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sinnershavesoulstoo · 10 months ago

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I bitch and complain here all the time, but this is from an actual desktop - so it's like Ramble Bitching 2.0. Fast typin', fast thinkin', I don't know what is going to come out of these finger tips today. Because I have a lot of weird energy.

I'm tired and I know that I say I'm tired all the time, but I'm just. Exhausted. I know that nothing happens unless you make it happen, but I try to make it happen all the time and I always come up short.

I don't want to be the person who always talks about how it's not fair, but it's not fair?

I'm not even thirty yet and I feel like my life is already over because I can't afford to live. I live with my mother and my cat. I live in a 30+ year old trailer that is falling apart. We have two bathrooms, but one of them has a rotten floor and we haven't used it since 2016, at least. The other bathroom is through my mom's room, so any time I need to use the toilet or shower I have to go through her room. From where the floor is rotting, the floor in the adjacent room (the computer room) is also starting to rot.

There's a hole in the ceiling in the living room. We don't have actual curtains in any of the rooms except for my mothers room and the living room. I have tapestries hanging off of a rod in my room and this room has nothing. The bedrooms are all half painted because I can't reach the top bits because I'm too short and nobody will lend us a ladder. Underneath our house is a hellscape. There is stuff under there from when my dad lived here and it's all rotten and messed up and if you didn't know where it had come from, or that it was already there - you'd think someone was living under there. And to make it worse, we have a lock on the outside, so it looks like we're trapping someone under there. Which isn't true.

Our pipes are bad. We have plumbing problems all the time. Most recently, the pipe in the well cracked. Now we have dirt in our water, so I can't drink my tap water. I have to buy bottled. Which is dumb because I shouldn't have to buy water if I have water.

We can't wash laundry and take a shower on the same day because our pipes can't handle it. The sink in the kitchen is leaking and I hate doing dishes because they're not mine and I shouldn't have to do them all the time, but mother complains that she's not doing them for the same reason. I use one bowl, one frying pan, one plate, one mixing bowl, and disposable 'silverware'. That's not all that's in the sink? There are a ton of other things that I wouldn't even use. So I don't know why she thinks that it's my problem.

I have my medical billing and coding certificate and I should be able to get a job with that but I'm not even sure I want to because I've been doing webinars for it and I don't know what the fuck is going on. I guess I'm just trying to keep it updated in case something comes along and they're super nice and understanding and want to help me learn.

I have two friends in this world. The guy at work and Meggy. And I feel weird and guilty messaging GAW and Meggy has shit going on and I don't want to bother her. And partially, selfishly, I don't want to text her because I know I'll be roped into her relationship drama and I don't want to be.

It's like everything I do and nothing I do matters all at the same time.

I don't want to feel like I have nothing to live for at this age. I should have at least made more mistakes to get me here, I should have done something to make me feel this bad. But...unfortunately, this is just how it is now. I don't know what it means to be happy anymore? Like. Do I? I smile, I laugh, but it feels superficial. It feels like I'm just doing it because I know what it is, not because I actually feel it.

I want to be better and I want to feel better and I want to do better. Everything happens in its own time, sure. But I'm tired of waiting, but I can't do anything but wait.

And related, unrelated. One of the most annoying things. I don't have a car because I'm poor and have nobody to help me learn how to buy one. There are so many people with so many different opinions on what I should buy and when I should buy. It gets on my nerves when people don't take into account that I don't have enough money for a down payment right now and that I don't want a huge payment - but they're telling me I need to buy a car and I need to buy it now. Because, unless you want to buy me a car - butt out of my life. I hate that so much. Everyone at work knows that my mother drives me to work because I don't have a car. And every single person has an opinion on that.

"You should buy a car", "Don't get a new car", "You're almost 30? Shouldn't you be driving by now?", "You need your independence", "Your mom is going to die one day and what will you do then? The bus doesn't come out this far."

I know all of this. I literally know all of this. I hear it all the time so even if I didn't, you're not the first person to say something to me about it. I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was raised fighting for my life. Kind of. We've been poor my entire life. I remember going to the flea market to sell stuff because we weren't making it on what jobs my parents had. I remember not having food some days. I remember never being popular or fitting in because I looked poor. I remember once I got my first job and having to help my mom with the bills because she was barely able to pay them before. I remember buying my own cellphone, my own clothes, my own everything. I support myself mostly. But I can't support myself on my own.

Although broken down and trashy, I live in a house that's fully paid off. Which, my grandad paid for, or we wouldn't have it. I can't afford a house in this economy. I can't afford much at all in this economy. The world is a scary place and I have to do it by myself.

For a long time I thought if I could just hold on, someone would see me and like me and want to be nice and good and I could move forward and move in with them and marry them and escape this life. But. I can't. There was Jacob. And he fully believed we were going to be a super long term thing. But...I just wasn't feeling it. I was resentful a lot in the last bit of our relationship. I didn't want to have sex with him and he made me feel guilty about it, so I just did because it was easier that dealing with him pouting. I told him a few times that I just didn't want to anymore and it wasn't really doing anything for me. He never used lube, so it always hurt and always burned. He barely knew how to use a condom and sometimes it would snap because of how forceful he was about putting it on, but he'd still want to. He wasn't physically aggressive about it? But manipulative about it?

Then I thought that Dusty was a good guy. LOL A huge joke on me. I don't even know what the fuck was going on with me at that point in my life. I've blocked most of it out because I don't know if I wanted any of it to happen and it makes me feel weird and self conscious. I went out to dinner with him and I thought that's what might happen, but once we got there I didn't want it anymore. He didn't ask me? He just did. And the entire ride home just felt. Dirty. And thinking back on it. He was just a little fucker. Because I'm remembering this time, after that happened, Jacob and I were 'mending our relationship' (AKA I felt too bad about breaking up with him so I just let him believe nothing was wrong...) and Jacob had gone on break and said he'd be outside, but I needed to get someone to cover me for me to go, and Dusty came up front and I don't remember what happened exactly, but I think he asked me where Jacob was. And he went outside to 'talk' to Jacob. Once I finally got someone to take my position, I was so keyed up and worried about what they were talking about. I went outside and they hadn't really been talking about anything. And I remember Dusty specifically said, "Oh yeah, your girlfriend is a piece of work." And he like...made it a point to remind everyone I was dating Jacob. And Jacob was confused about what happened. And then at the end of the year (this happened in November) I do a memory jar and one of the things I had written was 'fucked dusty' and Jacob saw it. I know he did because he questioned me and I lied my way out of it. I said that's just really bad cursive and it says 'fucking dusty' because of some story I made up about how he was funny. I don't know. And then I was having Dusty come over when I was still dating Jacob under the guise of friendship. Again, you guys have to remember I live with my mother. He would bring me dinner a lot of the time and we would hang out in my room and he would finger me. I sucked him off a couple of times, but it was mostly him doing stuff to me. And him and Jacob became really good friends during all of this. Meanwhile, he's fucking around with the girlfriend and another girl at work. Then he eventually...well. I don't know. He slept with the other girl at work and compared me to her a lot. And I'm not trying to be mean - but she was bigger than I was and that messed me up a lot. Because I have body dysphoria and I'm not actually sure what I look like, but I don't know if I'm fat or not? I wasn't fat at the time. I weighed 140 pounds and didn't wear a bra because my boobs were so small and my stomach wasn't past them if that gives you an idea of how big I was. But when he compared me to her it broke me a little more than it should have. And maybe that was his goal? To break me all the way down? I don't know. He was 19 at the time. I don't know if he would have been that type of person. He always bragging about how smart he was and how he was homeschooled and how his IQ was super high. So maybe he was? Any who - back to what I was saying. He slept with this girl and her super religious family found out about it and then he got roped into proposing to her. I saw the ring. I saw them at work. She eventually told her family that isn't how she wanted to live and she liked someone else and Dusty was just a mistake. So then she ended up getting married to the other guy and has 2 or 3 kids now. But after this entire thing...I don't remember what happened.

I quit? I think I quit my job. Because I was going to school when COVID was first a thing and had to stop going to in person classes - and Dusty would come all the way to my college to eat lunch with me on his hour lunch break. And Jacob would pick me up and I would just pray they wouldn't see each other in the parking lot.

And none of this makes me a bad person, but am I a bad person for missing Dusty more than Jacob?

I dated him for two years and the entire two years I told him we had nothing in common and I constantly questioned why he even liked me. He never had a real answer. I did whatever I did with Dusty for like 6 months. My time line could be off. I'm going to look back through my other blog and see if I can get a better definitive timeline.

On January 9, 2018 - I had been dating Jacob for 3 months. So I started dating him October 7, 2017. I know we dated when I changed jobs because he came there once and it was weird. And I got that job.....in 2019? In June? July? And COVID really started hitting in December here and that's about when we stopped going to classes and did virtual because I remember it happening right before Christmas break. So. When was I doing shit with Dusty? 2018? I deleted all of my messages with him because Jacob was nosey and looked through my phone all the time and I was afraid he'd find them, even though he was in my phone as DJ. Which is a weird thought I hadn't had in a while. And as I'm thinking about it I check my phone to see if it's still in there and it is. I should call him. No. I'm not that dumb. It's been 5 years lol what the fuck was that thought even about right there. It's 4am that's what that thought was. I wish I had kept all of our texts. We truly were friends. We talked on the phone a lot and I cried a lot. I remember when I had broken up with Jacob one time, it was really ugly. He was at my house and I told him and he made it really weird. And he was like, 'Just one more kiss before I leave' and he made me kiss him while he was sobbing on my couch. And he eventually left. It was just fucking weird. And I was so upset about the entire thing. The breaking up, the weirdness, the thought of having to deal with him at work, and him telling people how mean I was to him by breaking up with him - and then Dusty called me. I told him Jacob was coming over and he knew what time he normally left. So he called me to check on me. And I was putting stuff that Jacob had given me in a box and I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. And Dusty asked me what I was doing. I told him I wasn't doing anything. And he said, "I know what you're doing. Just stop. Take a breath. And talk to me." And I did. And it helped. And we talked all night. Jacob usually left around 10:30 and I had to work the next day and I don't remember going to bed, but I did and I fell asleep on the phone and when I woke up he was still there. He brought me breakfast that day. Off the clock. He just dropped it off for me and left.

As Teenage Dirtbag starts playing.

I'm older than he is by the way. Both of them. Jacob was 2 years younger than me and Dusty...was? 18/19. And I was. 23/24? At the time. I've always felt weird about that as well. How did I let someone who was 6 years younger than me make me feel so bad and manipulate me into weird shit.

What's he like now? He's 23/24 now. Crazy. Is he still a dirtbag? Is he a normal adult? He has no reason to remember me or anything that happened, but does he? If he saw me out in public, would he recognize me? I really do look like that other girl now. I've gained a lot of weight since I worked with him.

lol I was just talking to GAW about how some times I just really feel like I want to cry but I can't because I'm always doing something that needs non-tear filled eyes. Who knew that it would take me admitting that I miss Dusty and I miss him more than Jacob that would make this happen. I mean, literally. It's been half a decade. I guess I have the pleasure of knowing that next year it'll be the seven years that it takes for a body's cells to fully regenerate. But until then, I guess I'm stuck holding onto every last cell that remembers him.

I should just let laying dogs lie. I decided to look back through some old posts and now I'm sad. I reread about the time I was in the freezer and got groped and how E responded to me. And now I miss her. Most of the time I don't even think about her anymore. But deep down, I miss her a lot. We were friends for nearly 10 years. This year would have been ten. And I think we just grew apart. But that doesn't make it easier.

What is my problem? I am? Something. I'm not running people off, they're just leaving in their due time.

I've made myself more sad because I looked up all of my posts with any similar tags to the ones I would have used and there were some. My favorite (most detrimental) was the one where I quoted Dusty saying, "I'd take you home and keep you forever if I could" - he said this when I was crying one day. And I thought it was sweet.

I want to get off of the Dusty train now. So one last lil blep. How do I get over this? He wasn't nice or good in the end, but I remember him for the good he did. And it makes me sad, but I don't want to associate the good parts with the bad parts, but maybe that's the problem. I need to see both and then I'll be over it?

Why do you guys think I don't like myself?

I complain here all the time, you'd assume you would have some opinions on it. I need to work on my confidence and I do really need to get a car. I'm working on it. A lot of tarot readings I've been getting lately have been mentioning getting a car in March and big changes happening in March. But? I don't know what it could be alluding to. Because I'm not going to have that kind of money by then.

I've been looking into the 'I am' method of manifesting. I forget what it's called. But I watched a video about this man saying he wished he were somewhere else and a friend of his told him to say 'I am there' - and eventually he ended up there.

I need to love myself and I need to get over myself. I am enough and I am good and I am lovable. I am.

It's 5am now and I've honestly been coming and going on this post since after 10pm. I've had to take a few cry breaks and a pizza break. So I'm going to go to bed because I have a lot of shit to do today and I think I should get some sleep.

This is about the length of an extremely concise novella. If any of you read all of this - cool. Thanks. I love you.

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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‘Nilla Bean (Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x gn!Reader)

Summary: A cowboy in your coffee shop is not the way you’d expected your morning to go, but you’re not complaining; especially not when he’s as attractive as he is.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: talk of food/eating, brief allusions to alcohol, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, I think there’s like a single use of fuck

A/N: okay I’ve been thinking about this FOREVER but I finally went ahead and wrote it!!! hope u guys like it, I’m a sucker for a coffee shop AU as a barista myself :) thx @theteddylupinexperience for helping me name it and motivating me to write it lol

When you started your shift this morning, you’d groaned as you tied the apron around your waist, expecting an uneventful day. Most were. If you were lucky enough to see someone you knew or to have an especially nice customer, you’d consider it a good day. You didn’t know when you walked in that it would be the good day to end all good days: nothing could top this one.

Weekday mornings in the fall aren’t particularly busy. The majority of your customers come around the morning rush, and the remaining ones are usually retirees or house-spouses and their young children. It’s enjoyable, days like these, that don’t require you to dash about the shop.

The only problem, really, is having nothing to do. You clean the coffee grinder, wipe down tables, wipe down everything else, then do it all again. Restocking, usually an endless chore, isn’t even an option; no one’s using anything in the first place. You and your coworkers chat, deep-cleaning the coolers, washing the blender stations, and doing the dirty work. When a customer comes, you’re the lucky one who gets to go take their order and put your task on hold first.

It seems like you’ve done every task twice, even when your manager introduces yet another idea for you to deal with. To bide your time, you prep coffee for later, rearrange the case of pretty little pastries that sits next to your register, and doodle on your station with a paint pen, humming to the soft music playing in the shop.

People come and go, some picking up mobile orders and some ordering from you, some choosing to eat inside and some taking their food to go. You sip your drink happily between customers- a white mocha with caramel.

At one point, you’re in the back and washing dishes when a coworker peeks his head into the back. “Hey, you got someone up front!” He informs you, and you nod and wander out through the swinging doors.

Well. That’s certainly a sight for a Tuesday morning.

The man standing at the register is wearing a painfully well-tailored suit jacket, with gray tweed and patches on the elbows. Beneath it is a white top and a black tie, and the man wears jeans on the bottom half. Interesting.

Perhaps more interesting is the large cowboy hat perched atop his head. The man’s face, below the brim of his Stetson, is incredibly handsome. He has an aquiline nose, a neatly trimmed mustache that wouldn’t work on anyone else, and warm brown eyes that make you smile softly.

“Hi,” you comment as you log into the register. “Are you a part of our rewards program?” You ask as part of your regular spiel.

The man furrows his brow then shakes his head. “Uh, no. No I’m not. Can you sign me up now?” He asks, and his voice makes your chest flutter with the tone. It’s rich and smooth, with a beautiful southern twang.

Looking at your register and back at him, you shake your head. “It’s just an app on your smartphone, really easy,” you tell him.

“Ah, damn,” he groans and pulls it from his pocket. “I’m shit with technology. Why don’t you just… type it in here?” He says, handing you his phone with a notes page open. His thick fingers accidentally lock the phone as he hands it to you.

You tap the screen to wake it and find the background to be a picture of a cute little pig all covered in mud. “Uh, you locked it,” you chuckle. “What’s the password?”

The man looks down shyly. “1-2-3-4. Don’t make fun’a me, I’m like a grandpa with these newfangled phones.”

It’s endearing, you have to admit, and it makes you giggle. “Not a problem. I’m not here to chide you on your security choices,” you shrug. You type in the code and find the app, starting the download for him before handing back his phone. “Can I get a name to start your order?” You ask as you look up at him.

His eyes hold a warmth there, radiating off of his smile. “Whiskey.”

“Your mother named you Whiskey?” You tease as you type in the name, returning back to the main page of beverages. “Some kind of legal name.”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, that’s just what I go by at work.”

Whiskey likes conversation, you notice, and it makes you chuckle a little. “You got a real name then?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow beneath your visor.

The man tips his hat. “Jack Daniels, at your service.” He says and offers you a hand, which you take and shake.

“That’s a lie. You’re telling me your nickname is Whiskey and your real name is a type of whiskey?”

The man shrugs. “My momma had a real funny sense of humor, I guess. My daddy loved the booze so they went with it. I work for Statesman, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

“Ah, the distillery,” you nod with a smile, not grasping the depth of what Statesman actually does. How could you? “Well then, Jack,” you say with an honest grin on your face. “What can I get you to drink?”

Whiskey, Jack, whatever his name is, looks up at the menu, scanning the different beverages. “Well. That sure is a lot of choices. I’m new to the area, so I don’t know the menu yet, and I don’t know the first thing about coffee other than how to make it in a machine,” he admits to you. “What would you recommend, sugar?”

Sugar. Your heart beats a million times faster at the man’s words. You’ve had lots of weird and creepy men call you different things, but you’ve never been flustered and enjoyed it. This man is getting to you, quickly. “Well, how strong do you take your coffee?”

He thinks about that for a second, fiddling with the button on his suit jacket. “Pretty strong. A little sweet, with cream. I usually take it Irish style,” he admits with a chuckle, tapping a belt buckle that you realize is a tiny flask. Jesus. That’s not cheesy.

“Well, we don’t serve alcohol,” you laugh and look down at your screen. “We have all kinds of flavors.” You list them all off, off the top of your head, now staring at the ceiling to recite them all. “And our seasonal drink is pumpkin spice.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Wonderful and all, but what do you like? You seem like you’ve got a good taste, darlin’, tell me what you’d recommend.”

God, these names are going right to where they shouldn’t, especially not when this handsome man is leaning on your counter and flirting with you as he orders his coffee. “I like vanilla.” You shrug.

The man laughs and stands. “I hate to say it, sugar, but I’m not a very vanilla man,” he says, his head tilting down and his dark, sultry eyes peeking out at you from just below the brim. His voice is seductive, implying something else other than the flavor.

Oh fuck. “Oh, not like that,” you laugh as your face floods with warm blood, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Not vanilla in that way.” Fuck, that’s even worse, you think and grip the counter so as to not physically cringe at your words.

“Not like that, huh?” His words are still so seductive and flirtatious it makes you want to combust. Maybe you will, if he keeps this going.

“N-no,” you stammer, looking down at the menu screen again. “I mean, I just think it’s underrated. People dismiss it as boring, but it’s really just as interesting of a flavor as anything else. It tastes really good with our espresso.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, a smirk on his face. His lip pokes out just slightly to wet his lips and you shiver involuntarily, your skin pricking up all across your body. God, you hope he can’t see it. “I’ll trust you on it, ‘nilla bean,” the man drawls and stands up straight again. “Triple espresso with vanilla and cream.”

You nod and ring that in. God, if he keeps going with the nicknames, you’re going to melt into a puddle here and now.

“What are these?” He asks as his fingers trace over the drawings on the counter, lifting them and finding the pink and green powder of the dried paint has transferred to his fingertips.

God, he makes you nervous, but in a good way. In the best way possible, a way that makes you want to knock that cowboy hat off his head and find out if his lips are as soft as they look. “I draw when I’m bored. It’s been a slow day,” you chuckle as your own fingers trace the crawling vines and flowers you’d painted there. “Sorry about the transfer,” you chuckle and your fingertips brush his, making you involuntarily shudder again at the contact. His fingertips are calloused and radiate warmth. “Uh, can I get you anything to eat?” You ask and gesture at the bakery case.

The man inspects it for a moment, looking at the various foods lined up under the soft white light. “I’ll take one’a these,” he says and pokes a finger towards the chocolate chip cookies through the glass. You nod and take one out for him, putting it in a little paper sleeve and handing it over. “How much is this gonna hurt my wallet?” He asks, pulling it out from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Give me one second.” You type in your code for your employee discount, which takes a moment.

“What’re you typin’ there, ‘nilla bean?” He asks, brow furrowing.

Looking up at him, you push your visor up your face and smile a little. “Oh, I’m giving you my employee discount. It’s ridiculously priced here.”

Jack frowns. “You don’t have to do that for me, sugar. I’m just a regular ol’ customer.”

It’s your chance, you realize, to say something or stay silent forever. “Well, I like you,” you admit and take the credit card he hands you, swiping it through the machine. “And I’m hoping you’ll at least become a regular. I’d like to see you more,” you tell him with a grin.

The man’s face lights up, even beneath the shadow of his brim. “I’d like that too,” he nods and pockets his card when you hand it back.

A beat of silence passes as the two of you smile at each other, both of you lovestruck immediately. “Uh, your drink will be right up over there,” you say and nod to the other end of the café. “Are you going to drink that here or take it to go?” You ask.

“Oh, here,” he nods.

“Perfect,” you say with a small smile. “Then I’ll just bring it to you when it’s ready. Nothing better to do today,” you shrug and wander down to the other end before Jack, Whiskey, whatever can refute you.

You take the cup from your coworker, humming to yourself as you put some vanilla and cream in the cup, pulling the espresso shots. When it’s ready, it barely reaches the halfway mark of the small cup, so you top it with a little whipped cream. You suspect the man has more of a sweet tooth than he lets on.

Pocketing a pink paint marker, you put a lid on the drink and walk out to the dining room, setting the coffee down across from him. He’s munching on the cookie he’d ordered, looking up at you with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” you smile and pull out the chair across from him, sitting down and pulling out the paint pen. “I put a little extra whipped cream on top. I thought it would go well with the espresso, make it a little creamier or something.”

As you uncap the paint pen, Jack’s brow furrows as he watches you. “Whatcha doing there?” He asks as you bring his cup closer to yourself and write something on the top.

“Being brave,” you chuckle and cap the pen, sliding it back. “I gotta head back. Enjoy it,” you say as you stand and pat him on the shoulder.

Only as you walk back to the register does Whiskey comprehend exactly what you put on the top of his cup. It’s your phone number, in that chalky pink paint, and a smiley face beneath it.

Jack may not be great with technology, like he told you, but he immediately pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Then he enters the number into a contact, filling out the name: ‘Nilla Bean.

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