#and again 'two hours of moving + an hour of taxes is enough to Fuck Me Up Quite Badly' is . well it makes me feel doom-y.

[irrealisms]

having disabilities that are very sharply stress-triggered is....weird. i am hella privileged and so i can live my life basically entirely supported by others (cf #housecat arc) and when im doing this i can basically pass as normal and not have any serious mental breakdowns* . i hang out with friends and i watch videos and i read books both fiction and nonfiction and i play minecraft and i write stories and i go to church on sundays and it's a boring life and i don't always feel like i'm living it very much but i'm not really in crisis. i feel like, basically normal. like i am basically a regular person. i am no longer freaking out about being watched by a mysterious Them who are tormenting me; i can basically live my life as though it is real; my hallucinations are uncommon and not particularly distressing when they happen; i am not suicidal; outside of occasional episodes of speech loss, i am coherent--articulate, even!--in my speech and writing; it's been many years since my last violent meltdown; i eat three meals a day; i am able to get out of bed every day. and then i try to do productive things for like 3 hours and i start banging my head against the wall and crying because i Can't i just Can't. it's incredibly stark. it's a pretty good justification for being a housecat honestly because if i weren't then i would not only be "losing money to groceries rent etc" i would also be "losing money much more quickly to intensive treatments and/or bad decisions" and i think "losing money more quickly" is the opposite of the goal of "trying to have a job" but definitely uh if i were less privileged wrt Ability to housecat indefinitely i would be Fucked. i deteriorate Terrifyingly Fast under Literally Any Stress.

this isn't a new observation or anything--chat message from august of last year--

It’s kind of eternally astounding to me how much my issues are ~stress-mediated? I can basically be fine and normal-passing if I’m not expected to do anything ever; the amount of breakdown i have correlates pretty directly w how much is expected of me. This feels incredibly fake when I’ve been doing nothing for long enough and think i have gotten better but then i am expected to have pretty basic conversations with people irl for like two weekends in a row and i spend 20 minutes pacing my room and hyperventilating and self harming and i would not be surprised if i end up having a [I stop moving] episode before the weekend is up. and this is not very bad or anything on the scale of things but notably also i am not being expected to do very much!!! Idk it’s weird how like. When I am being a house cat I can be— not maximally fulfilled or anything but basically okay and normal. And then I do things for more than one day and it’s like Oh this is why I housecat. not even in a bad way fully just. huh yeah

and it doesn't even surprise me or feel fake to me at this point but it's weird and i don't like it. i don't like how fast i can go from "i am basically doing fine" to near-crisis when i am expected to do very basic everyday life things. it scares me. i'm getting better but it's hard to tell how much of that is just....redefining my goals and expectations, rather than actually having more abilities. even writing my "i'm basically a normal person when not expected to do things" i kept running up against. like. oh yeah. i don't actually shower/clean myself with any sort of regularly. i don't cook for myself. i spend long stretches of time only changing clothes or leaving the house for church on sundays. i could probably make life changes to do better at some of these things but it's all tradeoffs and idk if it'd be. worth it. i keep coming back to this post bc it really is how i feel. i run into my limits drastically less often than i used to and i am doing much much better. this is mostly because i am living my life so very very carefully within those limits. i am like a delicate orchid who does okay in Ideal Conditions but threatens to die at the slightest hint of overwatering. and i am very lucky to be carefully managed by people who love me immensely and have a lot of resources and many people do not have this and i really do not want to understate this!!! but being a very lucky orchid is still ... very different than being a mint plant

*ok in 2024 i did have a few months where i was actively suicidal and regularly self-harming and not really eating much and having nightmares all the time. um. i don't have a defense here that isn't "you should've seen me before i dropped out" or maybe "okay but it wasn't that long". i didn't have to go to IOP and....i would say "i didn't drop out/get fired from anything major" but that's because i already didn't have any responsibilities cf the rest of the post........ummmmmmmmmmmmmm anyway. i didn't do anything drastic (not exclusively a suicide euphemism) despite considering it. does that count for anything

[homunculus-argument]

My usual problem of "and then some other shit happens" is that they keep piling up on top of each other. This morning, I was just about to start work when

mail comes in. I've received a letter from the tax office.

I open the letter and get a Fuck No Way That's Right kinda bill.

time to hit up my accountant and ask what the fuck do I do now

realise that I haven't delivered my accounting stuff for like four months either, gotta apologise to her about that too

e-mail doesn't go through, double-check the address, re-type my whole apology and explanation again

four consecutive e-mails do not go through

fuck I gotta call them, where's my phone

just as I was about to make a phone call, I receive a phone call

forgot I had a phone appointment with my doctor, turns out I do not have a natural physical resistance to poison damage, and my medication resistance is something else.

confident in my ability to execute two unrelated tasks at once, I take a sip of my tea while on the phone. Naturally I fuck it up and pour the lukewarm tea on my lap instead.

figuring that since I'm unhurt and only poured enough to soak my clothes, not my chair, I'll just sit with the wet tea on my lap until the phonecall is over, and hang them to dry on the balcony later.

phonecall done, I remove my clothes and go hang them up to dry.

spot my little ficus tree cutting on the balcony, decide to water it since it's so hot and I don't want the thing to die.

coming back inside after leaving my clothes on the balcony, my boyfriend sees me undressed and wants affection.

he also wants to show me a video that he came upon.

make myself more tea

coming back to my computer, remember the phonecall I was supposed to make.

call the accounting people and tell them I can't e-mail the person I worked with, and get informed that the person I had been working with quit unexpectedly, and the one currently running the whole business on her own will look into my shit once she's personally out of the hospital. She meant to call me earlier about What The Fuck I'm Doing but unfortunately hospital.

promise her to deliver my accounting things today since it's the least I can do to not make her day any worse than it already is.

save through my paypal activities, log onto my online bank, check my account and do some math to confirm that I should more or less be alright until my next payday. Move some more money to my bank card account for groceries, and log out.

remember that the reason why I logged into my bank in the first place was the accounting, and log back in to get that data.

send my records to my new current accountant with apologies for not doing that for four months despite of being supposed to do it monthly.

finally done with that, satisfied of actually Getting Things Done, I suddenly realise I've spent the past three hours on random sidequests, haven't even touched whatever it was that I was planning to do today, and top of that I've completely forgotten what it was that I meant to do.

waste another half an hour writing a meticulous account of how I spent my morning doing everything else than what I meant to.

[kpop---scenarios]

Monster (3)

Pairing: Chan x Reader x Felix

Genre: Mafia, Arranged Marriage

Warning: Language, some violence, threats

Word Count: 2k

Taglist: @gloriajovicc @bluebeard67 @stephanieeeyang @mouseyboo @stayatinykatsy @thicccurls @thecutiepieme @maisyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @kayleefriedchicken @msauthor @purple-bell @bluesiebirdie @jisunglyricist @skzdust @chloe-elise-2000

One | Two |

“To being single!” You cheer, clanking your shot glasses together with Chan and Felix. The two of them had picked you up, taking you out to celebrate your new found freedom. You were so happy about your decision, but felt so fucking guilty. It was almost like you felt as though you didn't give Seojoon enough of a chance to explain, or a chance to change himself to be better. Part of you wondered if you rushed this break up, maybe you were thinking rashly when you ended it, maybe you should have thought about it a little bit longer and waited?

No, no. You spent years with him, had countless conversations with him about his behavior and he never changed a thing. Or if he did, it was for a week or a few before he went right back to being the same as before. It was absolutely exhausting to be with him. But now you're done with him.. right?

You shook off your thoughts, focusing back on the two you were out with. You laughed and smiled with Chan and Felix, you were trying to have a good time and let these feelings go, but fuck, you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that was consuming you, it had been hours and you felt heavy carrying it around, and the two men you were with seemed to notice.

“What's going on?” Chan asks, crossing his arms on the table.

“You look worried.” Felix mentions.

“I don't know.” You sigh. “I feel sort of guilty about breaking up with Seojoon. Like maybe I should have given him more of a chance, you know?”

Both men try to hold in their laughter but fail miserably.

“Don't.” Chan chuckles. “It was the right move.” He tells you.

“You definitely made the right choice. How much longer were you going to let yourself be miserable with him?” Felix asks.

“I probably wouldn't have stayed much longer if I didn't do it. It was really emotionally draining and so taxing.” You say.

“You're definitely better off.” Chan smiles, Felix agreeing.

You know they're right but their words didn't help soothe your guilt and unfortunately you didn't know what would. So instead of trying to find a solution, you kept drinking, cocktails, shots, and beer. You left Felix and Chan at the table while you went to the dance floor, happily dancing by yourself, your eyes closed, feeling the beat of the music flowing through your body. You feel someone in front of you, opening your eyes. It's a man you didn't recognize, he moved closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear. His hands hold onto your arms tightly. “You shouldn't have come here. You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve being here, especially with who your fucking father is. He's a fucking rat.” He aggressively shouts into your ear. You whip your head around, a terrified look spread across your face. Your eyes meet with Felix, who stands up, rushing towards you with Chan following closely behind.

“I’ll be seeing you real fucking soon.” He shouts, releasing you just as Felix and Chan approach you. You try to find him, but you lose him in the crowd of people on the dance floor.

“What happened?” Felix asks. He grabs your cheeks, keeping your head still to look at him. “Breathe, baby girl. Deep breaths.” He says. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth, and he asks again. “Who was he? Did he hurt you?”

“That man.. he said I had a lot of nerve being here.. given who my father is.. he said my father is a rat..and that he'll see me soon.” You say, shaking at the memory, you can still feel his hands on you.

Felix grabs your hand, pulling you off the dance floor and back to the booth. “Do you know who he was?” Chan asks as Felix throws some cash onto the table to pay for the drinks before he grabs your purse and the three of you leave the club.

“Where are we going?” You ask as you get into the back seat of the car.

“Your dad's.” Felix sighs.

“Who was he, Y/N?” Chan asks.

“I don't know. I don't think I've ever seen him before.” You tell him. you try to think back, but he didn't look familiar at all.

“He smelt like cigarettes and whiskey. His voice was deep, but not as deep as Felix's.” You say. You're trying to think of any identifying qualities about the man but there really was nothing and you were still really drunk. “Brown hair? I think. I don't know, I wasn't fully paying attention.”

“We'll be at your dad's soon. Just keep trying to remember until we get there.” Chan says.

You spend the next twenty minutes trying to remember anything else until the three of you pull into your fathers driveway.

“Dad?” You call out as soon as you step into the house.

“Y/N?” He calls back, stepping out of his office. He sees you, with Felix and Chan standing closely behind you. “What's going on? And why are you with them?” He asks. You walk towards your dad, pulling him back into his office, Chan and Felix standing towards the back as you sit at the desk.

“..he grabbed me out of nowhere and whispered it into my ear. And Chan and Felix brought me here immediately after.” You say.

“Is there anything significant you can remember about him? Tattoos? Scars? Anything?” Your dad asks.

“He smelt like cigarettes and whiskey. Brown hair, I think. I couldn't see him very well, dad. What the fuck is going on? Why did he call you a rat? What are you doing?” you ask.

“Don't worry about what I'm doing, Y/N. I'm doing what's best for this family. Which is joining the Lee's. Aren't one of you supposed to be getting married to Mia?” He says, pointing between Chan and Felix. They both look at each other, Felix motioning for Chan to speak to your father.

“Uh, Mr. L/N.. the thing is, we're both actually interested in Y/N..” Chan says, semi confidently, his hands behind his back.

Before your dad can speak, Wonho rushes into the room. “Sorry sir, but there's an issue.” Wonho says, glancing around the room. Your dad stands up, going to the hallway, closing the door behind him. You're still drunk. You turn around as much as you can in your chair, looking at both men. Your smirk as you point to yourself, and then between the two men.

“You like me?” You ask, scrunching up your nose, trying to hide the blush that's spreading across your face.

“Y/N.” Your father yells, barging back into the room. “Go to the safe house for a while. You need to lay low. Now.” He snaps.

“Not the safe house.” You groan. “It's so dingy, dad, what's happening?” You ask.

“Sir, can she stay with us? We would set the world on fire before letting anything happen to her.” Chan says.

“I don't know.” Your dad sighs. “One of you is supposed to be marrying Mia.”

“With all due respect, sir, neither of us are going to marry Mia.” Felix says. “And we will be talking to father about it.”

“You know what, I don't have time for this. Y/N go with them. Keep your phone on. Boys make sure she grabs her important things from her place and fucking make sure no one is there.” He sternly tells them. Both men usher a drunk you from the house and into the car. You can hear the two of them in the front talking about what they think the issue that Wonho told your father about was.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the guy from tonight?” You ask.

‘It's hard to tell.” Felix sighs. A while later you pull up to your apartment building. Both men began to get out of the car before you stopped them.

“I'm gonna be in and out. 10 minutes tops.” You smile. “You can't even get in here without a key card, no one is waiting for me in there, I can guarantee that.”

Both men look at each other, they're unsure if they should just let you go, but you don't wait for them to decide. Instead you get out and walk towards the door, scanning your card to enter. The door closes behind you, making it so they couldn't get in to you even if they needed to.

You walk into your apartment, dropping your purse and keys, swiftly moving to your bedroom. You grab some clothes, pj’'s, phone charger, toiletries, laptop and anything else you thought you might need. As you finish shuffling everything into the duffle bag, you hear the sound of a gun cocking from behind you, feeling the barrel pressed to the back of your head.

“Who are you?” You whisper. A hand grabs your shoulder, turning you around.

The man from the bar. “I need to know what else your dad has been going around saying.” He shouts, pinning you against the wall.

“I don't know what you want me to tell you! He doesn't tell me anything!” You shout as he presses the barrel to your temple.

“He's doing something shady! I need to know what the fuck it is, now!” He screams. Before you can answer, your front door busts open. Chan and Felix rush in, Chan grabs the collar of the man's shirt, pulling him off of you, throwing him to the ground.

“You okay, baby girl?” Felix asks, his eyes checking you over as his hands hold you. You nod your head, Chan looks between you and the man, he rushes for him,the man scrambles to his feet, Chan reaches out for him, but he darts out the door before he can catch him.

“Was that him?” Chan asks, sweat dripping from his forehead as he points towards the door. “I told you we shouldn't have let you go alone.” He yells. you had never seen him so mad before, and he looked so fucking hot.

“Let's go.” Felix says, picking up your bag, carrying it out to the car. You walk in between the two, Chan in front of you and Felix behind. Chan watches as you get outside, his eyes darting around the parking lot as you make your way to the car. You slide into the back seat, Felix placing your bag beside you. As the three of you drive away, your mind wanders to what he was talking about. Your dad was doing something shady, but he always does shady things, this wasn't something new. But what could be so bad that he comes after you for information? Yes you were in the life but you weren't currently actively involved like you wanted to be. That was Mia, she was getting in deeper and deeper with your father but neither would tell you about it. They had their own little secrets, meetings and things that they did.

You're lost in your head for the duration of the drive, until you pull up to a big, beautiful house. Bright lights shone from the top of the two large brick towers. It almost reminded you of the front of a hotel.

“You live here?” You gasp.

“Yeah.” Felix chuckles.

Chan parks the car, grabbing your bag from the back before the three of you walk in, passing the security at the front door.

“Chan, Felix, come in here for a minute.” Their dad yells, you're assuming from his office. You walk behind them, stopping when they do. “I'm glad you're home.” He says. “This is Mia. The one that one of you will be marrying.” The two men separate, revealing you. Your sister turns her head, smiling as she sees you.

“Hi Y/N.” She says. “Hi boys.”

“Dad.” Felix starts. “Neither of us want to marry her. We've been over this.”

“One of you will marry Mia. The other can have Y/N. You must decide, and you decide soon.” Their father says, clearing his throat.

“Or I'll pick for you.”

[impishjesters]

Jax with a s/o scared of nothing but that spider is MASSIVE

warning(s): big spider, one-sided crush, empty threats/manipulative behaviour, light Ragatha bashing, possessive Jax, anger/temper issues note(s): The one-sided crush is Ragatha on the reader, the Ragatha bashing is on Jax's end (he doesn't like her), and the possessiveness Jax has is okay (and enjoyed) with the reader. A/N: I gave up on the tags, I also gave up near the end my brain is fuzzy...I just wanted to write something for myself for once...

You’d been stuck with the task of cleaning out the closet, and in theory, that shouldn’t sound like such a daunting task. Except this closet held heaven knows what when it involves Jax, not like you’re expecting a jump scare or anything, it’s his closet too. But he has a tendency for throwing a lot of bizarre things in here and you’re just a tad afraid of what you might stumble across.

There’s little that scares you, especially now in the circus. Caine’s little activities going south? Eh, that’s normal. Someone going missing for a few hours and the fear thought that they finally succumbed and abstracted? Okay, mildly worrying but not scary—unless it was Jax—which was unlikely.

But spiders?

A scream leaves your mouth before you can properly react, and the item in hand falls with a loud thud, followed by fast and loud footsteps from outside the room. “What’s wrong?!” Jax slams the door open, knocking over a few nearby items before rushing in.

He barely has the time to assess the situation before you lunge at him. What the fuck was happening? He’s never heard you scream like that and the only one allowed to make you scream at all was him.

“Kill it!”

Jax hisses as you try climbing him, tugging on his clothes and ears to get as far as possible from whatever it is you are screaming about. Despite the yelling and his confusion, he does hold you off the ground before calling your name.

“What the fuck are ya talking about?! Kill what??”

Burying your face into his neck you point over towards the closet. “Kill it!” Confused and irritated with you screaming in his ear, he takes a step closer to the closet only for you to scream again. “No! I don’t wanna go near it!”

“Christ doll…” Jax glances at the nearby bed and places you on it before turning towards the closet. The hell has you so bent out of shape? Kill it? Kill what? You do realize that he can’t just necessarily kill—oh so that’s where that went. He eyes the large spider and laughs. “Fuck, I forgot how huge this thing is.”

It takes a few minutes for the words to process through your panic. Forgot? “Excuse me?! You mean that’s yours?! Jax what the hell!”

He snorts and throws you a glance before looking back down at the ugly thing. “Oh yeah, I got it to throw in Pomni’s room. Must’ve forgotten about it.”

“Must’ve forgot—Jax… how the fuck do you forget a spider that big?! That thing pays taxes it’s that big! Don’t you fucking laugh!”

Jax bends forward, hands on knees in full unbridled laughter. Taxes, oh that’s a good one. “Oh c’mon, you scared of a little spider?” he mocks between laughs.

“That thing is not little!” You hiss. God, you forget how much of an asshole Jax can be, it’s rarely ever aimed at you. “Are you going to get rid of it or not?”

That spider is big enough to work a nine-hour job, pay taxes, and have a full family.

Your boyfriend is still yucking it up despite your suffering. Fine, two can play that game. Clouded by a mix of fear and frustration, the words left you before you could even fully process them. “If you don’t take care of it I’m moving out and staying with Ragatha, at least she’d get rid of the spider and comfort me instead of laugh.”

His laughter stops at the mention of the doll, a scowl replacing his previous smile. You aren’t wrong, Ragatha would easily get rid of the spider, she wouldn’t like it but it wasn’t a centipede which was fair game. After all, you’d gotten rid of the centipedes for her whenever he had left them in her room, something he’s still annoyed with. Let him have his fun.

He also knows it is an empty threat, you wouldn’t actually move out—not that you realistically could, you were both trapped here. But mention of that raggedy doll was enough to set him off.

Both of you were aware of her crush on you, something that only recently started to wane with the arrival of Pomni. She wasn’t manipulative like Jax, but she often voiced her thoughts on how you deserved someone better than Jax. As if implying she was the better choice. It always pissed him off, as if he doesn’t already know that, but you were his, not hers.

It felt wrong to use Ragatha’s crush on you like this, she was a sweet woman but your heart fully belonged to the asshole standing a few feet away. In truth you aren’t quite sure what led you to say that, it felt awful to use Jax’s methods against him or even to use them at all.

Jax wanted nothing more than to lash out but managed to hold back. He knows you didn’t mean it, you weren’t like him skilled enough to utilize the whole crush in a manner to break someone down, to hurt them. But boy if he didn’t want to just wreck some shit at the thought of that rag doll with you.

Instead, he channeled that irritation and energy into leaving the room, the door left wide open. Your loud whine went unheard until he returned with a plastic container that originally held his collected bug subjects. The spider had hardly moved still resting on one of the many things that came tumbling out of the closet.

He reached out to grab it and he heard you shudder and whimper behind him, no doubt flailing your hands in disgust at how he was just touching the spider so casually. It was always cute how you were such a big baby over him touching bugs.

With the spider contained he exited the room again, and like a child afraid of the monsters under their bed, you stayed perched on the bed until he returned.

“There, the little spider is gone.”

“That was not little…” you hiss lowly.

Jax chuckles but it’s strained, it’s easy to see your words are still eating at him.

You glance at the closet before looking over your boyfriend, tending to him trumps over the unimportant messy closet. “H-hey.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, I was scared and angry and—”

“It’s fine, angel.”

“Not it’s not!” You finally climb off the bed and step closer to him, this wasn’t gonna be brushed off so easily.

Jax pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling, of course, you aren’t going to make this easy on him. Christ he’d prefer to pretend this whole thing didn’t happen but no, you want to talk it out, make him vulnerable, and shit.

“I was scared and angry, scared because I hate…hate…spiders. Angry because you weren’t taking it seriously,” Jax scoffs. “You were laughing Jax, don’t give me that look.” At that, he at least has the decency to look a tad guilty.

“I wasn’t gonna let it near ya let alone hurt ya.”

“I…I know that…” Christ this is awkward, neither of you was good at this sort of thing. “Look, I am sorry about what I said. Bringing her into this wasn’t fair, you know I don’t like her like that. It was unfair of me to bring her up like that when I know how you feel about it, about her.”

On the outside Jax was playful with everyone, but on the inside, you knew he’d throw Ragatha off a cliff if he could—well he could but, never mind.

Jax gradually relaxed, at least enough to let his shoulders drop, watching you suffer and struggle through apologizing was reward enough. Looks like he wasn’t the only one shit at this whole thing.

“Look, we both suck at this whole thing so why don’t we just..” He groans and rubs his face before getting on his knee to be closer to you. “I’m sorry for being a jerk, and you’re sorry for bringing her up. We can leave it at that, capiche?”

Your eyes cross in momentary annoyance and it causes Jax to snort, which in turn gets a smile out of you. Of course, he wants to be blunt and get this over with. “Capiche, but,” he rolls his eyes and you take his face in your hands before he can pull away. “But, I want it said that I would never, leave you for her. I had no plans of leaving you at all, period.”

And he knows this, he knows but she still gets on his nerves. You belong to him, possessive behaviour be dammed. Sides, you liked it. You'd even told him so once when he’d gone off on someone in the past for trying to make a hard move on you. Not that that sucker was a problem anymore.

“Alright, I get it, enough mushy shit. Sides, ya too soft to use my methods against me like that, or anyone for that matter.” Jax stands despite your protests and pulls you to his chest in a hug that shuts you right up.

The two of you stand in silence holding one another, your face happily buried into his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. It’s calming and sweet after everything that happened until it’s not.

A scream echos through the hall and you can’t help but flinch, Jax’s gives you a gentle squeeze before grinning down at you. “Welp looks like Pomni found the gift I left her.”

Oh, that poor girl. She’s on her own with that spider though, fuck going a round two with that thing.

[trippinsorrows]

are jey's kids really bad or is that just roman being a grump?

oh no, they are bad. lol you ever seen bebe's kids? imagine that.

something like this....

-----

"i want the shipment moved no later than—" the sound of an object crashing and shattering interrupts roman, the speaker shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

third.

this is the third goddamn interruption in under half an hour, and there is no doubt in roman's mind that the cause is the same as it was the prior two times.

and judging by the look on jey's face, he thinks the same too.

standing up, he turns his body toward the house and calls out, "hey, what ya'll doing!"

jimmy snorts and takes a sip of his beer. "ain't it obvious? breaking shit."

jey shoots his twin a look that's the equivalent of 'shut the fuck up' as jey moves onto requesting the presence of his unruly children. "ya'll, get out here now!"

at that, roman scowls. "can't you go to them?" roman could go the rest of his life without being around jey's children, and having already had the displeasure of interacting with them twice today thus far, he's reached his max.

jey starts to offer a rebuttal, reminding his cousin that it was roman who wanted to have the meeting at someone's place other than his. something about the twins being 'destructive'.

it's not like they didn't pay for the repairs on the maserati.

roman grabs his own beer, downing the rest as one by one, the result of jey not being smart enough to use a condom—all four times—come running out, mischief written all over their faces.

but, jey is more focused on the black eye on one of his kids, the matted hair of another, and the small cut on the eyebrow on a third kid.

"what the hell done happened to ya'll?" he doesn't wait for a reply, reminding them, "jordan, were you trying to kill josiah again?"

jordan looks just as unremorseful as he feels, defending, "he deserved it!"

at that, roman actually agrees. out of all of jey's wild offspring, josiah has always been the most irritating.

he probably had it coming.

"how many times i gotta tell ya'll? you can only beat each other up to fight, not to kill!" jey blows out a breath, hands over his face. he sounds as exasperated as roman feels. maybe it's worth whatever destruction his cousins cause to just have meetings at his house. that's not as taxing as being around this shit.

journee, a little nicki in training, just has to chime in, pointing like the snitch she is, "he was being a little bitch, daddy!"

"aye!" jey interrupts, voice firm. "what i tell ya'll about all that goddamn cussing?" he doesn't wait for a reply, scolding them yet again, "stop using all that fuckin' language in my motherfuckin' house!"

one of the kids rolls their eyes, the second oldest boy, roman guesses, is quick with a smartass reply. "mama said we ain't gotta listen to you."

"she said what?"

jimmy shakes his head, murmuring to roman as he gazes at the uncovered pool, the sun reflecting off the lights at the bottom. "here we go...."

"she said you a bit—"

"that's enough!" jey marches over to the table, snatching his phone and mumbling to roman and his twin about being 'right back.' the last thing that's heard is jey laying into nicki, "who the hell you think you are telling my kids—what was that? bitch, i know you not with ole' dude again! man, i'll kill his ass and make you watch!"

the kids, thankfully, disperse back into the house.

roman is ready to pass on his parting words to jimmy and be the fuck gone. the desire for a good workout—or fucking—growing by the second. he might have to hit up sasha. sam was on that shit last time, and he's already in a foul mood.

but, a tug on his sleeve prevents him from doing that, roman's disdain painted over his handsome face. "what?" he asks, gruffly.

jayla rolls her brown eyes and only extends out her open palm. "my birthday is next month."

"and?" roman's more likely to wish jey's youngest daughter a 'happy accidental existence' day than 'happy birthday.'

however, she's undeterred, reminding, "my money?"

that, however, makes roman chuckle. he'd almost forgotten that out the four, she happens to be his favorite unfavorite. he don't like none of him, but she's not as intolerable as the rest. and her hustle is impressive.

pulling out his wallet, he asks, "how old you turning? 5?"

"i'm turning 7, uncle roman." she scoffs, maybe to herself, or him. "old people...."

at that, roman pauses, "you want the money or what, kid?"

she looks down, sheepishly, as roman counts out three hundred dollar bills, laying them in her waiting hand. "there. now don't bother me again until next year."

it's an easy request for the almost 7 year old, her eyes wide as she imagines all the robux she'll be able to get.

stuffing the money into her pocket, she nods and offers appreciation. "good to see you, uncle roman." roman shakes his head as jayla moves over to jimmy. "uncle jimmy....."

however, jimmy is not roman. "girl, i ain't got no money."

jayla stays true to her no filter nature. "so you're a broke ass?"

at that, roman turns his head. he actually has to hold back his smile. yeah, jayla might most definitely become his favorite at some point.

"broke ass?" jimmy, of course, fails to see that he's being baited by a damn second grader and yanks out his wallet, counting out a stack of hundreds and giving it to her. "how's that for broke ass?"

jayla looks like she just won the lottery, and at her age, she essentially just did. she doesn't bother with an expression of appreciation before dashing off with all her money.

and roman just watches as recognition dawns on jimmy's face, effectively ridding him of that goofy ass smile. "wait, that was my strip club money." he hops off the stool and goes after his niece. "get back here, you lil samoan wednesday!"

[judjira]

the bar

tags: fluff, mentions of sex, hookup culture pairing: reader x nayeon after hours wc: 1843 back to masterlist

It’s been a long day. Work or school, whatever it’s been, it’s always such a long day, listening to people talk, talking to people, and just, in general, being around people.

For the most part, it’s easy to just smile and nod, politely excuse yourself for work, and peace out of conversations with no one the wiser.

But for some reason, it was like today, everyone decided that it would be especially nice to engage your antisocial, anxious, and overthinking ass in conversation.

And it is for that reason you decide to go to the bar.

One might think that bars are actually the place to stay away from when one does not want to engage in human conversation, and for the most part, they would be right.

But this is no ordinary bar.

This is your bar.

Your bar, as in, the one bar that would serve as a refuge for souls weary from the taxing everyday of communication, eager for a reprieve from a society that puts such a high importance on conversation.

Yes, a bar where people mind their own fucking business. A speakeasy, to be more specific.

A hidden bar that rarely anyone knows about, hidden behind a bookshelf, a fake wall, a phone booth, or any mundane object that no one would suspect.

It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve discovered it, but it’s become an instant favorite of yours.

You slide past the hidden door of the speakeasy, and instantly breathe in the solitary smell of petrichor, walnuts, and oranges.

Inside, the lighting is a dim tungsten, bare strips of light running across the ceiling, only barely illuminating the small interior, subtle grey cement walls and flooring, light brown furniture, and mahogany bar counters.

There are barely any people. Or rather, the tables are filled, one to two people sitting here and there, but each of them seem to be sectioned off, almost as if a barrier separates them and the rest of the world.

And in a few, you will join them, receding into a world you can call only your own, to rest in a peace that is well deserved.

You slide into a bar stool by the counter, your one spot in the bar that no one else touches, and order a drink. The bartender nods, words barely needed for your exchange, as they prepare your order.

You sigh to the tune of light jazz playing through the speakers of the bar, a light thrum in your bones energizing you enough to enjoy the atmosphere of this lonely bar.

Yes, this bar is special because it is yours, it can only be yours, and you are well within your rights to be alone in it.

But this bar is also special for another reason.

It is here that instead of being forced into the tiring condition of conversation, you take that agency into your own hands.

It is here that, in a world where words are forced upon and from you, you can choose to speak on your own terms.

“Here again, hm?”

And so you do, speaking to the person next to you.

She raises an eyebrow, looks to you, and sighs.

“…surprised?”

The bartender serves you your drink, and you smile at them, taking a sip and redirecting your attention to your seatmate.

“I would’ve expected you to move to another seat, or even find another bar, considering what happened last week.”

The woman sniffs, and makes to leave.

“Maybe I should."

You chuckle.

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Nayeon.”

Nayeon stops in her tracks, takes one more look at you, performs her trademark sigh, and sits back down.

“If I’d known you were this talkative, I would’ve never taken you home with me.”

Last week was a series of firsts. Your first time talking to a stranger in the bar, your first time kissing said stranger in said bar, your first time hooking up with said stranger in their own home.

All things considered, you’re lucky you weren’t murdered.

And all things considered, you’re extremely lucky it was Nayeon who you hooked up with.

“But you did, didn’t you?”

You’re not well-versed in hook up culture, hell, you’re not well-versed in sex at all. It probably isn’t normal to strike up a conversation as casual as this with someone that was only supposed to be a one night stand.

But it’s Nayeon, and you make an exception for her.

“…I’m beginning to regret it.”

Nayeon runs a hand through her hair, sunglasses hooked into her button down shirt, work slacks slightly ruffled, and heels hooking into the bar stool’s legs.

You’d assume she’s an office lady, the way she presents herself with that crisp and clean make up, sharp eyebrows, highlighted yet subtle cheekbones, pure red lipstick. Plus, the office jacket slung over her shoulder pairs exactly with her slacks, the telltale sign of a working professional.

“Are you really?”

You raise an eyebrow, and you mean more than just your question. This is supposed to be a haven, after all, for those unwilling to subject themselves to the woes of extroversion the world is so adamant on pursuing.

If you are bothering Nayeon, then you will stop.

It’s only respectful.

But then Nayeon looks at you, your eyes. Her eyes do not pierce nor penetrate. They touch, slowly, softly, with intention.

Then her lips quirk.

“…jury’s still out on that one.”

And you take that as permission to squeeze your way into Nayeon’s bubble, her closed off section of the world that you believe she barely allows anyone into.

“So, why are you here, Nayeon?”

She takes another sip of her drink, long fingers gently lifting her glass to her lips before setting it down once more.

“That’s what you ask? Not what my job is, or where I’m from, or how much I make?”

The question is posed with the raise of an eyebrow, so smooth and elegant, a trademark, you would assume, of the woman in front of you.

“Do you want me to ask about that? I would assume you don’t.”

When you first entered this bar, she was the first person you saw. The seat you chose for yourself was no mistake or by random. You chose to sit next to this enigmatic, elegant, and eloquent woman.

“You assume a lot. But you’re right. I don’t.”

You take a sip of your drink, fizzy, sweet, strong, or maybe a mix of all three. It buzzes and rings in your mouth, filling your body with a pulse of warmth as it goes down your throat.

“So…why are you in this bar?”

Nayeon hums, and as she does, her manicured finger taps at her chin.

“…I just needed to be somewhere else.”

And with that, you need no further explanation. The way Nayeon’s breath leaves her lips in a sigh that could fill your lungs with the same sense of subtle desperation is something you know all too well.

“Don’t we all?”

Nayeon chuckles at that, a low and deep hum of laughter that you remember hearing, all too close to your ear last week.

“Well, I would assume some people are here to find people to take them home.”

The jab is directed towards you, obviously. After all, it was you who had finally gathered the courage to proposition Nayeon last week.

“What was it you said again? The most beautiful woman you have ever seen and will ever see?”

Perhaps if this were a normal setting, you would blush, take back your embarrassing words inspired by liquid courage, and recede back into your hole of introversion for the rest of your life.

But no, this is your bar.

And this is Nayeon you’re speaking to.

“I don’t think I said anything wrong. Or false, for that matter.”

The laugh rings out, soft as it is, in your ears, through your bones, and down to your blood. Because it is so pleasant, so subdued, so elegant, so…Nayeon.

“Just one sip is enough for you to flirt, hm?”

Nayeon tilts her head, leaning on her hand as her smile forms.

Her smile.

It draws the most poetic of words from you, calling to your soul to speak in ways you’ve never thought you could ever speak.

And it is Nayeon who inspires this.

“For you? I don’t need the drink.”

Then, and only then, do her cheeks color. The most beautiful shade of red that you’ve already seen, flushed and bright, paired with mussed hair and blown out eyes.

The redness of her cheeks is matched only by her sigh, this time not out of exasperation nor stress, but longing and desire.

“A sweet talker, you are. Do you talk to all the women like this?”

Her smile has grown now, and with it, your desire to speak, to claim your voice for your own, to list out the all of the little things that make Nayeon so desirable for you.

“Only the ones I want to keep seeing.”

It is a wonder that Nayeon is able to draw these words from you. Indeed, others have to wrestle any sort of coherent response from you, and even then it glances off, it obfuscates, it dances.

But Nayeon can draw any word from you as one would draw water from a well.

A simple pull, and all the words you could ever hope to form are hers.

“Well…”

Nayeon’s smile turns warm, warmer than you’ve witnessed in the throes of unadulterated passion in the intimacy of her bedroom.

“Any special words for someone who wants to keep seeing you too?”

It is then that you hesitate. No, you’re not used to this kind of life, meeting strangers and having sex with them simply based off of pure physical attraction.

No, if someone is able to pull the words you ache to say so easily from you, then it is only right that they keep receiving these words, outside of what shallow connections your bodies provide.

“…only if they’d allow me to take them out for dinner sometime.”

Your heart beats. A leap of faith. Words that inspire you to wake up and take your voice for your own and for someone you’re willing to give it to.

Nayeon stares for a moment.

It is a moment you think you are falling, back into the lull of forced words and strangled conversations.

“I know a twenty four hour café near here. Good pasta.”

But it is only for a moment.

Because in the next, Nayeon catches you, and every word that comes with you.

You slip your wallet out of your pocket and the money is passed to the bartender. They nod their thanks, eyes drifting between you and Nayeon.

“Shall we?”

Nayeon offers her arm, and in turn, a sanctuary.

“We shall.”

And you take it, entering into her sanctuary.

A place where you, and your words, will always be received, should you choose to give them.

“After a late dinner…my place?”

“I’d love that.”

And you always will.

[maybankiara]

MISTER, I'LL TAKE HER ROSES

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera summary: JJ offers to pick up Kiara from the airport, despite only having spoken to her once before, years ago. Long drives, country music, diner burgers, and some sunsets await for them. w/c: 7k a/n: i have returned from the dead with this. jj-centric, as i tend to write, and some fluff sprinkled in with pining, of course, because it's jiara we're talking about. masterlist | tag list read on archive of our own

It's situations like these that JJ gets himself into, then regrets, purely because of one thing: his mouth is quicker than his brain.

And boy, does JJ Maybank love to put himself at other people's expense.

With one hand on the wheel and the other hanging outside the driver's window of his pickup truck ( Baby , he calls it, because she's his everything), JJ sings along to some Zak Brown song that's playing on the radio, and wonders how the fuck did he manage to find himself driving for hours, away from the setting sun, with a bouquet of roses in his backseat for a girl he hadn't thought of in years.

The song changes to a Kylie Morgan one and he turns it down, just a little bit. Another pickup truck passes him -- it's the first sign of life he'd seen for miles. Charleston is still some time away, and JJ's got nothing but time to kill.

Four hours ago, he was dropping off fresh packages of beef mince in the back of The Wreck. He was wearing his oil-stained sweatpants because all the others were in the wash, and he wasn't wearing a top, because it was one of those days that burn into your skin if you're not careful enough. He's just lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) that his skin's been burnt enough it doesn't change anymore.

'You're kidding,' said Mike, the owner, speaking into the phone he held to his face with more ferocity than JJ would've been comfortable with if he was on the other end of the line. 'I can't have that ready for tomorrow morning.'

JJ passed him and placed another box in the warehouse, wiping the sweat off his brow. He gave a wave to Cleo, one of the servers, who was helping him move stuff to the fridge.

'Your boss is having a bad day,' he said.

Cleo scoffed. 'He's always having a bad day.'

'No, like, really .'

They both stood in their place for a few moments as Mike argued outside, something about accounts and a tax return that didn't seem to be correct.

JJ pointed a thumb over his back, in Mike's direction. 'That's why I don't have an office job.'

'Or own a shop,' said Cleo.

'Exactly. You good to get the rest?'

'Mhm, I'll get this to the fridge, you bring the last over and I'll get it signed off if Mike can't.'

'Ha. Think he's a bit too busy for that.'

JJ went past Mike again (he was talking about having something important to do tonight which was why the whole thing was an even bigger issue) and brought the remaining two boxes out of the Heyward truck. His truck, in a way -- despite him saying to Cleo he doesn't want to own a shop or have an office job, things were headed in that direction, with Heyward having the vision of both expanding the trade to the other islands in the Outer Banks and leaving the shop to JJ and Pope to handle.

It was a lot to think about. Meaning, JJ wanted nothing to do with it, right now.

He scooped up the boxes and nodded at Mike in the passing ('I've planned everything to pick her up tonight. I'm not leaving her waiting for me for this. It's important---No, you listen to me !') and brought the last to Cleo, all the way to the fridge.

'Who's he picking up tonight?'

'You need to stop being up in everybody's business.' Cleo took the boxes from him and stood all the way on her tiptoes to reach the highest shelf. 'It's Kiara. She's coming back from the Bahamas, or wherever she was doing her environmental stuff.'

'Oh. Kiara,' JJ said, letting the name wash over his tongue. 'I hadn't thought of her in years.'

Cleo threw a glance at the door, where all JJ could see was Mike's hand waving up and down as if the person on the phone could see him. She leaned over, checking that none of the other staff are within the hearing range, and said: 'Rumour has it that she's cut all ties with her family for years and is now coming back, tail between her legs.'

JJ scoffed. That didn't sound like the Kiara he knew, so he said that. Cleo just shrugged, reminding him that she'd moved to Kildare right before Kiara left. Anything could be true, if you asked her.

He liked to think he knew better.

With that being the last of the boxes, JJ bid his farewell to his kind-of-friend. She had signed off the paperwork for the restaurant, but JJ still needed a signature from Mike, seeing as he was the most senior person here. This is, in JJ's opinion, the very moment that got him into this situation.

He overheard little bits before that, but standing next to Mike as he signed off the paperwork while talking to the person on the phone, JJ couldn't help but to listen in. He also happened to piece it all together, even if against his will.

Kiara Carrera was returning to Kildare after years away, tonight, in Charleston, and now there was no one to pick her up.

So JJ said, interrupting Mike mid-sentence: 'Sir, I can pick her up.'

Mike covered the bottom of the phone (too old to know how to mute) and asked JJ to repeat himself. JJ did, so Mike asked what he's on about.

'I've got nothing to do after this, and my truck's big enough to get a fair amount of suitcases in, if you need. And I've also got no plans for the evening.'

'Just to be clear,' Mike said. 'You're offering to drive all the way to Charleston to pick Kiara up?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Her plane lands at quarter to midnight.'

'That's alright, Sir.'

'And you're okay with that.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Mike frowned. 'Why?'

All JJ could do was shrug. 'Got nothing better to do.'

And that was it -- he had nothing better to do. It was the truth, because Pope was off on holiday, and the only plans he had for the evening consisted of eating leftover pizza and watching whatever's new on Netflix. Driving to Charleston was miles better than that. Hell, he hadn't even left the island in over a year, feels like.

But, yeah. A part of him was curious about the rumour. And a part of him was wondering how Kiara Carrera's life turned out, because not a lot of people make it off the island and those that do, they don't come back.

But she did. And that was enough for JJ.

After agreeing to the plan and finalising the details, including texting Kiara that it'd be JJ picking her up (which she wouldn't get until she landed, anyway), Mike went to his car. He returned with a bouquet of roses.

Now, JJ doesn't know anything about roses, but they damn sure make his car smell nice. They're the expensive kind, he can tell, because they're vibrant and big and the bow they're wrapped with is some fancy material he doesn't know the name off. He can see them in the backseat, taunting him, asking him why he's doing this.

A Warren Zeiders song comes on. Some Whiskey , JJ thinks it's called. He knows some of the words.

He doesn't know the answer.

JJ makes a pit stop about halfway to Charleston, to fill up his tank. Lots of shady people there, he found, watching the numbers to go up. A guy in a cowboy hat and Doc Martens, as well as some girl on her phone who looks very pissed off, in outfit too revealing for this kind of autumn weather. JJ thinks about offering her a lift, but something about the snark of her lip makes him rethink that.

In the end, he goes up to pay and returns with a Reese's chocolate bar and some Hershey's. The girl's still there and the guy with the cowboy hat is gone, an elderly trucker in his place.

It's easy for JJ forget that there's a world outside of Kildare.

The road ahead of him is the same as the half he's left behind. Occasional lights coming from the other direction, but the road's straight with nothing adorning its sides, nothing for him to look at aside from the sky changing colours in his rearview mirror.

He thinks about Kiara.

It's been years since he'd seen her last. It was senior prom at the Kook Academy, and he was only there because some girl asked him to be her prom date. She was rich, hot, and they were having an afterparty at Sarah Cameron's, so obviously he was going to go for the free booze.

He doesn't even remember the name of the girl he was with. They weren't even dating, she just wanted to piss of her parents, and JJ was always down for that.

Kiara, on the other hand...

He throws a glance at the roses in the back. Her dad probably doesn't know, but for a while after that night, JJ would think of her whenever he saw roses, be it in a bouquet or still growing, in the wild.

(But the rose bush always reminded him of her more. Something about the untamed potential...)

He left his date to go out for a smoke. His best mate, John B, was eating Sarah Cameron's face somewhere in the shadows behind the school, even though she'd come there with Topper Thornton, but JJ didn't care much about the drama.

'Smoking's bad for you,' came a voice from behind him.

The girl sat down on the bench next to him, half hidden in what little light fell from the school porch, and took the joint out of his hand.

And put it to her lips.

'Hypocrite,' JJ said, with no bite.

She just shrugged. 'I like it. I just know it's bad.'

With a puff, she handed the joint back to him, and JJ felt like they'd made a silent promise to pass it back and forth, so they did.

Eventually, he stopped smoking, and he'd never seen her smoke before or after again. Sometimes, back when this was recent, he'd wonder if she pretended to smoke just to speak to him, then remember that she did it a little too easily for that to be true.

'Not enjoying the party?'

She leaned back against the bench, smiling a little. 'It's not bad. Just needed to step outside for a moment.'

'And for some free weed.'

'Eh. Doesn't hurt.'

She smiled at him and he offered her another one. She put it to her lips and leaned forward, waiting patiently as he brought his Zippo to it. Her eyes bore into his, even in the darkness, and he wondered what she thought of him -- a Pogue, sharing a joint with a Kook.

He'd spent the whole night feeling like a beggar in the king's clothing, until now. In the darkness, the clothing wasn't what mattered.

She inhaled and closed her eyes before exhaling a moment later. JJ watched her, a little too closely -- the pouted lips as the smoke blew out, the curve of her nose, the fullness of her cheek. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun with strands falling out, outlining her face, even in the dark.

Even in the dark, JJ Maybank knew he ain't never seen someone so pretty his whole damn life.

Kiara passed the joint to him. 'It's rude to stare.'

'Can't help it.'

She just laughed.

Behind them, he heard Sarah Cameron laugh, too. He turned just in time to see her running across the lawn with John B in hand -- the same John B who swore to him they were over not too long ago, but JJ knew it wasn't true, and didn't resent his friend for it.

'Thought she was with Topper,' said Kiara.

JJ sighed. 'Don't ask me anything.'

'Alright.'

The joint swapped owners again. She crossed her legs and the slit on the red dress exposed her all the way to the top of her thigh, and JJ couldn't take his eyes off of her.

'I don't think I've ever spoken to you,' she said.

'You're never on the wrong side of the island.'

'Maybe I always am.'

'Mhm.' JJ nudged her. 'That joint's hitting you.'

She smiled, but didn't say anything.

They passed the joint back and forth until it ran out and JJ stubbed the butt of it into the ground and, when questioned, explained he doesn't care about this side of the island enough to protect its environment. It made Kiara laugh and he decided he'd like to do that again. Make her laugh again.

So he said, 'Wanna get out of here?'

She quirked her brow, so he clarified: 'Not like that. Just a walk.'

'Sure.'

Turned out she was in heels, which he should've anticipated, and walking on grass made her wobbly. She held upright as much as she could as they followed the same path Sarah and John B took earlier, but he stuck his elbow out after a while, and she wrapped her arm around it.

'Better?'

'Better,' she agreed. 'Thanks.'

She didn't let go of him when they got to the pavement, and he didn't make an attempt to get rid of her. In fact, he straightened his posture, remembering what Big John had told him: When in the presence of a lady, always choose to be a man, not a boy.

He had a feeling he was doing a decent enough job.

'So what's next for you?'

'Travelling the world,' Kiara said.

'All of it?'

'All of it.'

'Well, Ma'am,' said JJ, 'I hope you all of it is waiting for you.'

She laughed again. JJ felt like he won a prize at a carnival.

They passed the lawn, hearing hushed whispers of two lovers still hiding in the shadows. Both he and Kiara ignored them, but exchanged a conspiratorial glance. As far as he knew, she was as close to Sarah Cameron as she was to John B, and this sure as hell was a story to tell.

They ventured into the garden that led to the PE hall because of course, their school was going to have a garden. It was lit by a few dimmed lights, which surprised JJ -- but at this side of the island, the electricity bill probably wasn't even top fifteen of anyone's concerns.

'What about you?' she asked. 'What's next?'

'Nothing,' he said. 'Just more of the same, just no school.'

'You got a job?'

He nodded. 'I work for my friends' dad. Delivering merch and groceries to shop, that kind of stuff.'

'Heyward?'

'The one and only.'

She smiled. 'My dad gets his stuff from him, for The Wreck. I might see you around.'

'You might.'

They passed a bush of carnations, and JJ paused for a moment. They were pink and blooming; smelled like the bright moments of his childhoods.

He felt Kiara at his side, asking without words.

'Carnations were my mum's favourite flowers.'

'She has a good taste.'

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 'She did.'

Kiara's hand moved across his, gently, as if soothing him. 'I prefer roses. Cliche, I know,' she added as he chuckled. 'You just know there'll be in every shop, and everyone gives roses first. It's kind of nice.'

'Fair enough, I suppose.'

They walked further, not talking. JJ found himself enjoying her company and the feeling of her on his arm. The dress she wore revealed her leg every so often and it took all in him not to look, not to stare, not to fantasise. But he didn't. He really didn't.

Instead, when they approached a rose bush, he plucked a rose off it.

'For the most beautiful lady this evening.'

Kiara took it with a chuckle. 'Charming.'

'Funny. That's actually my middle name.'

She brought the rose to her nose and closed her eyes as she smelled it, and JJ felt like every single decision he'd made in this life led him to this very moment.

There was no street light reaching this corner of the garden, nothing bar the moonlight. Nothing but the silver gleam shining on Kiara's content face; he wondered what she was thinking about.

'Thank you,' she said, opening her eyes with a smile. 'It's a lovely rose.'

'You're most welcome, Ma'am.'

She kissed him on the cheek. He wondered if she was drunk, but it might've been the joint, and he didn't care.

'We should head back,' she said, wrapping her arm around his again. 'People might start wondering where we are.'

'Sure,' he said, when he wanted nothing more but to stay here, with her.

The walk back was quiet. Jj knew there was nothing waiting for him there, because his date must've found someone else to entertain her, and John B would likely be preoccupied with Sarah Cameron until it was time to go home.

When they got back to the porch, she tugged gently at his arm. 'I keep seeing you around, but I never got your name.'

He grinned. 'We're not all popular enough for people to know our names like you, Miss Carrera.'

'I'll blame it on Sarah.'

'Rightfully so,' he said. 'It's JJ. JJ Maybank.'

'Well, then,' she said, untangling their arms, 'thank you for keeping me company, JJ Maybank.'

'My pleasure.'

She smiled again, that mischieviously polite little smile of hers, and led them back into the hall. She joined her friends and he made his way back to his table, where his glass had been refilled by his date, and he knew it would be alcohol without even looking.

He didn't see Kiara again until she was leaving, giving him a small wave. Her arm was interlinked with Sarah Cameron's, as it was, and sure enough, there was a rose tucked into her hair.

JJ waved back.

It was the last he'd ever seen of Kiara Carrera.

Until now, anyway, he thinks as he turns off the engine, parks about a two minute walk from the airport. He has nothing with him apart from his car keys, phone, wallet, and a bouquet of roses.

It feels like life was playing a silly joke on him, and he's waiting for the right moment to laugh.

The airport is as quiet as he expected it to be at this time of night. There are a few people waiting, presumably for people from the same flight as Kiara, some of them with massive signs with names written on them.

JJ likes looking at people. He likes trying to figure out if they've made it in life, or at least if they think they have. He wonders if that guy wearing a full three-piece that looks too perfectly fitted to be out of a cheap shop thinks he has it all figured out. He wonders if he's waiting for a wife, a family member, or a business partner. There's also a guy with a young child sleeping in his arms -- the girl can't be more than five, six years old. Whoever it is they're waiting for, they must have a lot of good things going for them. JJ knows kids don't have patience for things like these unless they really want to.

The plane lands -- it says so on the big screen. JJ's sitting on the bench, knowing it'll be a while before Kiara comes out. He wonders if he should've written a sign, or if she'll recognise him. It's been a few years, but he's still as scruffy as he was when he was a teenager, even if he changed into jeans and a t-shirt before he came to get her.

He thinks about what to say -- does he explain why he's here, first thing? Does he ask about the flight?

It's only now that he's realising he hasn't thought this far ahead and now he's too stressed out to do so. He's mad at himself for offering to do this, because he still needs to drive home, and sure he had a few energy drinks on the way and a few more waiting in the car, but man. He really should've thought this through.

The luggage has arrived, or so says the screen.

JJ gets up and so do most of the people who spent the last few minutes on the benches. He feels his palms getting sweaty as he holds the roses.

People start walking through. He realises he doesn't know what Kiara looks like -- it's not like they follow each other on social media. What if he doesn't recognise her? If she doesn't recognise him, either, and they're just dumbly walking around the airport, looking for the other and not knowing they're just there?

Thoughts keep running through his head and he wishes he brought headphones, but it's too late now. She'll be here any moment now.

The guy shakes the little girl and she wakes up, running up to a woman in her early thirties as if she wasn't asleep less than a minute ago. It draws a smile out of both the guy and JJ.

The door opens, but it's not Kiara. It opens again, but it's not her -- it's an older gentleman in a suit and, rightfully so, he walks up to the other man in the suit.

The door opens and JJ sees suitcases first -- two of them, both big, and a backpack on top of one.

And then he sees the same haphazard bun he saw that night. Except the fancy red dress that kept him up for more nights than he'd like to admit has been swapped out for a sweater and joggers, and there was no makeup on her face.

Yet even so, JJ would still give her the rose for the most beautiful lady tonight.

He starts approaching the line as her eyes scanned the crowd. When their gazes meet, he knew she recognises him, even if the confusion between her brows takes him aback. Has she not read the text from her father?

Something's clearly up when Kiara's eyes move past him, still looking around the crowd, frowning deeper as she doesn't recognise anyone.

'Kiara,' he calls, approaching her. She doesn't hear, or react, so he calls again and when she finally looks, he smiles at her. 'I'm picking you up. Your dad texted you.'

Kiara chuckles, raising her phone -- the screen is fully cracked. 'Yeah, not getting anything from this poor thing.'

She's finally out of the gate and he takes her suitcases, not even waiting for her to ask (or say no, more likely). JJ starts making his way out of the airport and he's glad to see her following, even if she's half in a daze.

'What happened to it?'

She rubs her nose, and he realises her eyes are a little bloodshot. 'Dropped it getting off the plane. Ran my suitcase over it. End of.'

'That's some bad karma you've got there. You didn't get to check your phone before that?'

'Nope.' She looks around as they exit the airport and the wind blows on her face, sweeping the hairs around it. 'It's colder than I remember.'

'That's global warming for you,' JJ says. 'I'm parked just there.'

'How am I meant to know you're not kidnapping me?'

JJ laughs, and only then realises she's being at least partially serious. He lets go of the suitcases and reaches underneath his armpit, where he'd squished the bouquet, because of course he'd forgiven to actually give it to her.

So he gives it to her now -- a bouquet of roses.

(Wonders if she's thinking about the same night he is.)

'Your dad bought you these,' he says, 'so I said I'll take your roses.'

The frown dissipates and Kiara is smiling as she takes the flowers. JJ wishes he could take a picture, but takes the suitcases instead.

'Well, that explains the flowers, at least.' He hears her footsteps behind him, so he keeps walking to the car. 'Doesn't explain why you're here, of all people.'

'Well, I offered.'

'Why?'

'I had nothing better to do.'

'And that's just it?'

JJ opens the trunk. 'Do you always ask that many questions?'

She shrugs, and he's thinking of that night again. 'Usually.'

'Well, I drove here, and I'm about to drive back, and I don't really have extra time on my hands, so save the questions for the road.'

'No need to be so bossy,' she retorts, but she's getting into his truck alright.

He thinks about how she didn't even offer to help with the suitcases. Not that he minds, he wouldn't take her help even if she insisted, it's just not quite what he'd expect from the Kiara he knew, the feminist warrior known across the island.

But when he opens his door to get into the truck and the half-working light shines on her face, he can tell she's exhausted.

'Wanna grab something to eat?' JJ twists the key and the engine roars to life. 'There's a few diners on the way.'

'Are you hungry?'

'Starving.'

She smiles. 'Okay.'

They don't talk much after that. JJ drives them out of the parking lot and manoeuvres out of the Charleston post code via the scenic route. There's not much to be seen, but the odd street light and sets of suburbs in the distance are better than the straight road with nothing to it. There's gas stations and diners, sure---he wasn't lying about being hungry---but apart from it, the moon is their only acquaintance.

He lets her fiddle with the radio after she called her dad from his phone. He promised her not to judge her taste, so when she puts reggae on, he convinces himself to enjoy it, instead.

Kiara leans her head on the headrest. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her fingers tapping the rhythm on her things, and he wonders if she's a dancer. Surely she would be one.

'Thanks, JJ,' she says. 'For doing this when my dad couldn't.'

He shrugs. 'S'alright. I'm more surprised you remember my name.'

'You're not that easy to forget, you know.'

He laughs. 'You flatter me too much.'

He looks over and she's looking out of the window, the runaway strands shielding parts of her face from him. He wonders if she's telling the truth, or even what she meant by it---if she meant anything, that is---then decides to stop at the next diner he sees. Nothing good's come from an empty stomach and right now, there's two of those in the truck.

It’s less than ten minutes later that he pulls up at a 50’s-looking diner. He sees the question on Kiara’s face and promises her they’re not getting murdered here, though her eyes keep checking every corner on their way into the place. The bell chimes and the teenage guy at the till looks at them, but the two people sitting at each their own table pay them no mind.

‘Smells nice,’ says JJ.

Kiara hums in agreement. 

They find a booth close to the entrance, even if that means having the cold breeze if someone walks in. JJ doubts it—it’s nearly three o’clock—and thinks Kiara will feel more comfortable if they’re close to the way out. Just in case. Even though her shoulders are more relaxed now and she’s throwing less glances in the way of the other two customers, JJ would rather have her feel as comfortable and safe as possible.

He slides the menu across. ‘Have whatever you want. It’s on me.’

‘Shouldn’t it be on me?’ she asks, eyeing the menu. ‘You picked me up.’

‘Doesn’t work that way.’

‘Hm?’

‘Just– It’s on me,’ JJ says, then nods at the menu. ‘Pick soon. The guy’s wanting to come over.’

She glances at the till and he knows she made eye contact with the guy, because she averts her eyes as soon as she does so. She barely even glances at the menu before he says her order—a burger and a milkshake—and two minutes later, JJ orders for both of them. Kiara’s slumped against the wall, tapping her fingers while simultaneously looking like she’s half asleep, staring out of the window where they could see nothing but a singular street light, shining over JJ’s truck, a minivan, and a bike.

JJ studies her, even though he’s not trying to. She looks older and more tired, with lightened hair at the tips that must’ve grown out, but he’s surprised just how little hse’s really changed.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ she says, with no bite to it.

‘Not much else to look at,’ he says. ‘Nothing worth looking at, anyway.’

It makes her chuckle. ‘Still charming as ever.’

‘You bet.’

He waits to see if she’ll pick up the conversation, and she doesn’t. The waiter comes and gives them a cup of coffee each, but Kiara doesn’t touch hers. Jetlag, she explains – she needs to get through it naturally. 

‘Where did you come from?’ he asks. ‘You couldn’t have a jetlag from Washington, so that must’ve been a layover.’

‘Bahamas,’ she says.

‘Was it nice?’

‘Sure.’

‘How long were you there for?’

‘Do you always ask that many questions?’ 

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.’

A moment passes and her lip quivers—JJ feels like he said something wrong—and then she buries her head in her hands, before sighing loudly. ‘It’s my fault,’ she says, tucking some strands behind her ears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just tired.’

‘That’s alright,’ he says, sipping on his coffee. ‘We don’t need to talk if you’re not wanting to.’

‘It’s not that. It’s probably better if we do, it’ll keep me up.’ She sighs and leans back, letting herself sink into the seat a little, making her crewneck sweater scrunch around her neck. ‘I just feel a little drunk and I’m scared of saying the wrong thing.’

‘Like what?’

‘Cheeky,’ she says, but smiles nonetheless. She yawns and rubs her eyes, sighing a little. ‘You still friends with John B?’

‘Close as ever.’

‘Are him and Sarah still a thing?’

John B Routledge and Sarah Cameron are, as always, a complicated thing – and JJ embarks on a story that spans years after the prom night, and as it turns out, years since Kiara has last had contact with anyone from the island, including her best friend at the time. He tells her of Sarah joining their adventures, about the search for gold and a long-lost crucifix that turned out to be a Heyward family heirloom, but makes it sound more adventurous than it was. Her eyes are slightly glazed and she hums and nods in all the right places, but she’s not really listening, or at least absorbing what he’s saying. He says at one point that John B’s dad came back from the dead and she just nods in response, so JJ doesn’t even bother pretending he’s telling the truth anymore.

It’s fun. He comes up with a story and Kiara’s asleep with her eyes open, and he doesn’t really mind.

The smell of their food wakes her up. The waiter’s a little clumsy as he puts it in front of them, and Kiara’s sinking her teeth into her burger before he’s even gone.

She moans. JJ tries not to picture her doing that in a different context.

‘Good?’

‘This is the best burger I’ve ever had,’ she says, moaning again. Her eyes widen and she covers her mouth. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’

JJ waves her off. ‘Good food will do that to you.’

He eats his burger, too, but it’s really just average. He doesn’t say that – lets her believe it really is the best burger in the world, even as she leaves a very detailed review on Google. He watches her come back to life as the carbs start to hit and the glaze leaves her eyes. She moves more as she talks, asks more questions about Kildare and the things she’s missed, and JJ finds himself enjoying talking about the place he'd spent the majority of his life wishing he could get out of.

‘I’ve missed it,’ she says, sipping on the strawberry milkshake while JJ enjoys his chocolate one. ‘I never thought I’d say that.’

‘Kildare?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Eh. It grows on you, I suppose.’

‘Most places do,’ she says. ‘I was in the Bahamas for the last six months and it’s been a whirlwind. Europe, before that, and Asia was the first destination.’

JJ smiles. ‘So you’ve really travelled all of the world.’

Kiara smiles, too, and he wonders if she’s thinking the same thing – from the darkness on her cheeks, he supposes she is. ‘All of it.’

‘So, what’s it like?’

And she tells him everything. He watches as she bodies the stories, as the names of people she’s met come back to her, and glaze in her eyes goes away as the carbs hit in. She’s a good storyteller, turns out, and he’s a lot better at listening than she was not too long ago. He learns about the catacombs of Paris, of the high altitudes of Nepal, about the alpacas and the camels, about the way a dust storm can seep through the tiniest of cracks in fabrics. 

She keeps talking even when they get to the car, some half hour later, and he doesn’t stop her. Country music is back on the radio, but just as background noise this time, and JJ listens to the stories about her travels even when the dark gives way to the faintest orange, and a new day is being born. 

She’ll get tired eventually, and she’ll crash. He knows the gig. 

He slows the car not too far from where they’re to take the ferry back to the island, but still too far from any light to reach him. Kiara stops talking but doesn’t ask questions as he pulls up on the side of the road and does a 180 with his truck. From the back, he grabs a blanket and some candies he’d forgotten he put there, and asks her to follow him.

‘This isn’t the part where I kill you,’ he tells her.

‘Good,’ she retorts. ‘Was kind of enjoying myself.’

‘Well,’ he says, hopping out of the truck with her following suit, ‘you’re about to be enjoying yourself a whole lot more.’

He doesn’t apologise for the innuendo, and it makes her laugh. 

He sets the blanket on the back of his truck and even though it’s still kind of dirty, he hopes she doesn’t mind – she doesn’t give any sign that she does. He sits down, then, stretching his legs down the back of the truck, and she does the same, leaning against the back of the cabin.

‘What are we doing, JJ?’

He smiles at her. ‘What’s the last time you watching the sun rise in the middle of nowhere? In the States.’

She closes her mouth, because he knew she was going to say in the desert , and then she huffs. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘You’re about to, then.’

Kiara says nothing, but he can feel her relax. Her arm’s right up against his and they face east, watching the sky bask in shades of orange and gold and red, little by little. JJ doesn’t know when’s the last time he watched the sunrise, either, and it’s a much better view from here than the road. 

Birds wake up, too, chirping away. It’s too early for cars and JJ feels like the silence of the world is around them – nothing but them. 

He looks over, and Kiara’s eyes are trained on the sky. Her face is relaxed and he wonders what she’s thinking about, but doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to break the spell. He just watches her, again, but she doesn’t call him out on it this time. She’s beautiful in a way that the word was made for her – the golden hour makes her glow, tired as she is. 

JJ feels a sudden urge to kiss her forehead. He doesn’t, but the thought doesn’t go away.

The day brightens and the sun comes out soon enough. By that time, Kiara’s eyes have closed, and her head dropped to JJ’s shoulder. He knows they should get going, and he’s got some energy drinks to get through, but he doesn’t feel tired. He feels alive .

Truth is, that night never left his mind. She was in the back of it, hiding, waiting. The connection and the familiarity he felt that night came rushing back, and it feels like it’s not basically a stranger that’s falling asleep on his shoulder, that he’s watching the sun rise with, that he’s driven for hours to pick up. 

Not a stranger. Just Kiara.

He taps her on the shoulder, gently, and tells her that they need to get going when she wakes up. JJ walks her to the car, fastens the belt, and her eyes are only half open. He turns on the heating and switches to a local radio station that plays calmer music in the mornings as they get back on the road. Whenever he glances over, Kiara’s eyes are closed, and she looks peaceful. He doesn’t even wake her up when they get on the ferry, nor does he leave the car, either. 

Driving around Kildare feels familiar in the mornings, so JJ has no issue with it, even on Figure Eight. He finds her house easily enough, and pulls up without waking her. He thinks about getting Mike to come get her, but something about that feels like he’s losing out on something. On time with her, maybe.

What happens when he gets back into his truck and drives away? Is it going to be another prom night, where they never speak again, not for years, anyway?

The thought of that makes his chest ache. 

JJ leaves the truck and grabs the suitcases from the back. He sets them out on the porch, wondering if Mike and Anna are even up. He gets back to the truck and opens the passenger door, but Kiara still doesn’t wake.

He calls her name. Nothing. He gives her a gentle nudge, and that gets a movement out of her, but not enough. 

‘Kiara,’ he says. ‘You’re home.’

Her eyes open and they’re focused on him and only him for a full second, and JJ feels bare. She notices the house, then, and he watches as she becomes nervous again. 

‘It’s going to be okay,’ he tells her. ‘I don’t know what happened between you and your parents, but you’re good. They’ve missed you.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Kiara.’

She looks back at him.

JJ gives her another nudge. ‘You’re going to charm them, no matter what.’

It makes her smile, and JJ feels like a winner again. 

She thanks him for driving her, for picking her up, even though it was her dad who asked him to – or her dad that JJ offered to do so. She’s stalling, he can tell, but he lets her. Helps her get out of the truck. Walks up with her to the stairs, with her arm around hers, just like that night – the only thing she’s got in her hands is the roses, and he wishes he was the one getting them for her.

Next time, he thinks. But there’s no guarantee of that.

As they stand in front of her door, Kiara doesn’t ring the bell. Her hand tightens the hold on JJ’s arm and he feels her shaking, ever so slightly. She chalks it up to sleeplessness—the sun is now well over the horizon—but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’

She frowns. ‘Do you know my parents that well?’

‘Not really,’ he admits, ‘but if having someone there makes it easier for you…’

Kiara’s face breaks out into a tired smile and she gives his arm a squeeze. He watches her as she leans forward and plants a kiss on his cheek – a firm one, purposeful, and JJ feels his whole body set ablaze.

‘You’ve already done more than enough,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he says, and his voice hitches.

‘It’s not nothing. I don’t even know how to thank you properly.’

‘It’s fine. Your dad’s already given me money for it.’

She tilts her head. ‘I’m sure he didn’t include you treating me to a burger and a really pretty sunrise in that.’

‘No,’ JJ chuckles, ‘but I wanted to. That’s on me.’

‘JJ.’ Kiara calls his name again and squeezes his arm one more time, until he’s finally looking at her. ‘I don’t even know how to thank you properly.’

And in a moment of opportunity, exhaustion, and just enough courage, JJ says: ‘Go for dinner with me.’

‘Dinner,’ she repeats.

‘Dinner.’

‘Hm. That doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ JJ feels his shoulder relax—when did they even tense?—and he gives her a little nudge. ‘You ready to see your family again?’

He offers to ring the bell on her behalf and she takes it. They end up standing there, hand in arm, until there’s rushed footsteps coming from the inside and it’s Mike that opens the door, practically engulfing Kiara into a hug. 

JJ sees that as his cue. He waves at the two and Mike thanks him again, but JJ doesn’t stay long enough to hear any more offers of gratitude – he already got the one he wanted. Back in his truck, his Baby, he scrolls on his phone to see Kiara has already requested to follow him on Instagram. He accepts and follows back and within minutes, there’s a text from her:

looking forward to that dinner x

And just like that, JJ's life has become thrilling again.

[nosleepinsomniaking]

Through the void. Part 1

Saishū Senbetsu

A alternaive story of demon slayer KNY where sabito didn't die in final selection.

Random bedtime fantasy writing so please don't expect much.

New OC with new breathing style.

—

He was not surviving this.

Not in the ironclad grip of 6 fucking hands, his sword snapped into two.

Not with the demon’s impervious neck.

At least that was what Sabito thought as he stared into his captor’s beady yellow eyes.

(If he had ever stared into the face of hades, this was it)

He didn’t mind dying, not the very least, in this manner.

Saving Giyu and the rest had been enough.

(He would die a thousand times over and over again if it meant giving them another day to live) 

Forgive me Giyu… you’re on your own from now onwards.

His eyes closed ready to embrace the impending doom coming any moment.

Shing!

Huh?

Suddenly, he was 30 feet airbond, free falling as gravity ripped him down.

“SABITO SAN!-”

—

5 hours ago

Dodge. Slash. Kill. Repeat.

Dodge. Slash. KIll. Repeat

Sighing, Kuziki trenched through the thick dense forest, the impenetrable white mist all around him like a phantom that refused to leave.

If this endless clog didn’t end soon, the chances of dying from boredom would end up being higher than from a demon.

A ridiculous thought really.

As if he actually enjoyed anything he did in life.

As if he didn’t spend everyday torturing himself to go through another wave of the same robotic routine. 

(Yet he’ll keep doing it till death came to his doorsteps)

He had more pressing matters to worry about though.

A mixture of sweat, mud, plant debris and demon blood plastered his body-annoying him as much as unpaid taxes annoyed the government. Getting bored was one thing, being dirty was another. 

His thoughts were still on the nightmare of getting the blood out of his shirt when a blood curdling scream tore through the forest.

Probably one of those brats being killed by a demon again.

(Could no one get their shit right?) 

—

Swish!

A flash of a blade followed by a clean slash through and with a final wail, the demon disintegrated, dropping its victim once in its grasp.

Flicking the blood off his blade before sheathing it, Kuziki sighed, glancing at the boy he saved.

Striking blue eyes, like the ocean, with long raven-black hair that stuck up in spiky locks above his head, tied back in a low, messy ponytail at the base of his neck.

A picture of calmness if not for the horror in the boy’s gaze directed behind him, speaking a totally different story.

(Wait behind him?)

He spun, only to be greeted by a gruesome sight.

A monstrously large, veiny, hulking demon stood in the clearing about 50 feet away. 

Olive green skin, blood-red fingernails, beady yellow eyes with cross-hatched pupils.

His gaze flickered downwards and his stomach dropped.

Hands.

Twenty to thirty of them, surrounding its entire body. 

And in one of them- a light-skinned boy with peach-colored hair wearing a fox shaped mask.

Just leave him be, the risk is too huge.

Tsk nothing I can’t handle.

 Are you fucking blind or has being in the forest inflated your ego to the size of the moon. You are not engaging that thing-

Since when did we start doubting my abilities?

What no, for starters look at its size, or do you need me to get a magnifying glass?

I know fine fine.

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, as a seed of doubt and hesitation began to blossom at the back of his mind.

You’re not seriously thinking of-

It might get close to the others and end up devoring others.

Risking your life over some strangers? His inner voice sneered, sharp and cutting. You’ve gone soft Kuziki. What happened to keeping my shit to myself? To survive at only your personal gain?

His fist clenched. It’ll be fast and I won’t get hurt. Hopefully.

NO Kuziki Kento you listen here you are not engaging tha-

His body was already moving, his grip tightening on his blade.

(as the seed blossomed into a full fledge tree, leaves, branches and all) 

...Sorry. Just this once.

—

Fifty meters

That was all he needed to cover to get anywhere close to saving the peach haired boy. 

Forty

Wind whipped against his face, the air raw and electric, slicing past him.

Thirty

The world around him dissolved into a storm of motion and color, sharpening in on the target ahead of him. 

You’re not gonna make it.

Shut up.

Both of us know the boy’s gonna be minced meat unless you’re intending on using…..

Shut up.

Tick tock time’s running out you might want to decide fas-

“Void Breathing—First Form: Phantom Step!"

—

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

[msfbgraves]

NGL what I want to read most of all is just some good sexytimes where Terry doesn’t “fuck” Daniel but rather “makes loves to him” and it’s good and tender and sweet and passionate because I am so sick of Daniel hurting like this thanks to Terry. Just like, love him Terry you dickhead!!! 8((((( Or you know what, like immediate post-sex and it’s just really soft and cute and cuddly between them T_T My little cutiepie is too adorable for this misery lmao but also 🥺🥺🥺

He's conked out, fast asleep on his side - and he's still holding Terry's hand. Refuses to move, too, at his Alpha's gentle tugging, pulling him closer instead. Terry has a sense of another soul sleeping soundly where Daniel holds both their hands in a death grip on his tummy. It truly is a puppy now, in there, two souls sleeping in Terry's arms, spooning against him.

It's the sixth, but it doesn't get normal. Especially with this little'un. And Daniel seems stripped bare. The cheek, the posturing - every layer of protection between him and the outer world...gone.

Whose fault is that, Silver? Huh?

So Terry pulls him nearer, holds him tighter - nose buried in his hair. [I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm...]

He smiles again, his mate, the joy isn't fake, but the trust, the absolute certainty of 'all will be well' - Terry used to think that was a liability in him, but now he wants it back. The way Daniel needs him now - it's gorgeous and a privilege and it makes old grannies coo in the streets but his Danny didn't use to need it. He goes out less, and that is something Terry used to wish for, but now, if his fella wanted to live it up, he'd let him with a smile.

He wishes he were omega now.

His hands are too big, too coarse, to soothe the way his mate needs to be soothed. Terry isn't soft enough, the sweetest kiss too taxing, and yet his omega keeps coming to him. What his baby needs, now, are soft hands soaping him up, fresh sheets tucked in just so to smoothen out the rough edges. Terry barely knows here he keeps them, can't stomp the lumps out of the pillow however hard he tries. Can't cook him creamy chicken soup.

But he can guard.

He's tired, so tired, but if he needs to be Danny's hold, his rock, his layer against him and the world, he will be. Won't move until his muscles shake with the effort of keeping still and then some. Because he knows, in an hour, maybe two, with some strength restored, his mate will look at them with those deep brown eyes, and say:

"Did I fall asleep?"

And he'll laugh, and say "Almost, lovely," and Daniel will touch his face and say: "Let me freshen up," with a lazy smile. And Terry will stretch, and righten the covers as best he can, and make a place where his mate can curl up and nestle in again, and he'll kiss his forehead, kiss his belly, kiss his mark, and only when his baby has been asleep for the second time, breath soft and even against his skin, will Terry let sleep take him, too.

[thursdaynights]

This one isn’t getting stuck in the mud this year !

How boring it is to be sad at home. ☝🏽NTS: I am minimizing my own depression and that’s not helping anyone. One of my birthday resolutions is to not do this anymore. I would never do this to a friend so why am I treating myself like that? It’s the same way my parents treated me when I came to them with this and I don’t need to keep that up. I can treat myself to the same compassion I give freely to everyone around me. I can give myself the love I so easily pour out of my heart of literally everyone and everything else. Im allowed to have some of that, too. This depression is heavy but I’m not going to find a way out of this just looking in the spot my eyes land when my head is hanging.

My list of Birthday resolutions for the Sacred Age:

Start a religion

Amass at least 12 followers

Have one that’ll betray me

Upset the Romans

Get crucified

RISE AGAIN, HANDS AT THE READY.

Pay off my credit card debt ✅

Do better at not letting that pile up 👀

Start treating myself like a friend

Go to the doctor’s and get my stomach checked out

Solidify daily routine that will allow me to better manage my time.

Maybe start going to a gym to work out. Or take a boxing class. My favorite way to work out is when I am using my body for something that it would do naturally like hiking or getting into a fight. What I would lOVE to do is get into competitive wood cutting. And archery. I am pretty ok with a bow and even more solid with an axe. Recruit me.

With everything that has happened in the last couple months, I am very proud that I got the things done that I needed done like filing my taxes, updating my car registration, and updating my address on my license and voter registration as well as updating the addresses on all my bank accounts. I went to the dentist and got a clean bill of health, too. I know that may seem mundane for anybody else but I am somebody who becomes paralyzed if there are enough important feeling, time sensitive tasks on my to do list. It’s scary and I know it’s executive dysfunction rearing it’s head and it doesn’t make it any easier that the people I leaned on for advice in the past made me feel worse for asking them for help. To help avoid that being put down feeling (what eventually leads to the paralysis), I ripped everything off and did as much of it as I can by myself. Instead of relying on my dad and his CPA to file my taxes, I did it myself on HRblock and got the same return I got last year all for free.I had no idea my taxes were this easy to file. My dad has always made it seem like some boogeyman situation where if I did it wrong, I’ll immediately go to jail. But, I found it was pretty easy to do your taxes correctly and that if you’re trying to do some fucky shit, that’s the complicated bit and that’s on you- speaking on trying to justify deductions to get more of a return. I’m not out here trying to get back more than what I’m owed but I do understand filing your taxes can become more complicated If you have to report things like a mortgage payments or any expenses related to work or volunteering service, or if you’re anything other than a W2. Up to right now, that’s not me and I’ve never needed anything fancy in that regard. I was going through the flowery motions for no good reason. Same with my move, my dad has always been the one to provide a truck and some workers (reluctantly) whenever any of his kids needed to move, but I didn’t want to do that this time to avoid the feeling of being an obligation to him. I rented a truck myself and between me and the guy we hired, we had everything out of my apartment in one sweep. I made one trip to my new studio in less than two hours I paid 60 bucks for the truck, enjoyed the fuck out of driving the box truck myself 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠, and returned it without issue. Moving expenses were at most 260 bucks.

There’s a lot more to get done and I am still very lost in this place. But, I’ve got my hands out now and I’m starting to feel my way around.

I need to remind myself of how much ground I’ve covered, though. From 2020 on it’s been nothing but a freefall.

I cannot disregard all of the movement I made between 2019 and now. It’s just hard to have a bookmark visible on that progress when my entire identity was leveled in 2022. 2022 was the repacking and leveling of a foundation that I will build on with plans of my own design. No more cookie cutter houses. No more following someone else’s idea for m y life. If I want to do something, I will check in with ((myself)) and move on that advice. I will seek professionals in the field I am drawn to and find mentors. Apply myself. I have a life to dedicate to something. I’d like to that be a life of learning about the world I live in. It’s a wonder and I find absolute joy in watching and learning how things exist together.

And trees. This bitch l o v e s trees. Im going to bring more trees in my life.

[silvasurfer]

I sit outside a cafe, here on my laptop, sipping a can of Eureka Heights Buckle Bunny out of a pint glass, enjoying the slight breeze and nostalgic glow of this September day. Today feels like hope. I miss the semi-regular consistency of that feeling. Nowadays, while it still remains, it seems to stay buried in the background.

Life feels okay right now. I feel like I'm actually caught up, and because of that, I can breathe, take in the air and it's purity (or the closest thing you can get to that in Houston, TX).

I've had a lot of time off this past week. And I have more off this week. A simultaneously expected and unexpected vacation. Cabo fell through, but that's okay. I think I needed this more; this freedom to do with an extended amount of time as I wish.

Today I saw Barbie for the second time. I'm surprised it took me this long to do so, but a little motivation from a $5 reward and a lack of movies showing right now helped me thread the needle. The only thing left on my current "in-theaters" list is Bottoms. Then it's The Creator in the next week or so.

(I still can't decide if I want to watch that in Dolby Digital Cinema or IMAX at the renovated IMAX theater inside Edwards Marq'e. While the aspect ratio is 2.7 and makes more sense for me to go Dolby, that giant IMAX screen at Edwards sounds enticing, despite it seeming dim when I snuck into A Haunting in Venice.)

I lost my train of thought due to researching movie theaters. I'm okay with it though cause I haven't felt this much passion for movies since... well, I really don't know. It might be as far back as high school. I want to not only watch everything again, but I'm dying to learn.

I recently interviewed for a higher position at my job. They passed me on to the second and last part of the interview process. Not to sound full of shit, but if I can manage to do solid on this last interview, I'm pretty sure I got it. It's still part-time, but I'm hoping I'll get paid enough to where I can work slightly less hours and still have enough to get by. If that's the case, that means more time, and boy do I fucking need that right now.

Cause lately I've just been... tired. Even aside from work. I always feel like I'm catching up on something. Another task on the to-do list.

That's forever, I know. But I don't think people understand how taxing it feels when your job isn't your primary focus, yet it requires primary focus. My ambitions still lie in film, and in order to make that a reality, it requires my focus. But it's hard to lay my focus there when money and life require even more attention. It's hard, and it sucks, and not a lot of people understand. Especially my family. I feel them (whether it be internal or external) judging and belittling me sometimes. They don't have bad intentions. They just don't understand. But that's a lot of modern society, so that's understandable.

I wanted to talk about my girlfriend, and how much I love her, and how much she means to me, and how I picture myself being with her, living with her, marrying her, having a family with her, how she gives me hope again... but I'm getting sleepy from the gyro sandwich, greek fries, and two beers, so that will have to wait for another day.

Alright. Toodeloo. Cheerio. Adios muthafugga.

...

P.S. I remember what I wanted to talk about earlier: Barbie.

That move is absolutely beautiful, and one of the most creative reimaginings I've seen. You know a movie is absolutely fantastic when there's an overabundance of details to marvel at, but you can't even take the time necessary to really appreciate them because they're attached to a bigger picture in itself.

Barbie reminded me of life. My life and how I want to live it. I forgot what it's like to live. I've taken time for granted throughout my youth and I still have as little as earlier this year. That's okay because the graceful moments still exist regardless. But I want to be more intentional again with how my life feels. Not where I'm at physically or career-wise. I just want to take control of how my life feels. Those calms within the storm that seem more rare nowadays... I want them back; and I'll get them back. They're possible. It's just a matter of balance. And control. And things being settled.

I think I'm setting myself up for a nice Fall, and that's all I want - is a nice Fall.

Like Autumn in New York.

...yeah.

[zilabee]

John: I have a complaint as a director of Apple Paul: Mm? John: No bog paper! Paul: Oh yeah? John: Terrible disgrace. Paul: They've got pink upstairs. John: Have they? Paul: Yeah.

- They're so happy listening back to themselves playing old rock n roll numbers. It's disgusting. Having a fucking dance. George grinning his stupid face off. I hate them.

- George suggests they do a 'Beatles' Dance Album' of oldies, and John says 'Yeah, the Beatles' Fab Faves'. (how even dare they suddenly work out what the whole project should have been on day 18 ffs. Gather for a few weeks, work out great versions of the songs they fucking love, and then do a show of them. Either to a lovely dance hall with a happy audience, or - if george threw a mood - something arty where you play them all in different places with different weird setups. Anything. God it would have been everything.)

George: It was really swinging yesterday! Glyn: Oh, it's beautiful!

- In the audio today Paul admits that he doesn't know how to drive on motorways and just stays in the outside lane all the time, which is just a weird normal bit of thing that I'm happy to know about him. I love that he knows he's obnoxious to the police but doesn't care. And then his tax disk was out of date, and John is confused because surely the office sort that out, but no they don't apparently. The lovely bits of Get Back are worth dying for.

- All of the thing totally justifies the way fic writers have been writing music sessions for decades. They're literally never saying anything more meaningful than "It does work that bit, the bit before that bit, y'know, but then this bit's a bit-" "yeah" and "It needs to be flatter, you know, a bit hand gestures" or "It's just very ploddy."

John: It's such a high when you get home... I'm just so high when I get in at night. George: Yeah, it's great, isn't it? John: I just - you know, that bit like on acid, where you see a little hand miles away. I was just sitting there listening to the last takes: 'What have I had? What have I had today?' You know, I ask her, 'Have we had anything?' Yoko: You're just high in general.

(the acid bit of this is missing in the book, with no indication they missed it. so thanks to @amoralto for that bit.)

- It's nice when they do talk about the ways that being together so much and playing every day is really working. Like George saying a bit ago how he can feel his fingers getting loose. And he's obviously writing loads, and sometimes things are starting to resolve even. John's really getting into it too, and not wanting to leave at night. There's loads of it that's really good for them. (I do think office hours is a mistake, but if they were doing sort of two to ten each night, it might be finer. Or if anyone was just well enough to cope with themselves.)

- George quizzing Billy about what chords are what. Paul really getting into Old Brown Shoe. George's smile when it's all lovely.

- I know I said so just yesterday but still and again I so much love how much Billy responds to Paul responding to music.

Sweet Loretta Martin thought she was a cleaner, but she was a frying pan.

- I love the little shot of John helping people move furniture.

- When they start getting all fussed about the setup and the mics and the PA and the sound and they can't hear it right and it's all a disaster, a dreadful disaster, but they've got George Martin. Who just very calmly tells them what's wrong, and tells them he'll fix them. And then when they start a new thought, he very calmly tells them what's wrong and tells them he'll fix it. Then he gives them little jobs to do - let's open the piano for a start. Amazing. Impeccable. Pure. Imagine how much we might all achieve if George Martin was there to calmly tell us what was wrong and how to fix it.

GM: It doesn't matter particularly about Ringo hearing the piano does it? John: No it doesn't matter about him, we never take any notice.

- John working with Paul on how to phrase the 'I guess nobody ever really loved me' bit in Don't Let Me Down. Fuck off, both of you.

Beatles: [playing nonsense] Glyn: You do realise this tape is costing you two shillings a foot? George: Costing EMI. We're EMI artists, man, no?

- <33333 All the tech staff having their little jam while the Beatles are off at lunch. HEAVEN. Best bit of the entire thing. They could have their own little spin off show, where they just sit in small rooms and talk about (a) how awful and difficult the Beatles are, (b) how there's still too much bass and (c) how nice it might be to kiss Paul McCartney just theoretically.

- Okay so Paul playing Strawberry Fields on the piano in the most beautiful voice he has, and John not looking at him… that happens, that's something that happens, and which I have no feelings or words about.

- You see now today they're pretending they couldn't possibly edit anything and GM is laughing at them when he ought to just stab them and let them bleed out. They're so impossible. I have genuinely no idea what any of them want this thing to be or why they want it, or if they all think someone else wants it.

- PLAY SOMETHING ELSE. If I was the control room I would have just switched them off.

- If they want to record everything in one take, they need to go back to the top ten club and rehearse the numbers for seven months and then come back and grin at the cameras. George is allowed in Germany, and they wouldn't need a boat.

[Paul worrying they don't have a good take of Long and Winding Road yet] Glyn: I think it's very tasty - tres tasty in fact Paul: Oh, the little version we had? George Martin: He's so good for your morale, this boy. Paul: SHUT UP GEORGE MARTIN, LET HIM TELL ME MORE THINGS HE LIKES ABOUT HOW LOVELY I AM.

[firemama]

Hey, Tumblr.

Sav’s 2022 saga of misfortune has come to a spike this fabulous May with a serious car issue. What makes this so bad, Sav? well... my only source of income, at this time, is that I am a delivery driver with shipt. Hard enough with the gas crisis- 5$ a fucking gallon- in orlando traffic, you might say. You’d be right.

I’ve got no savings; most of my money was burned through during a month long period of homelessness, a couple months of not being able to work due to being generally transient and out of town and thus out of my shipt metro and unable to even deliver for income, medical bills for an injury, moving and storage costs, and some other bullshit. I’ve got no savings, and i’m pushing debt on my credit card. And at this time, with my car in need of repair, I have no source of income and another bill.

So I am asking for donations, if anyone has something to spare, however small.

Patreon Paypal Kofi

If Donations arent your speed, or you would like something in exchange, I also do commisions. Moodboards for small cost donation/commissions as low as a dollar, and I also do art and writing commissions. Hit me up to talk about commissions if you’re interested. Some basic information about that is pinned to my blog, and my other blogs.

For those who are not familiar with Sav’s 2022 saga, the summary is:

Orlando/Florida major property tax increase. See: sudden rental cost hike. 1200 to 1300 will net you poorly managed slum lord apartment in orlando now. Our previous rent of roughly 1300 (which had been steadily increasing with every re-sign of the lease) suddenly jumped up to just shy of 1800, and would continue to climb with future extensions.

Preparations to move to new york for sibling’s school; see, also very fucking expensive, because im talking New York, New york. but its sib’s grad school, scholarship, gotta go, very important.

Just before moving time, a series of... events occured. Including but not limited to:

Major fall out with roommate (one of three tenants) which would result in one less person paying rent come renewal. With just me and the sib, never could afford to stay in our current house anyway. So, no going back, no resigning lease if New york falls though.

 Rather serious workplace injury to my dominant hand. At the time, thought, oh kind of serious- a deep injury to the knuckle joint that... i probably should have taken in to get stitches, but.. didnt, and instead just bandaged it up. “I cant afford medical bills right now” i said, unaware of a big storm coming.

My work, a few months prior to this, had every single Senior Manager quit in the span of a couple weeks for the entire franchise. This was a warning sign. At this point in time, it is much worse. For starters, I had been demoted from Manager to Assistant Manager and then to Associate again... because my Migraines had become worse (from stress because COVID and  the mail system and all the mangers left and xyz) and i could not keep the minimum 50, then 40 hours. Despite being demoted, and less pay, I was responsible for neigh all the managment responsibilities at my location because there was no one else. For 11$ an hour. And then all the other less-senior managers from other locations also quit, because no one was making more than the average Mcdonalds employee. Very bad, all around.

I had to submit my resignation anyway, because we had an out-of-state move coming. And I was already being paid less, and expecting to take on the work of more than one salaried job. But before I submitted my resignation?

(Tw, injury)After two-three weeks of excruciating pain despite the visible damage to my finger being healed, and no increase of motor function, and also a strange mishape to my finger. I finally filed for workers comp, belatedly, and went on down to an urgent care. The deep injury, if you’re curious, had been caused by a tape gun; specifically, a customer trying to grab the tapefun from my hands anddesimating my hand, most expressly my poor fucking finger joint. And upon xray at the urgent care, they found a metal tooth from the tape gun in my finger. more specifically in my finger joint. quite literally grinding against my bone. doing serious damage to my joint. (I am now legally allowed to complain about pain and no one is allowed to tell me im complaining too much. broken off sharp metal tooth in my finger for nearly three weeks.

Surgery, obviously, to remove the sharp foreign body from my hand. It was a very quick surgery, actually. But to the point, my workers comp covered most of the injury. Most. Not all. expensive, like I thought, and i definitely couldnt afford it. but necessary.

 And then we found out the ‘scholarship’ covered less than a 16th of the overall tuition to the gradschool in new york despite it’s title of ‘full ride scholarship’.

New york fell through, and we would not be able to keep our then-current lease.

so now we have less than two weeks to find a new place. And all of our research and propsects were in another state we cold not afford to live. we had no time, and due o afformentioned text increases, out prior 1200... just does not exist. not for sale anywhere. If it does, we ‘technically’ make too much to afford it, because our combined annual income if I ‘pretend’ to still work at UPS is too high for rent control. (the irony is that we could barely afford 1200-1300 and yet somehow rent control says we make too much money for it). If I say I do not work for ups, which I dont, because i quit... well we dont meet minimum income.

Mostly, we’re screwed!

4 days before must-be-out-of-house, we find one option. 1200$ 2 bedroom that will allow our two cats. We do a fast walkthrough, because we dont have any options anyway. Place has infestations twofold, the maintenance guy is trying to fix 12 different holes in the walls, and we cant test the power or water because it isnt on yet and we cant really wait. Front door locks, has AC, theres an on-site laundry facility, has working fridge, sold. We mostly only interact with property manager, who I did like quite a lot, and he assured us he will help fix the issues and can get the place ready by our frantic date.

I move into apartment with all of our stuff. We rapidly find several, several issues. No smoke detectors, window (ground floor) with no lock and two that can’t even close all the way. Both of those things, some of you may know... are illegal. It was not the only illegal aspects, such as one room being incredibly unventalated, most of the lights not working with no other light sources, occasional plume of smoke from the fuse box, and (this is in florida) no netting on the windows. Things that are not included in the ‘illegal’ list but still very much problems: hidden mold (did you KNOW it’s not illegal for landlords to rent a property with mold?), and other fucking stupid shit. The real  show stopper, however, was that the apartment’s payment portal malfunctioned. We paid them the deposit the rent, everything... and it paid it back to my sibs account.

This is when we meet the actual landlord. Who is insane. She is incapable of texting legibly, and is almost incomprehensible over the phone. She does not know the landlord laws- which is her only job as a landlord- which she showed by telling us it’s our responsibility to provide smoke detectors, for example. (no, that’s illegal). She tries to back up this claim by saying it is stated in the lease we will provide the smoke detectors. Which proves she cannot fucking read a lease, either, because it does not say that in the lease, it says we are obligated to provide batteries for pre existing smoke detectors, and even if she had written that into the lease... it would still be illegal. it breaks housing codes. like a lot of other shit. Her excuse to all these issues was “well this isnt luxury housing.” Our windows not locking and you meeting builing code, lady, is not luxury, it’s minimum.

This whole thing is summed up with her ignoring all these issues and demanding we pay her. I tell her we did, because we did, but the portal doesnt work. She says that isnt her responsiblity, pay her again and make it work. I am speechless. It does not matter if im speechless, of course, because she never lets you get a word in edgewise and will simply talk over you, but anyway.

Obviously, only option or not, we cant fucking stay in this apartment. Legally, we cannot, and if we play along despite that, we wave our rights. And im sure if we give her money, she will try to keep that fucking despoit and declare our rent non refundable or some shit. So we declare that she broke our lease (illegally) and that we’re going to leave as soon as possible. She threatens to call the police because we’re scamming her- as if we get anything out of this. could kill her and feel no remorse. she gave me a crazy stress migraine that was not relieved by excessive stress panic attack or crying. 

We break the lease. With nowhere to live, we put all our shit in storage. more costs we cant afford. Insues a month of having no home. I go out of town for a while and bum a guest bedroom. Sib stays with partner.

We spend most of that month looking for somewhere to live. I burn through savings with no source of income- cant deliver outside of my Metro zone for shipt, and other issues with delivery, and I wont be in one place long enough to apply to work anywhere. Spend money on storage, on moving trucks getting shit back and forth, on ‘non-refundable application fees’ and on medication for the cat, and on follow up appointments and medication and treatment for my fucking hand.

some fucking asshole backs into my car on easter sunday. Not once- no, he backed into my car and then paused. surprised he is no longer backing up. tries to back up again, continuing to back into my car he is already hitting. pulls forward a little. backs up again. slightly louder crunch and this time he realizes what he’s done. Mind you i am on the fucking sidewalk less than 6 feet away from my car, walking to it, about to get into it. He looks me dead in the face and tries to leave the scene despite me trying to flag him down. Only stops because someone stepped out into the road in front of his fucking truck to stop him. Is drunk. fights insurance trading like hell. Takes about an hour to get it from him on threat of the cops.

ensues, while without home, an exausting insurance battle. drunk guy tries to claim the damage was prexisting. I have witnesses, and I also have a fucking picture of the back of his truck with pieces of my car stuck in his bumper. Eventually he gives up, and I spend stupid amount of time conversing with car insurance. My car is old. and it is also a saturn, which is a company that no longer exists. It is also not technically one saturn, but two saturns franken-steined together with different parts of two older saturns. Obviously, despite the damage being cosmetic, they want to declare my car totaled. not-drivable. Obvious unacceptable, nd even if i did, the value on my car is shotty and i’ll get nothing from them for it. dribble car is much more valauble. but because it’s cosmetic damage, on an old ass already costmetically ugly car... basically zip on pay out. not even enough to get the specific cosmetic damage fixed.

Hardly fucking matters, because the check... is now being held by the bank. When will i be allowed to have it? they dont know yet.

Technically, my fucking car isn’t okay to be driven yet. I have to wait on a new title to be delivered, take it to a dmv to be inspected and declared drivable, hope to god it passes, and then pay them for all this shit. The check, if i ever get it, will probably fucking pay for that. *thank god for insurance.* so glad i pay them for this. I will have a car that is not repaired and no money to repair it with. fuck. At least it’s mostly cosmetic, except for my slightly warped gas tank hatch that is now a struggle to get open.

We find an apartment. This is great. We have a place to live.

This means more moving fees.

so we’re back in orlando. I have no savings left. I have a bit of credit card debt I cant pay off, and we still need some essential shit to buy for this place. but hey, we’re not homeless. Place isnt perfect yet- has rats, might have roaches, neighbors are wild and loud, pretty sure theres an active drug dealer based on the weird activity in the parking lot at all hours day and night.

but we’re not homeless. and im back in my metro, so i can deliver, so I have a source of income again. Everything will be fine.

Check is still being withheld. car is still technically not supposed to be drivable. this is fine. I will make enough money to survive this month, wrack up a little bit more debt on the essentials we need, but thisll be fine for a month or two until better work... good thing i can still deliver.

Lived here for a week. Sibling’s car breaks down and needs repairs. uh oh!

The day we get my sibling’s car back from the mechanic’s? today? today?  Obviously, my car breaks down. Obviously. fuck.

There’s more. This is a mostly abridged highlight. Other details- such as the fact that I had to borrow money from someone to get even this far, and my very old cat needing a vet visit that i just cant fucking afford yet- are all involved. My hand still has poor mobility- yesterday someone commented “I thought you were right handed” because they noticed i dont use it to do things like pop the fucking water pressure cap off my car engine to refill it’s leaky collant tank. Our current fridge may or may not be cool enough to store dairy in, we arent sure yet. we still need to buy a fucking dryer, we dont have a means to wash/dry clothes yet, and I dont own a lot of clothing so I’ve been stretching one outfit over a week.

Look, 2022 is fucking killing me. At this point I need roughly 6000$ to magically make it out of may without debts in three different places. Obvious not feasible, and it would still put me out roughly nuetral with no money. So... whatever I can get. Preferable enough to get the fucking car fixed so i have income. And then hopefully rent so we don't end up homeless again and with an eviction on our record.

If you read all this, please. Even if you dont wanna donate for nothing in return, it’s literally only a dollar to commission a cute little mood board.

[storiesforallfandoms]

you’re my best friend ~ pete davidson

word count: 2002

request?: yes!

“pete friends to lovers”

description: in which two best friends get super sappy while drunk

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol and weed usage

masterlist (one, two)

You were already two glasses of wine deep when Pete showed up, two cases of beer in his hands. He had a look of excitement on his face, which slowly fell when he realized there was no one else in your apartment.

“Everyone else cancelled,” you answered his unasked question.

“Everyone?” Pete asked.

You nodded. “Prior commitments or just not wanting to come or some shit.”

Pete came over and plopped himself down on the couch next to you. The case of beer was at his feet and he popped it open, taking out a bottle and immediately chugging it. You looked at him in amusement as he did so. Once he was finished, you asked, “Aren’t they warm?”

“Room temperature,” he corrected.

“Isn’t that gross?”

“A little, but obviously I have to catch up with you so we can be on even playing fields all night.”

You smiled and poured yourself another glass of wine as Pete opened another beer and started to drink again.

Between the heavy amounts of alcohol and the joint that Pete had brought, the two of you had gotten fucked up in no time. At some point you couldn’t even get up off the couch for more drinks, or for water that you both knew you should be drinking. The hangover you were going to have the next day was going to be killer, but in the moment neither one of you really cared.

You were both laid back on the couch, legs intertwined as you laughed at something Pete had said. It probably wasn’t even that funny, but in your inebriated state, everything was hilarious.

“You’re, like, my bestest friend, Pete,” you slurred. “No one else even bothered the show up, but you did!”

“I’m sure everyone else had like...stuff happening,” Pete said. “Adult things like...I don’t know...kids and taxes.”

You retched at the thought. “Yeah, no, I’m good with not having those adult things to do. Having kids, while extremely cute, is also extremely exhausting. But I don’t think anyone would’ve shown. No one else really...hangs out with me anymore.”

You laid your head back so you were looking at the ceiling. You could feel a lump growing in your throat and didn’t want Pete to see if you started crying. You knew this sudden emotion was most likely caused by the alcohol and the weed, but you also knew it was something genuine, a concern you had deep down that you had never voiced to anyone before.

You could hear Pete move to sit up and immediately turned your head away so he couldn’t see your face, even though you knew that looked more suspicious than anything.

“Everyone is busy, (Y/N),” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sure they’ll be able to hang out soon enough.”

“They’re not too busy to miss out on work get togethers, or going out with one another.” You sighed. “I know people grow apart and that’s just what happens when you grow up, I just didn’t think it was going to be all of my friends growing up and drifting apart all at the one time.”

“What am I, chopped liver?”

You giggled and sat up. The room spun around you as you did so and it felt like your stomach lurched. You had to take a moment to steady yourself before focusing your attention on Pete.

“I told you, you’re my bestest friend,” you said.

Pete’s smile slowly faded as he looked at you. “(Y/N), don’t cry please.”

You had forgotten about your emotional moment entirely. You wiped your cheek to find a wet streak running from your eye to your chin. You looked away from Pete again, suddenly feeling ashamed by your needless emotions. You were glad that the two of you were so drunk in that moment and would likely forget all of this the next day.

Pete’s hand lightly touched your chin, lifting it so that you were looking at him again. You looked into his eyes as he used his thumb to wipe the tears from your other cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized how closely the two of you were sat together.

“I’ll always be here,” he assured you. “No matter how much we grow up or grow apart, I’ll always be one phone call away.”

You nodded, unable to get the words to unstick from your throat. You believed him, you knew he’d always be here.

The smell of beer and weed was strong as Pete leaned forward more, and normally you’d hate the smell combination. But you were too distracted by Pete’s eyes to notice, and a moment later you were too distracted by his lips on yours.

You had never viewed Pete as anything more than a friend before. You had grown up together. You were partners in crime since the first day you met in middle school. Your friends, and even your family, often made jokes that the two of you would end up together, but you both laughed it off. You were best friends, two peas in a pod, nothing more.

But now, with his lips moving against yours and his arms pulling you as close to him as you could get, you weren’t so sure. It could’ve been the drunken state the two of you were in, mixed with the emotions you were feeling just moments before. When the two of you sobered up the next day you may have not even remembered what happened, but in the moment you wanted all of him. You wanted his lips, his hands, his body, his heart, and you wanted to give him all of you in return.

His tongue brushed against your lips and you gladly let it in. It was wet and tasted like beer, so not the most romantic thing in the world, but it felt good in the moment. You felt like nothing could ruin what was happening, until your stomach lurched again.

You quickly pulled away from Pete and rushed to the bathroom. You didn’t even have time to kick the door closed behind you before you collapsed next to the toilet and threw up everything you had eaten and drank the past few hours. Pete followed closely behind you, pulling your hair back and gently rubbing your back. When you stopped throwing up for long enough, he got up to get you some water and made you drink it all before he did anything else.

“I didn’t think I was that bad of a kisser,” he joked. You glared at him over your shoulder before throwing up again.

Once you felt steady enough, Pete helped you to your feet. You brushed your teeth and took a mouthful of mouthwash in order to get rid of the taste of vomit. Pete helped you to your bedroom, where he had another glass of water and an Aspirin waiting for you.

“You’ll need that in the morning,” he said. “I’ll let you get changed.”

“You’ll stay with me though, right?” you asked. Suddenly you hated the thought of Pete having to leave.

He smiled. “Of course I will. I just want to give you some privacy while you change. You’re not supposed to see a girl naked till, like, the third date.”

You smiled back at him, a fuzzy feeling building inside of you at the thought of actually going on a date with Pete.

You changed into a pair of comfy pajamas and downed the glass of water Pete had left for you. You ventured out of your room to the kitchen to pour up another glass. You found Pete putting the bottles of beer in the recycling container and putting your glass in the sink.

“Why aren’t you as fucked up as I am right now?” you questioned.

“I could always handle my booze better than you,” he teased. You scowled and stuck your tongue out at him. He chuckled and put an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

After some convincing, Pete agreed to join you in bed. At first he laid a respectable distance away from you, but you moved close to him and placed your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, running his hands through your hair as your eyes became too heavy to stay open.

“You’ll regret this in the morning,” he murmured. “Or forget it completely.”

“Maybe,” you said, “but let’s wait for the morning to decide that.”

~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning you groaned in pain. Your head felt heavy and like it had been stabbed by multiple little needles. You opened your eyes but had to shut them again immediately, hissing at the pain that small action caused.

Why the fuck did I drink so much last night? you questioned as you braced yourself and opened your eyes again.

You found yourself alone in bed, which didn’t seem too unusual until you remembered that you hadn’t been alone when you fell asleep. Pete had been there, more specifically he had been cuddling you.

You’ll regret this in the morning, you recalled him saying before you drifted off to sleep. You wondered if he had left before you had the chance to decide how you felt about the events of the night before.

You popped two Aspirin pills into your mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. You pulled yourself out of bed and slowly walked out of your room, the only speed you could manage in this state. You were halfway to your kitchen when you realized you were smelling something; bacon. You wondered where the smell was coming from, and didn’t have to look far to get the answer.

Pete was stood by your stove, two plates full of eggs and toast already sat next to him. When he heard you enter, he turned and greeted you with a smile.

“Good morning sleeping beauty!” he said. His loud voice pierced your ears and you quickly covered them and groaned. He chuckled. “You poor thing, you’re gonna hate today.”

“I already do,” you said. “Is that for me?”

He looked down at the plate of breakfast. “One of them is, yeah. Do you think you can keep it down?”

“I can try.”

The two of you sat at your dining room table and began to eat. Although your stomach still didn’t feel right, the food was definitely soaking up whatever alcohol was left in your system and thus was making the splitting headache you had subside just a little bit.

There was an awkward silence looming over the two of you. Despite what you thought the night before, you could still remember every detail; the emotional conversation, the kiss, the cuddling, how you felt when the latter two things were happening. You knew Pete remembered because he certainly wasn’t as fucked up as you were.

“Do you regret it?” you found yourself suddenly asking.

Pete looked up from his breakfast, fake confusion on his face. “What do you mean?”

You gave him a look. “Pete, I remember last night. I remember what we did, and what you said before I fell asleep.”

He sighed, turning his attention back to his food. “I don’t know...do you regret it?”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “If anything, I...I feel whatever the opposite of regret is. The only thing I regret is getting so drunk I threw up after we kissed.”

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s not exactly great timing.”

You looked at him, still waiting for his answer. Finally, he looked up at you again and said, “I don’t regret it either.”

“So what do we do now?” you asked.

Pete thought for a moment before saying, “I take you out on a date, one where we’re both completely sober, and we decide if we really want to do this. How does that sound?”

You smiled brightly at him. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

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