arrival. Being stuck on the side of a road you're sure hasn't seen a single driver on it in at least a week is one thing, and it's another when you've got three flats and an ex-husband with a hefty I told you so locked and loaded.

Your divorce with Kensei was finalized over two years ago, but the sad fact remains that he's the most important person in your life, and vice versa— which is why you informed him of this last-minute road trip, only to be warned against it.

"I don't think your car can handle that trip. Put it off until I can make sure everything is functioning properly."

And like a fool, you neglected to take it seriously and off you went to the festival. Perhaps it's why you had as great of a time as you did— karma was evidently waiting with a dish best served cold.

Your heart jumps at the sight of a black Silverado truck pulling up. He hates that damn truck, much preferring his fuel-efficient Elantra, but you've left him with no choice today. You're so distraught you can't even take much time to appreciate those long legs of his as he steps out of the truck; sometimes you wonder how you could be divorced from the most handsome man you've ever known.

Dressed in jeans with the platinum chain you'd gotten him many moons ago attached, boots and a black button down shirt, your gut tells you he was busy when you called. Looking so fine… He was on a date, wasn't he?

It burns.

With a resounding sigh, you meet him in the halfway distance between your cars. Kensei's never been particularly talkative and mouthy unless angry, and though there's certainly some simmering beneath the surface, he's calmer than you initially expected. He passes you a bottle of water and a protein bar before going to inspect the damage, subsequently sighing and rubbing his temples with his long fingers. "I'm amazed that your luck is so shit that you only got three flats so your goddamn insurance wouldn't cover it."

"I'm still trying to figure out how I only got three."

"Divine intervention." Kensei mutters bitterly and starts to roll up his sleeves past the delicious forearms that once would hold you up against the inferno that is the rest of his body at night. "When's the last time you even got these rotated, let alone changed?"

"I don't even know what having them rotated means."

Kensei sucks in a sharp, irritated breath and steels himself; it'll do no good to get upset this early into the project. He just… Wishes you fucking listened to him. About anything, at this point. "New rule. Get it done every time you get an oil change." And thank God your car is one that will bug the hell out of you about your service interval— he doesn't want to consider what your oil and other fluids would be like otherwise.

"Okay." You mumble and crack open the water, taking a long pull from the cold drink. It's refreshing and perfect, pulling your spirits up just a tad as you start to feel a little bit better physically.

"Eat that protein bar." Your ex-husband demands, heading for the bed of his truck and lowering the tailgate. He's got everything he needs for the swap— including time. "I know you, you little shit. You're running on a refresher from six hours ago and had a hearty helping of hopes and dreams to eat, didn't you?"

You scowl as you chew the protein bar. It's terrible, like every protein bar you've ever tried, but at least he got one that doesn't make you want to vomit. "I didn't call you here so you could lay into me about my eating habits."

Kensei's brown eyes cut to you as he lowers a tire to the ground. "You rather me go off about the rest of the shit you got yourself into now, then? 'Cause I was saving it for later."

Rolling your eyes, you look away from the man you married six years ago. He huffs and resumes himself, setting up a workstation and prepping your car to start swapping the new tires on. You find a spot nearby him, settling down onto the lawn chair you took to the festival as he begins cracking off lugnuts. Sparing a glance your way, Kensei feels a bit of a tug at his heart despite his rage. You may be his ex-wife, but you've never been bad to him a day in his life. "How long did you sit here before you called me?"

"About two hours." You sigh, finishing the water after forcing the protein bar down. "I tried to get my insurance to help me. They wanted to charge even more because it's a Sunday and I just don't have the money for all that. I considered just camping out for a night and having them come out tomorrow, but…"

Kensei shakes his head. He was waiting for your call or text announcing you were back home; that plan would never fly as long as he's in your life. "We gotta get you a new insurance policy, babe. You're done paying for one that would leave a woman stranded like that."

"Yes sir."

Silence settles in for a while as you watch Kensei work. A light bead of sweat trickles from his temple to his neck, and then he tosses his tools down to carefully slip the buttons open and take off his shirt. If it's somehow possible, his biceps are bigger than they used to be. Leaving himself in a white tank top, he tosses the shirt your way. "Keep that clean for me, yeah?"

"Mhm." You slip into the oversized shirt, his handsome smelling cologne flooding your senses. He's not slick at all; it's chilly out in this wasteland, and rather than simply ask if you're cold, he'd rather ensure you won't be.

His unstoppable air of authority wraps you up, even now.

"Were you busy?" Tumbles out of your mouth after the beat of silence lasts too long. He's finished one tire already and it's really hit you how much you relied on him during your marriage.

It's no wonder he didn't fight to salvage it.

"No." He lies through his teeth and it's easy. Just a little too easy.

It's no wonder you served him divorce papers.

Huffing softly, your brow draws together. "Yeah, right. You got dressed all nice just to come bail me out? Bullshit. I'm smarter than you give me credit for, Ken."

"And yet, you went on this trip without getting your car checked out." Kensei snaps right back, irritation creeping up and warming his neck and ears. "If you didn't wanna wait for me, fine! Why not take it to Abarai's place?" He's got a point— You've known Renji for years now, and he'd always make time for a friend, his business needs be damned. He'd have it done in a day, easy.

Still, the embarrassment of being scolded like this lights your temper. "I told you, Ken, this trip was not planned. I had a friend up north mention the festival and we decided to go to it and meet up."

"Even if I accept that answer, which I don't, there's no reason for you to let your car get this bad! I don't even wanna look under the hood! Why do I always have to take care of your shit for you?? Time and time again, you fuck up and then you call me to bail you out!"

Your eyes widen with a series of blinks. He doesn't sound pissed as much as he's simply… Tired. Upset. Kensei being angry or frustrated is not foreign to you— on his surface, it's the only emotion he knows. But as his wife, you saw the softer side of his feelings. He does get sad, he does cry and he does have bad days like anyone else. And as you take in his tirade… The realization hits that those glimpses of his belly showing were almost entirely gone by the time of your separation.

That marriage was already doomed by the time you attempted to save it. Serving the papers to him wasn't supposed to do anything but show his true colors— he'd fight for you, or he'd give up. And Kensei chose the latter.

"Ken." You murmur carefully. "What were you doing when I called you?"

Kensei throws the tools down, rubbing his hands over his face. "I was on a date."

You'd rather have been left on the road to die than hear him say those words to you. The sinking feeling in your stomach threatens to send that protein bar back up just at the thought of him sitting at a restaurant with another woman, treating her in the same ways he'd treated you way back when. Kensei dating isn't unusual, per se. He's a single man, attractive and still quite young…

But he's yours.

"And you came for me?"

Kensei's hands drop to his lap. "For better or worse, babe: that's the promise I made you."

"The wedding vows don't particularly mean shit after the divorce." Tears of shock and hurt fill your eyes, though you refuse to blink and let them fall. He will not make you cry again, ever, but… The turn of your head to look away from him sure does accidentally force them out.

Kensei drops his head— he hates it when you cry, and hates himself for being the reason. He should've just lied again, brushed it off and moved onto the next flat. It wouldn't have worked though; the guilt he shoulders when he lies to you eats him alive, and it triples due to the look on your face when he does lie. You know he's not telling the truth, every time he tries it.

"I don't know why you think I'm the type of man to leave any woman stranded, much less you. You're the exception to every rule I have, always have been."

Your lip wobbles. It's true, you've always been the one to break Kensei's rules. He said he didn't date coworkers. But he dated you. He said he wasn't after a serious relationship. He married you. He said you shouldn't see each other after the divorce. Yet, he was calling and asking how you were doing not even a week later.

He's always loved you.

It's quiet for a while, and eventually Kensei gets back to the entire reason he's here. Clouds are rolling in, and he'll be damned if he gets caught in the middle of a rainstorm right now. His chest cavity feels empty and he wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep these horrible feelings away.

"Why?" You ask after a while, your few tears mostly faded now.

Stop, stop, stop! Stop asking questions, stop crying over your ex-husband moving on!!

"Why what?" Kensei mutters as he torques the lugnuts on the second tire.

You sigh to yourself, a beat of silence taking over again. Kensei's amber eyes flick over to you, snuggled into his shirt and avoiding his gaze as you curl into your chair. You're at war with yourself, that mental battle clear as day on what he can see of your face. His heartstrings tug, and next thing he knows he's wiping his hands and kneeling in front of you, cupping your cheek in his hand so you'll look at him.

His thumb swipes away a small tear. "Babe. Talk to me. You're not gonna feel better otherwise."

Your chest heaves at his touch, at his sincere eyes and warmth that keeps you so in love with him even now as a shudder wracks your entire body. "You keep your promises to me. You're always there when I need you. But why didn't you fight for our marriage?"

Kensei's silver brows raise before knitting together. "You wanted to leave. I wouldn't force you to stay if you weren't happy."

"I wanted you to care! I wanted my husband to tell me he still loved me and that we could work it out, but you didn't! You let me leave without so much as asking why!"

Kensei withdraws his hand. "Of course I cared! Does this—" He gestures back to your car. "Look like I don't care?? You had my whole heart in your palm, and you broke it! But I still come for you! All I want is for you to be safe and happy, and if it's not with me, so be it! You matter more to me than I ever have!"

"I've never wanted anybody else." Your eyes burn with fresh tears. You've never so much as entertained another guy for a potential date, let alone go out with someone after the divorce. There's nothing but your love for Kensei stopping you, but foolishly you hoped he would do the same; how unrealistic and unfair of you.

How many dates has he been on with this woman? Has he kissed her yet? The entire idea makes you want to scream and cry and cuss an innocent woman out for banging your husband. Ex or not, he's still so much of your heart that to lose him would ruin you.

"Then why divorce me?" He murmurs, standing and stepping back. The clouds are darkening, and he feels a hefty drop on his shoulder. "Why put me through a divorce if you wanted to stay together?!"

Anger boils inside your stomach, blood churning at an incredible pace as you rocket out of the lawn chair and fill the space he's created between you. "Why not fight?! If you love me as much as you keep saying, why didn't you fucking try?!"

"I already told you!" Kensei yells right back. "You wanted to go! So I let you go, because it's what you fucking said you wanted! You ended our marriage over a goddamn test, like the six years we spent together were some kinda fucking joke to you. You can't accuse me of not caring when you ended a four year marriage over petty shit!"

"I gave you a choice, Ken! I served the papers, but you signed them." You poke his chest harshly as two raindrops bounce against your forehead.

"I'm not having this argument with you; the shit's been said and done with for almost three years." Kensei turns his back to you as the rain starts a steady fall to swap out the last tire and get the hell away from you.

"Is she pretty?" It's beyond petty, so stupid and childish but you've got to know. If he likes this woman, or God forbid loves her, you'll never call him again. You'll die cold and alone before even considering reaching out to him, as an ex-wife to an ex-husband should.

Kensei stops in his tracks. "Yeah."

"Do you love her?"

"Never."

"Why?"

Kensei looks up at the sky, the gray clouds swirling as the rain descends. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and it's the same as always every time he's left to gaze at the back of his eyelids— you and him on the night of your wedding, laying together in bed and giggling like teenagers at the prospect of your happy life together starting.

He turns, white tank top half soaked as he comes back to you and holds your face like porcelain. This beautiful face drives me crazy… "Nobody's ever gonna be able to be you."

You whimper and a fresh set of tears mixes in with the rain as Kensei leans down and kisses you, his passion so pent up that he's picking you up and pressing you to his truck before you can make heads or tails of anything. His shirt is swiftly bunched into your hand as the surprise subsides and the gratification fills you to the brim, your lips and tongue sliding with Kensei's in a messy reunification. Too long, it's been too long since you had this, since you felt his warmth on you and reveled in it.

His silver hair is silky between your fingers and he groans as you massage his scalp with your nails. He's always been a bit like a cat in that sense. Your legs around him and his arms around you tighten as you urge your bodies closer, leaving no room for even Jesus now. The rain pours around you, leaving you drenched by the time you've got no choice but to pull back, lest you die making out with your ex-husband.

All in all, not the worst way to go.

Kensei kisses your cheek gently, his lips lingering as he maneuvers to open the door to the passenger seat and shield you from the onslaught of rain. Peppering small kisses while he wipes the rain from your face, he turns the truck on and sets the heater up to keep you from getting sick.

He strips himself of his tank top once he's left you safely in the truck, tossing it in the truck bed before running to finish up the last tire change with this lucky break in the rain. Your fingers come to touch your tingling, smiling lips and you close your eyes as the space of Kensei's truck encompasses you.

By the time Kensei's back, his tools and your old tires all loaded up, you're beyond sleepy. Scooping you into his arms, your husband walks slowly and kisses your temple as he carries you to your car. "C'mon. Time to go home."

You steal a kiss off his lips, and by the time you're back in town, you weigh every option as you sit at a red light behind Kensei. Taking the next turn leads you home, but going straight will bring you right to Kensei's apartment building.

The light turns green.

#kensei muguruma x you #kensei muguruma x reader #kensei imagine #kensei x reader #kensei x you #bleach imagine #bleach x reader #bleach x you #x reader #reader insert #it's open ended but i'm sure y'all can guess what route i'm personally taking!!

90 notes · View notes

chittychittyyangyang · 3 months

Text

Hey, everyone, I have a bunch of bills coming up, and I'm still job hunting. I have some extra shirts/hoodies that have never been out of their packages, would there be any interest? I also am thinking about parting with my Yang cosplay bomber jacket (that has been worn, but in amazing condition). More info below.

I have two of the shirts, in a small and medium and one of each of the hoodies, all small. I'd like $30each for the shirts, and $40each for the hoodies (which would include shipping in the US).

I also have these two jackets that have been worn, and I have a cat. I've maybe had them on a total of 5 times between the two of them. They are both small. I'd be willing to part with the cosplay jacket for $75 and the bee jacket for $60 (that includes shipping in the US).

Feel free to send me an ask if you have questions or have any interest in anything. And if you want more than one item, I am willing to lower the price to account for cheaper shipping. I would be willing to ship outside the US, but I cannot even guess the shipping, and it would be a lot more. :(

I also know things are bad for everyone right now, but I figured I'd also link my Kofi. I will probably make an additional post with more info, but I have a bunch of things had to buy or need to buy, and I'm struggling even with insurance (new glasses, medication my insurance refuses to cover, registration fees for my new car after the accident, and Kiri had a vet visit).

30 notes · View notes

mylittleredgirl · 30 days

Text

OH MY GOD. OH MH GOD. i reached the doctor to have him submit a new script for the 3 x the pill dosage they have available so they can combine the pills to equal my prescribed dose. THEY CANT FILL IT. THE INSURANCE WONT APPROVE 3 PILLS A DAY ONLY 2. ITS LITERALLY THE SAME DOSAGE IM GONNA DRIVE MY CAR INTO A BRIDGE

anyway instead of driving my car into a bridge i reached out to the doctor again and said please submit a lower incorrect dose they might actually fill. please DON’T submit a prior authorization for the correct dose because i don’t want to wait for a week while insurance debates it.

if that fails i guess i could take the other old med i have that treats the same thing but makes me so dizzy i throw up ten times a day?? but it’s pretty irresponsible to drive on it for obvious reasons so i’m in the same position.

anyway this is why america hates the idea of socialized medicine because whenever this happens i remember how glorious it was when i was unemployed in the commonwealth of massachusetts and the state insurance just covered everything for free with no problems. like i could quit and get the medication that allows me to be functional enough to safely get behind the wheel and drive to my job, if i didn’t have a “full time job with benefits.” the benefit is spending my entire day off in withdrawal chasing down this fucking drug i won’t even be able to get.

#yes yes i am constantly grateful that my life is amazing and my biggest problem is that everything hurts and i’m dying #but am doing it in a warm safe house etc etc etc #with doctors who actually listen to me #but sometimes i have to mute the phone to scream before politely suggesting a plan E.#the symptoms

26 notes · View notes

oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Finale

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - restraints, captivity, blood and violence, sexual content

Also available on AO3

There’s a large turnout for the candlelight vigil.

Former classmates. Members of the community. Your mother. Employees at the mall. William Afton remains at the edges of the crowd. Stares into the flame until his vision goes blurry. Thinks about you tucked away in his pizzeria. All his. Only his. His own.

Your car was finally discovered earlier that day, outside of town where he’d abandoned it. Wiped clean. No evidence he’d ever been inside of it. Purse found inside, apparently intact, no contents missing. Driver’s license. Social security card. Health insurance card. Credit card. Car insurance and registration. Makeup. Cash. There’s a film crew present doing a brief recap of the story of your disappearance. Interviewing your mother. Several others. They don’t ask the one person who knows what really happened.

He has to be extra cautious when returning to see you. There are so many people around. He actually leaves and comes back. Still waits to make sure he’s not being watched or followed. Slipping back through the mall entrance that’s been long forgotten. Winding through liminal spaces. Back inside the restaurant. Now back inside the room with you.

***

It’s late when your captor returns.

You’d fallen asleep on the couch, barely making it through the opening credits of the movie you’d put on. The cell phone is hidden behind the refrigerator, tucked on the floor just within reach but securely out of sight. You can tell William’s been outdoors; can feel the cooler autumn air still clinging to his body. You sit up, making room for him.

He still sits close. One arm curling around you. Possessive. His fingers are cool against the bare skin of your shoulder.

“How was the vigil? Did it just end now?” You glance at the clock. Nearly 3am.

“No. I left for a bit. To make sure…” You nod your understanding. No chance he was followed, then. Your location still a secret.

“Is my mom alright?”

“She’s being brave for the cameras. Behind the scenes, too. Optimistic you’ll be found.”

“Cameras?”

“The local news station was here. Doing a little blurb to refresh people’s memories. Hoping someone might suddenly remember a detail that had gotten overlooked previously. There aren’t any, of course.”

Afton sounds so confident. “You’re cold,” you say, the fingers absently stroking your bare shoulder making you shiver.

“So warm me up.”

You lean to kiss him. Even his lips are cool. He’d been outside a while. Maybe not so confident, then. Hesitating. Your tongue spears his mouth. Warm inside. Your fingers on his cheek. Rough stubble. Settling into that mess of hair. You’re already throbbing. Straddle his lap, the links of the chain clinking with the movement. Your hands now fiddling with the fly of his pants. He moans into your mouth and you answer in kind. His cock released, hot against your skin. “Please fuck me, William.” You beg against his ear. Lav at his neck. There are pajama shorts and panties to contend with. The shackle. He’s too impatient. You hear the snick of the pocket knife on his keyring opening. Tearing through the thin material barricading you from him. Clumsy sawing drags of the blade, not his usual artful handling. Desperate to get at you. The elastic waistbands give him the most difficulty. He curses when he knicks his thumb in the process. Shifts slightly to line you up with his erection. You sheathe him slowly. Hands resting on his shoulders trembling. Bloodied thumb pressed against your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter closed. Let it slip past your lips. Sucking. You finish your descent. He’s fully inside of you.

You bend to kiss him again. The taste of his blood still lingering. His tongue greedy for it. You raise and lower yourself. Grinding down. Bouncing. Fast and then slow. One hand cupping your ass cheek. “William…” You say his name over and over. What will your reward be this time? What do you dare ask for? Fresh air. A chance to use the phone. Just a quick call to emergency services. Let them trace it.

Is that really the only reason you’re doing this?

The pendant of the gifted necklace lying against the base of your throat. Your hand wrapped around his. You’ve no idea how it’s gotten there. He’s meeting your hips now. Moving faster. His eyes locked with yours. “Do it.”

You frown. Your pelvis hesitates mid motion. Does he want…?

“Do it,” he says again. He hasn’t stopped pummeling you.

He’s asked for this before. Your fingers tighten. You feel the movement of his Adam’s apple. The forced swallow against the pressure you’re exerting. The thin hiss of air exchange through the compressed passage. Your body dropping down onto his. Struggling for air yourself. Your arm shaking with tension.

Your fingers relax. Your face drops into the crook of his neck. A heavy rasp of air. He’s stopped moving. You’re still impaled. “I can't do it, I can’t hurt you.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I’m not violent,” you murmur, your face lifting so you can see his features.

He tucks a swathe of your hair behind one ear. “You are when you let yourself be. That’s the only difference between us. Restraint. Inhibition. I know you so well. Better than you know yourself…” His mouth on yours. “There’s another reason you won’t hurt me, isn’t there?” He kisses your neck and you shudder. “Isn’t there?” Firmer now. He expects an answer.

You nod.

“Say it.”

“William…”

“Why are you so afraid?”

“Because I’ve given you everything else. I’ll have nothing left if I…”

“You’ll have me. You have me. A decade ago I would never have forgiven…What have you done to me, to make me feel…” You kiss the rest of the words away. Grinding against him again. “Come to bed with me and let me fuck you properly.”

You climb off his lap. The sudden absence of his cock buried inside you already leaving you aching. Clothes discarded along the short path to the bed. You’re pressed down beneath him on top of the comforter. Back inside of you. As if you’d never been parted. A hand knotting in your hair. His mouth on your throat. Your fingers on his scars. Hot breath huffed against your skin. Little pleading noises escaping you. Half formed words. Nails digging into flesh. Knees pressing into ribs. A shake of muscles. You can’t withstand the battering any longer. Melting against him. His shuddering breath. Body dropping down, his weight on you. Making it hard to breathe. That molten flow deep in your core. The taut frame nearly suffocating you relaxing, stilling, depressing the mattress beside you instead.

Facing each other. Still on top of the covers. Respirations normal. The little firing of nerves less frequent, less intense. “What do you want?” His voice quiet.

“You.”

It’s only half a lie.

***

The roof of the mall the next evening. The first fresh air you’ve inhaled in months.

William keeps you tucked inside the shadowed stairwell. Still cautious. Bound to his wrist. You can see the stars. The autumn air is welcome. You've been gifted some new clothing. Weather appropriate for the coming months, although the pizzeria interior is always climate controlled. Maybe this wouldn’t be your only trip outside. If you were good. If you could convince him…

The phone is in your pants pocket. Turned on. Ready to use. If the battery lasted. If you had a signal. And then what? You’d have to toss it and hope it wouldn’t break. It would be better if you could somehow convince him to sever the ziptie. But why would he? Especially after what had happened last time. The agony of the indecision tortures you. Did you want to be restrained even more? Go back to having him not look at you, not speak to you? Not touch you…

In the end the mobile device goes unused. You can’t risk it.

You’re brought back to your confinement. Afton doesn’t stay. You don’t ask. You hide the phone in the same place as before, checking the battery life first. A warning to charge the device. The screen goes dark.

***

William finishes his security guard shift and lingers in his customary hiding spots until he’s certain the coast is clear before he returns to his restaurant.

Eases down into the swivel chair before the monitors on the security office. His eyes immediately focus on the displays for your room. You’re reading. Or at least you appear to be. He doesn’t see you turn a page. Notices the glint of your silver necklace. The wicked silver wink of the butcher knife on the desk in front of him. He reaches for it, rocking back in his chair. Point pressing against the new scab on his thumb. Not hard enough to puncture, just testing the sharpness. He already knows the blade is ready, freshly prepared after his most recent kills. Knows all about the secret you have stashed away. He’s the one that had placed it on the bathroom sink, after all. Another test. Another slim opportunity you’d wasted.

He wonders about that. Why you hadn’t at least made the attempt. Fearing his ire, perhaps. Of course he would’ve had to punish you.

But you were so good at finding the mercy in him.

The security guard realizes he’s bleeding again. He’s pushed too deeply. Or the knife is sharper than he’d thought. A little of both, perhaps. He rises to his feet. Rolls the handle of the blade in his palm. Leaves the room and enters yours.

***

You look up from the page you’d been stuck on, the same paragraph read repeatedly without comprehension. The door remains open behind William.

You notice the knife immediately and shrink back a little against the cushions of the couch. See the blood dripping from his other hand.

“William, what happened?”

He realizes where you’re staring and shrugs, unconcerned. “Cut myself.”

“You’re not going to put something on that?” You’re thinking about grabbing some napkins from the kitchen cupboard, already moving off the couch. He watches you, making no move to take the paper offering. “William…”

“I’ve been thinking about the other night. When you said you could never hurt me. You could, though, couldn’t you? If the circumstances demanded it. If it was your only chance of escape.” He sets the knife on the counter. “If I gave you one fair chance. Would you take it? Would you abandon me?”

“William, I don’t—”

“—Why didn’t you use the phone last night?”

You suck in a deep breath. Christ, he knew. He always does. When will you learn? Your heart races. “The battery was practically dead, I didn’t think it would even work.”

“You brought it with you, though, didn’t you? Intending to use it.”

It was useless to lie. “Yes.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I just told you…”

He lifts the knife again and the argument dies in your throat. “You still don’t understand. After everything I’ve tried. It doesn’t matter how many rewards or punishments I mete.” The older man advances towards you. There’s nothing but the kitchen counter and cabinets at your back. He reaches for your chin, lifting it firmly. “I’m going to unlock your restraint.” Kneeling now. Your entire body is shaking. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t think you’ve ever been this afraid.

The metal band releases. He tosses it aside, standing once more. Blood still leaks from his wound, pattering to the floor. “Take this.” He uncurls your fingers from their white knuckled grip on the edge of the counter. Presses the handle into them. “You only get one chance at this. Make it count. Your best bet is here,” he taps the side of his neck. “Quick thrust to sever carotid and jugular. A little slower for the axillary here,” he lifts his arm, gesturing to the hollow beneath. “Right side here for the liver is another good choice. But you should go for the throat. A quick end if your aim is true.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing that. Any of that.” There are tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Why not?”

“You know why not. I told you I’m not like you.”

“Not like me? Not crazy like me, you mean?” A bitter smile. The backs of his fingers drag through the salted tracks staining your face. “Don’t waste this opportunity. There won’t be another, I promise you.” His thumb dragging across your bottom lip. The bloodied one. A final mark upon you.

Your grip on the knife tightens. You hesitate. You can’t do it. Impossible. He has you trapped here in more ways than one. He knows it. Not just the restraints. Not just the threats. There was more preventing you from leaving. His influence over you too strong. Breaking you down steadily over the months. You hadn’t even been consciously aware of it before now. Every uttered consent. Every desire. You were his.

Your last chance to flee. A window of opportunity shutting. Hurting him wouldn’t be enough. Running would never put enough distance between you. There was no escape. He had to be the one to let you go. And he never would. Not unless you forced him to. An idea comes to you. The place where you could bury the blade that would do the most damage. Not inside of him. Inside of you. That which he treasures the most. The most damage you could inflict.

“Close your eyes.” You don’t want him to see what you’re attempting, trying to prevent you from doing this.

He nods in understanding, obeying. Those long dark lashes laid over smudged skin. So calm and accepting. You reverse the blade. Position it on the left side of your abdomen. You’ve no idea how lethal the placement is, just paying attention to Afton’s impromptu anatomy lesson and steering clear of any of those dangerous zones.

Now. Do it now. Don’t think. Just do it.

You grit your teeth. Shove the knife inside of you.

The pain. Unlike any other. A gasp. William’s eyes fly open. Frowning, not realizing what is happening. You collapse and he goes down with you, preventing your head from striking the concrete. You can feel the blood soaking through your shirt. His face above your wavering vision. The realization. You’d beaten him at his own game. You’d won.

***

You awaken to the bright lights inside of a hospital room.

So. Your gamble had paid off. You’d managed not to inflict any lethal damage. You’d finally escaped Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

William had brought you here. Surrendering. Letting you go.

He could come for you again, you suppose, the temporary relief smothered with this realization. But for now, you were free. You were safe.

Your wound really fucking hurts.

You find the call button to summon a nurse. Other staff follow. You’re told you’ve been out for nearly a week. Left outside the ER. Injured but no weapon found. A call that is traced to a very confused looking homeowner nearby. You know William won’t have left prints. Surgery. Sutured back together. Your mother is called. The police don’t allow much time before you’re questioned. And this is where you find yourself lying about your captivity. Stating you were driven somewhere. Far away, in the van a long time. Blindfolded. The sound of water. A young man’s voice. The lies spill from your lips easily. The authorities seem convinced. Your mother is anxious for you to be discharged.

You wonder if she’ll ever let you out of her sight again.

***

You’ve only missed one semester of college.

They allow you to begin in January. Your classes are shuffled around to accommodate you. Courses for first years will now be handled during your second year instead. You’re something of a celebrity. Constantly pestered with questions. The occasional journalist seeking a story. Your account never wavers and interest fades with time, like the healing laceration on your stomach.

You find yourself looking over your shoulder frequently. Imagining footsteps that aren’t there. You leave class one evening and fumble with your car key, struggling to fit it inside the lock. That nagging feeling that you’re being watched persisting. The hairs on the back of your neck lifting. The parking lot is emptying. There are a row of trees beside the building. The feeling intensifies. You cease your struggles and let the keyring dangle from your fingers. Tuck your backpack over your shoulder and step onto the mulch bordering the curb. Weaving between hedges. Nearly to the trees now. Cloaked in shadows.

You know the sound of William’s breathing as well as your own. Drawn towards him like a magnet, you find him. He’s dressed to match the night. Dark shirt, dark jacket and pants. The only lightness that pale skin of his. Visible in the brief moment the moon peeks from behind the clouds before becoming shadowed once again.

You shift the weight of your book bag. Finally ease it off of your shoulder, letting it drop to the carpet of pine needles and leaves.

“Why didn’t you tell the police about me?”

A valid query. Why hadn’t you? Why were you keeping the pizzeria and its murderous owner a secret? Preventing justice for all of its victims, yourself included?

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“Are you going to take me back?”

“Do you want to be taken back?”

“No,” you say softly.

A grunt. “You could have died. Stupid, what you did.”

“I was dying already, William. Just at a slower pace. I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

“Do you ever think about me?”

You swallow thickly. “All the time.”

“Is any of it fond? Or is it all bitter, tainted…You’ve no idea the emptiness you’ve left behind. The sheer ache…”

You move forward, wrapping your arms around him. Surprising you both. His arms finally settling around you, the stiff awkwardness melting.

“It wasn’t stupid, what you did. It was brilliant. Something I hadn’t anticipated.” There’s a note of pride in his voice.

“Please don’t hurt anyone else. Promise me you won’t. I’ll never tell anyone about what happened, just…”

A heavy sigh. “There are conditions for everything, aren’t there?” He combs his fingers through your hair. “A price to be paid for the things we desire.” Pushing gently against your face tucked against his chest. Lifting it. His lips finding yours. So warm contrasting with that winter air around you. Your hands linking behind his neck. Pulling him tighter. That familiar heat stirring your insides. The kiss becoming wetter, more frantic. Gasping breaths when you finally part.

“What do you want?” He’s trembling in your arms.

“You.”

It’s the truth.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader

51 notes · View notes

ohtobemare · 10 months

Note

Helloo!!!

Congrats on your 300 followers!🎉🎉🎉

I was wondering if i could request some fluff with Ice for your 300 party, I want you to take it in whatever direction you please. your writing never ceases to amaze me, and I'm looking forward to what you have planned.

Keep up the lovely content

-🩵

I really have missed writing my dear Iceman. This was too fun and super cute, IMO, and I hope you love it, honey! What a way to kick off this 300 followers party!

The One About the Tahoe

“The minivan is technically cheaper, Tommy,”

“Can you really see yourself driving a soccer mom van for the next four years?”

The question is punctuated with the lighthearted giggle and the smack of pudgy baby hands on the table in front of you, any retort you’d attempted to make falling flat as the small little fists continue to drum away on the surface.

Both of your attention’s fall to the giggling toddler on your lap, who is staring starry-eyed across the table to his father—Tom Kazansky’s brow lifts a little, mostly in amusement, before the corner of his mouth lifts in a genuine smile. Leaning across the table, his rough finger wiggles into the fist of his son, who tightens his grip with whatever white-knuckle strength he can manage.

Beaming, the boy’s smile broadens when the Navy’s very own Iceman Kazansky lowers his shades on his nose to bounce them in place, an effort that produces a shriek of high-pitched laughter from the blonde on your lap. Reaching across the table, his little hands grab for Ice’s aviators, and instead, Tom flicks the dogtags up from around his neck and passes them to the child, who takes them with a gaggle of delight.

Bouncing the boy on your knee, you smile across the table as Tom settles back against the opposite side of the booth, arm outstretched over the top as his other hand comes to drum fingers on the table. The waitress hasn’t come back to take your order, yet, which has given you plenty of time to discuss the matter at hand—the purchase of a new car. You’d looked at a handful of them this weekend, both minivans and SUVs, and both of you were on opposite sides of the fence.

A minivan was far more practical than an SUV at this stage in your life–payments were smaller, insurance was more affordable, and the gas mileage alone was enough to drive the point home. Sure they weren’t glamorous, and Tom already had a truck. Another 4x4 wasn’t necessary, especially for San Diego—weather wasn’t an issue, out here. Not like it was in the neck of the woods you'd grown up in.

But, the idea of a truck-chassis SUV was alluring. All the versatility of a truck, should Tom ever actually need it, and room for any growth your family might produce. Jack was already two, and you were just beginning to pop at six weeks into your second pregnancy—space and seat count were definitely contenders. But, the SUV didn’t have anything the van didn’t, besides aesthetics and status, something that obviously mattered to Tom enough that he was willing to overlook nearly a one-hundred dollar a month jump in payments.

You could, technically, afford it. Ice was advancing in his career, climbing the ladder with all the right people since his time with Top Gun. Word around the rumor mill was that he was in the running for an instructing position next term, something that was guaranteed two years of solid pay and relo, and consideration for a promotion. The very thought had him nearly giddy, and he’d been glowing about it for weeks since Viper had approached him, feeling him out for consideration.

Between the opportunity for advancement, promotion, and the news of a baby? He hadn’t stopped smiling for two weeks. Slider had approached you and asked you, off-the-cuff, if he’d started Prozac, or if the sex really was that great—he hadn’t seen Kazansky so “thrilled” since backseating with Iceman out of flight school. Which was fair—Tom wasn’t exactly the kind to walk around on cloud nine, kicking up his heels with his head in the clouds.

He was practical. Calculating, cool, and poised in a way that most men could only dream of. Which is what made him one hell of a fighter pilot. Infinitely grateful for his level head, your bubbly and out-there personality certainly provided all the spice the relationship would ever need—he kept you grounded, you pushed him beyond the lines of his comfort zone. It was a give and take relationship, one that definitely wasn’t perfect and definitely required the right amount of effort, but you loved him. He loved you.

And together? The two of you were pretty frickin’ unstoppable.

Unzipping the top of his flight suit enough to reach his hand into the inside pocket, Tom withdraws the payment breakdown one of the dealerships had provided earlier that afternoon. Tom had taken a half day at base to visit a few dealerships for test drives, and of course, he’d been stoked about all but one of the options—he’d been nearly salivating over the Tahoe since driving by last week.

Midnight black with a nearly-sparkling metal-flake paint job and gleaming chrome, it was a tight vehicle all the way around. The right motor, the right drivetrain, the perfect interior, it really was everything Ice had wanted for you and your growing family. The payment was hefty—heftier than either of you expected. But, despite Tom being the one to run the numbers and the finances of your partnership, he had walked you through payments and his plan.

You could have it mostly paid off in three years. Plus, the dealership would give you a stellar deal on your shitty little sedan you’d been willing alive since college. With nearly three hundred thousand miles and hardly a leg to stand on, the thing barely got you to and from the grocery store without spluttering. Tom was convinced it was going to leave you on the I-15, and there was little worse in his mind than his wife and son stuck on the interstate, or at the store. Or at home with no way to get anywhere, should the worst case scenario arise.

It had given you trouble at the OBGYN last week when you’d gone for a follow up with your doctor. You’d had to get a jump from a man and his nearly-popping wife who’d parked next to you. Jack screaming in the backseat, hungry and overtired from missing his nap, some poking around produced the stranger’s assumption that you needed an alternator, and by the sound of things, a timing chain. Some calling around provided that a timing chain alone was more expensive to replace than your vehicle was actually worth, which Ice had been telling you from the jump.

The Tahoe was beautiful. And he was right—a minivan wasn't exactly your style. God forbid he’d ever have to take it work, the guys would never let him live it down. Plus it was more spacious, had more amenities, and as Tom had assured you, the motor and transmission was more reliable. Your father had even confirmed it over the phone when you’d been chatting with your mother.

“Babe? You listening?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you offer Jack your hand, to which he begins playfully beating his fist into your palm as a crooked smile plays across your mouth. Nodding, your other hand moves to rake through Jack’s soft locks, brushing his curls from his forehead as he gleefully watches his hand meet your palm with every little jab.

Bouncing your knee again, you ignore the nauseous flop in your stomach. A mix of tired and pregnant, you’d been more nauseous this pregnancy than you had been with Jack. And, since the waitress is taking her sweet time returning to take your food order, you nod across the table to the diaper back perched beside Ice in the booth.

“There’s Cheerios in a Ziploc in that front pouch,” his brow is already furrowing a little as he goes for the bag, unzipping the front pocket, “and I think there’s some applesauce in there for Jack, too. She’s taking forever to come back,” you gaze tracks around the diner, not able to spot your server anywhere.

Ice sends them across the table, and you take a handful of them to crunch in the pocket of your cheek as he works open the applesauce. With a baby spoon, he offers Jack a bit of the snack, his gaze tracking up to you when you fall back against the booth, a wave of nausea spinning your vision for a second.

Eyes closed, you release a slow breath and rest a hand on Jack’s arm. You can feel Ice’s wrinkled look of concern even behind closed eyes, and your other hand moves to press against your stomach, which is rolling. Unable to identify if it’s actually hunger or just being nauseated, your breathing drops into a steadying rhythm before you feel Ice shift in the seat across from you.

“You’re still feeling sick?” He does a good job of masking the concern, but it’s there, in that Tom Kazansky way that he doesn’t quite manage to hide from you–he never had been able to, even when you’d started dating. “I don’t remember you being this nauseous with Jack.”

“Mmm, that’s because I wasn’t like this with Jack,” your eyes open to find his pulled brow looking up at you over the aviators slid down his nose, spoon poised between two fingers as Jack smacks on applesauce, blissfully ignorant, “The doctor said it may get better with the second trimester. It usually goes away if I snack on something light.” Nodding to the paper he’s discarded to the side, you sit forward a little, scooting your toddler to your other knee, “About this truck. You’re sure the payments aren’t gonna be an issue? I don’t want to get into that thing, fall madly in love with it, and then sob my eyes out if we can’t afford it.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up, amused by the idea. “Should I be worried?”

“About what?”

“The ‘falling madly in love’ part of that hypothetical,” he chuckles and hands you the spoon and applesauce when you gesture for him to pass it to you, and you angle Jack to sit on the table in front of you to finish his applesauce, spooning it to him carefully, “but to answer the broader question—yes, darling. The payment should be fine. Mav is willing to lend us the money to drop the payment some, and we can pay him back on our own time. I really thought we talked about this at length already.”

You had, but numbers weren’t your thing. Ice primarily handled the finances of the house, being more of a numbers man than yourself. And since Jack had been born, finances had definitely taken a pit of a detour—you’d stopped working to stay at home, both of you not comfortable with Jack spending all of his time in daycare. You’d sobbed the first two weeks of returning to work after your maternity leave.

You freelanced off the side, but it wasn’t dependable income. You could always return to an in-home studio, like you’d discussed, but Tom had been against the idea. He wanted you primarily focused on the baby, and with another child on the way, the stress of work was the last thing on his mind. He’d assured you that together you were comfortable on his salary alone, and you trusted him—even if the idea of borrowing cash from Maverick wasn’t ideal.

Blinking, your eyes cut back to Tom, who’s watching his son enjoy his snack with a little grin playing on his lips. Arms folded in front of him, you can’t help but notice how the green of his flight suit is so delectably at odds with his sunkissed hair, his bright eyes. His shoulders are perfectly broad, pulled back professionally and with confidence.

He hasn’t ceased being the absolutely stunner you’d first met on the beach three years ago—if anything, fatherhood and the Navy agrees with him, more and more each and every day.

A stab of pleasurably delight kicks against your ovaries, ticking the corner of your lips up a little. Sighing, you offer Jack the last scoop of applesauce before making a face at him, nose wrinkled and giggling as he claps happily over your imitation of a plane. Smacking at the treat, you take the spoon and clean up the excess on his lips, before setting aside the spoon and applesauce container.

Pressing a kiss to the tip of Jack’s nose, you lean around the toddler and smile at your other half. “If you’re comfortable with the payment, the Tahoe is definitely nicer than the minivan,” you chime, wrinkling your nose and letting your eyes roll to the ceiling, “I suppose I could be convinced to drive the thing, if it’s what you want.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling at the admission. “Convinced, huh? I have to convince you to drive a new car?” He reaches across the table for your hand, and interlaces your fingers. Bringing them to his lips, he kisses your knuckles lightly, winking as he slips the aviators back up into his hair.

“Challenge accepted, pretty.”

taglist:

@cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach

79 notes · View notes

three--rings · 5 months

Text

I didn't plan to do this, but IDK.

My 2023.

This was not a good year for me. Most of the bad came in the second half after my car accident and subsequent inability to walk. My first trauma trip to the ER. Some very dark weeks of pain and inability to move. Followed by very, very slow progress to being more mobile. I have at least six more months of recovery according to the Dr.

Then the absolutely devastating and tragic burning of Lahaina on Maui, where my mom and brother live. Their house was safe but I can't convey the depth of the tragedy that this was for the community. So many dead, so many displaced, so many who lost everything but the clothes on their backs. Rebuilding won't start for years due to needing toxic cleanup. It affected my family directly financially and emotionally, even though they are fortunate.

Followed by my mom being diagnosed with breast cancer and going through treatment for that, which is ongoing.

So yeah the last few months have been rough and I've experienced it all from my bed, not able to really DO anything.

We're all trying to climb out of this hole. We bought a new car to replace the totaled one, with lower payments. My mom's radiation ends in a couple weeks. I'm starting physical therapy to get walking as soon as I get insurance sorted.

One of the things that bothers me a lot mentally is I feel like I haven't DONE anything in the past year. Most of the last six months was me playing video games.

But I made a round 20 books in 2023. I've done several typesets since then, also. I published 55K on AO3. I wish I had gotten to sew more. I basically made one dress that got torn in the wreck and hand-sewed a pirate shirt.

I also, like, don't talk about this at all but I was trying to soft-launch a business in 2023 as well, of selling vintage stuff online. The wreck really ruined that, because I had finally gotten my own car that I was going to use to go hunting and then that.

But I've sold a lot of vintage sewing patterns in the past year. I haven't looked at the total income for the year yet but it's more than zero.

So I need to be kinder to myself. I do plenty, but I've just been extremely restricted for months and I'm losing my mind.

#personal #2023 #irl

44 notes · View notes

bomberqueen17 · 7 months

Text

back to work

So I drove the new Subaru on its maiden thruway voyage yesterday. Dude had helped me turn off the Lane Excursion Warning or whatever, when it beeps at you for going out of what it thinks is a lane? I found it wildly distracting in Tonawanda with the gratuitous roundabouts whose markings confused the cameras, and it drove me nuts. I know where the edge of the road is! Please let me drive the car, if I am over there it is usually for a reason, and that reason means I probably would not like you to beep to distract me.

Anyway. That's off and I can see the indicator that it's off. Great! Also the one where it seizes control of the car if it thinks you're going to get into an accident, that's off. Because that would not have saved me any of the three? times in my life I've been in an accident, and it WILL cause me to get into an accident I super don't need to when it stops the car dead in a driving lane for some reason. (it is probably that "feature" in a car ahead of us in traffic that caused the chain reaction rear-ending that totaled the last Subaru, someone stopped TOTALLY DEAD in WILD overreaction at being cut off at 55 mph, and now I know, some cars will helpfully do that for you, and while it will keep you from rear-ending someone it will also ensure that you in turn get rear-ended, but because of insurance this is of course infinitely preferable. One would think no accident is preferable but that is not now insurance works.)

So anyway. More bells, whistles etc wittering behind the cut.

Dude's mazda has the kind of cruise control where it keeps you a safe following distance behind the car in front of you in preference to actually adhering to the speed you asked it to go, which means you have to be constantly vigilant so that you don't wind up going 40 in a 65 because it so nicely and gradually slowed you down to follow the boat in the slow lane when the passing lane was perfectly open. But I don't mind that so much now that I know to expect it, and I at least figured out how to shorten the following distance so that I was within reasonable passing range as I came up on very slow cars, to prevent my having to camp in the left lane the moment a truck appears on the horizon.

(Guess what people do, now. yeah they just pick a speed and camp in the left lane. fortunately traffic is usually light enough on the thruway that you can pass these idiots on the right. Yes I have a low opinion of most drivers but it is warranted.)

The feature I was not expecting to like so much was Lane Keep Assist. Yes, this is using the same features as the Distracting Lane Beep, but on the Thruway, which is flat and straight and unending, mostly the car can in fact find the lane edges, and it will then mostly steer itself to be between them. this is ENORMOUSLY helpful at avoiding shoulder strain, and at letting you take the cap off your water bottle whenever you like.

The thing that's annoying is that if you don't occasionally attempt to wrestle control gently back, it decides you don't have your hands on the wheel, and will abruptly turn itself off in a huff of beeping. The way my steering wheel is positioned, I can't actually see the bit of dashboard display where it first warns you, so I don't know it's starting to feel neglected until it turns itself off. For the record every time it did this I did in fact have my hands on the wheel, so I was easily able to correct it, but it was very annoying. I guess most people have the steering wheel up higher or lower, so they can see the part of the display where it tells you things, but that might as well be a blank screen for me.

Still, though, i much enjoyed having the car occasionally steer itself while I opened packages of crackers and such.

The downside is that I hydrated well in my delight at being able to open my water bottle whenever I wanted, and they still have fully 3/4 of the rest stops on the Thruway shut down, so I told myself at 9:30 that I'd stop to pee at the next rest stop, and it was 11:00 before I finally made it to the blessed land of Indian Castle Service Area which was actually open and was a fucking zoo because there's nowhere else for 150 miles to fucking pee. WTF.

Anyway. (The Thruway had rest stops every 40 miles or so for my entire lifetime, until the pandemic, during which they decided closing them was the thing to do, and then they decided to demolish and replace all of them with other different but similar buildings, and they decided instead of like, idk, working from one side to the other or something, they'd just close all of them at once so that the entire purpose of having rest stops became moot. It's now year 3 of this project and you can't fucking stop to pee anywhere but you think you're going to be able to so you don't get off the highway because now most gas stations have "out of order" signs permanently affixed to their bathrooms so they won't have to clean them, which is why the rest stops are so useful-- one certainly doesn't purchase fuel there, it's much more expensive than if you get off at an exit, and gas stations mostly don't turn their pumps off. Just their bathrooms. So the rest stops have one job, which they're not doing.)

I got used to several of the car's quirks. It has a weird little chime it does, which I eventually worked out was it letting me know it had acquired or lost a target in its following distance calculation. Ah this is how you're supposed to recognize that it might change your speed, or not. Now I know what the chime means it doesn't bother me.

It was a bit like having a cranky astromech.

So, I got over to my mother's house and we did autumn chores, mostly moving furniture and pots and washing windows and putting in storm windows. Farmsister and BIL spent a lot of time on ladders, fixing gutters, cleaning roofs, etc.; Farmsister even got to don her chainsaw chaps and take down / cut up a tree threatening the driveway, which was undoubtedly good enrichment for her.

I got back to my cabin after dark, and walked in the door and smelled... death or... something stale, idk. it wasn't nice. I checked the mousetraps and nothing was in them, but went out and looked and the bait block had been partly eaten. I think a mouse might have died in my roof. I checked my gas stove all over and decided the smell wasn't leaking gas, the pilot was still lit, so that was okay. So I lit some incense, and lit the stove, and it warmed up the house quite a bit. I was just settling in, the temperature at 61 beginning to approach that of a normal room, when the fire went whoomph and went out.

I decided the gas must be out, and indeed the cylinder felt light. It's a 100-lb cylinder, and when it was installed I could barely move it, but now I can rock it easily. Phooey. So I shut off the handle where it comes into the house, and lit a few candles.

The mice were undeterred by the smell of death and made a racket in the ceiling much of the night. i don't know how they can be so loud. I don't know. You'd think they'd eat the dead one. Maybe they have, the smell is faint.

Today I have a lot to do but maybe I can get my propane cylinder refilled, it's not going to be that cold this week but it's not going to be warm either.

It's 52 in the sleeping loft, which could be worse, but I'm nerving myself up to 1) go use the loo outside, and 2) get dressed downstairs where it'll be significantly colder than 52....

#farm life #about the author #subuwoo

25 notes · View notes