#and then dying her hair in a gas station bathroom

[cloversnstrawberries]

older brother!platonic yandere!80s slasher & gn!reader w/ dyed hair [headcanons] ! !

intro post | masterlist

additional notes; i'm actually re-dying my hair as i write this, so i think that proves that i'm totally not biased and absolutely not writing this because i yearn for an older brother who'd be willing to do my roots for me so i don't look like i have a big bald spot on the back of my head. because i have blonde hair and it's a very stark contrast to the bright pink. ough. not very yandere in this, but i needed this as a balm to my soul.

warnings; mentions of murder, violence, and killings; zachary's inherent clinginess, slight possessiveness, soft(er) yandere, overprotective behavior, and if there's any more I missed, please let me know!! this is pretty fluffy, actually.

w/c; 1.4k

The first (and only time) you dyed your hair without his help, it was an utter mess. I'm talking hands stained with the dye, if you bleached your hair then the towel was wrecked.

If you lived in a rented property rather than a house owned by your parents; well, lets just say you would've kissed your sweet, sweet deposit goodbye, what the mess you made in your wake.

Whether you bleached it or had hair light enough to just slap the dye on top, did natural or unnatural colors, the result was still the same regardless.

The bathroom was a mess, and he came home from football practice to find you with a plastic Kroger bag over your head; on your hands and knees, trying to scrub the leftover dye from the linoleum tile floor of your shared bathroom. You were in distress over it, if not in tears. Afraid you'd ruined the counter/floor.

You didn't go in blind, per se-- but you only had tips given to you by the few alternative kids, and from the sweet gas station cashier who dyes her hair to cover the fact its graying-- to go off of.

There was both a fear of having decimated your bathroom permanently, and a nagging feeling that you might've goofed up the actual process; damaging your hair indefinitely.

Whether it was the work of a miracle, or just plain old luck-- you didn't damage your hair too much, if it all. You'd missed a couple spots, namely on the back of your head, but other than that you did a pretty damn good job.

The bathroom, however...

When Zachary came home, he immediately started looking for you. Usually you were on the couch, watching TV-- or in the dining room, doing homework. You weren't in either of those spots, and you weren't in your bedroom either.

He knew it was stupid to worry about this-- But the reason behind his anxiety at not finding you immediately wasn't because "oh, what if something happened to them? what if they messed with the wrong kids and got jumped, or they went missing?" (both were unlikely in a town like yours, but not entirely impossible).

No, he was afraid that you'd committed the grave sin of hanging out with someone other than him-- and without his knowledge, to boot. Zachary didn't think you were the type to 'go behind his back' like this, but the fear was still there.

So you can probably imagine the absolute relief he felt when he found you in the bathroom-- but his sigh soon turned to wheezing laughs when he got a look of your sorry state.'

He's still your brother, after all. Siblings were basically made to laugh at each other in situations like these.

Normally, you wouldn't take it too harshly-- but this time around, you couldn't quite handle it. The fear of messing up your hair due to your inexperience, and the idea that your bathroom would forever be stained with your semi-spur-of-the-moment decision...

Well, he was quick to change his tune when you looked about ready to cry-- or started crying harder, if you already were. He stopped laughing, and immediately crouched down beside you, offering some reassurance.

Before heading off to the storage closet out in the hall, grabbing some cleaning stuff and a rag-- you were just trying to use water, which wasn't doing nothing, but that was mostly in part with how hard you'd been scrubbing. The dye wasn't going anywhere with that method.

You two spent about 20 minutes cleaning the bathroom up. By then, the timer you were using to make sure you didn't overdo the dye-time (that you totally didn't nab from the kitchen, but thankfully it'd been one of the few items spared from the wrath of your messy dye job) had already gone off.

Zachary noticed how uneasy you looked, afraid you'd messed up your hair for good. Again, he reassured you, before saying he'd help with the rest of the process.

Your hands were already beyond saving-- but he had enough foresight to go get some latex gloves from the hall closet before coming back to help you.

Then, for the next ten or so minutes, you kneeled beside the bathtub, head bowed over directly under the faucet-- the water was freezing cold, the nice punk girl, Melanie, told you that helped keep the color longer-- so you were taking little breaks when your scalp started hurting from how cold it was.

Eventually, after you were pretty sure he'd gotten all of the extra dye out-- the gloves having gone from clear to almost opaque with your new hair color--, he helped you up and wrapped an old beach towel around your head.

You sat on the lid of the toilet as he took over the duty of cleaning the tub-- telling you to just chill out for a while. once he was done with that, he brought you into his room and you two played on his Atari while your hair dried.

After that whole incident, Zachary borderline threatened you to come to him next time you wanted to dye your hair or anything of the like. Mostly because he didn't like seeing how scared and upset you were when you thought you messed it up :(

Weirdly enough, he'd rather you be mad at him if he messed up-- then see you be mad with yourself for messing it up. Besides, you'd probably forgive him in less then a day.

...Mostly because he's the one who drives you places outside of town, and has the membership card for your local video rental store. You never got one of your own, because he just always let you use his.

Can't really do that if you're giving him the cold shoulder, yeah?

But other than that, he's pretty good with keeping up with it all. It must've been a bit of a funny sight for the old ladies at the local hair shoppes, seeing a boy like Zachary coming in and asking the staff for tips on dying hair. Products to use, what to avoid, how to keep it from transferring-- etc etc.

After the first time, you never spent your own money on the stuff. It was always Zachary who was buying it; you tried getting him to stop that, feeling bad about spending his money on something that was solely for your benefit--

He gave you a withering look that made you immediately shut up and drop the topic, never to pick it up again. In your mind, he was too selfless-- you didn't want to feel like you were using him or anything.

But actually, he was sort of doing it for his own benefit. It let him spend more time with you-- not like he didn't already do that, but it was another sort of bonding activity that could be added to the list of 'our things'. You've never tried to dye your hair alone after the first time, because you knew it'd upset him.

Once he claimed something as an 'our thing', then there was no way to pry it from his grasp-- it'd be cemented in his mind that it was only something you could do with him present or actively participating.

It was just one of those quirks you have to get used to. In this situation, you weren't complaining that much about it, actually. He was very helpful, and it was nice to just be able to sit and do whatever while he did most of the work.

Whether or not you keep with the same color, or change it every week-- he'll help you no matter what, and won't question it. You wanna keep your hair honey brown for 3 consecutive years? cool! you wanna dye your hair different bright, in your face colors every other week? also cool!

He's not one to rag on you about self-expression, however-- if you did choose an unnatural color, you're bound to get stared or gawked at because of it. You were expecting it, and so was Zachary.

That's why he made sure to sharpen his fire hatchet and hunting knife, obviously. There was an uptick in Fools Killer victims after you dyed your hair-- completely unbeknownst to you, Zachary was using your out-of-the-ordinary appearance and the subsequent stares to 'sort out the bad ones',

To find victims who otherwise would've 'hidden their negative intentions towards you'.

[andysbong]

“ call her number , but she wont answer “

Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (established relationship)

Angst — TW - OD 

authors note : this is my first actual post on tumblr so im hoping it does good

Dae-Ho had just got out of the games, those dreaded games. He was so happy go finally get out, alive too. Finally getting to go home after those days almost weeks; making him feel paranoid and scared. Finally getting back home and getting his phone he checked his notifications;  200+ missed calls and messages combined. All from you. Nobody else, you. All wanting to know where he went; the voicemails begging him to come home, the misspelled texts evident of your anxiousness and lack of sleep. Running off of those damn pills you always took when you got anxious, making you stay up all night. You were always up for hours on hours. when you took them. Oh he hated it, always begging you to come back to bed. 

Dae-Ho searches your shared apartment for you, “Y/N? Baby?..” he asked around, looking in every nook and cranny. The closet, the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, anywhere and everywhere. Dae-Ho finally called you, going immediately to voicemail. “Fuck..” he muttered under his breath; you always picked up the phone, under any circumstance. Even if you were dying you would've picked up the phone.

You didn’t live directly with Dae-Ho, just most of the time. You had your own apartment about 2 hours away, which probably meant you were there..right?.. right?.. Letting out a sigh he looked around, getting some clothes and walking to the bathroom, stripping down. Turning the shower on, mostly hot but somewhat cold; the perfect temperature, what he thought was at least. 

Getting into the shower he closed the sliding glass door softly behind himself, standing there for a moment. Letting the water go down every curve of his body. Usually you were there, in the shower with him, washing each other off. Oh it felt so, so, so wrong not to have you there. Sure he had lovers before you, but they weren’t like you. You were his soulmate in his words.  He had always loved you, being childhood friends and all. 

Running soapy hands through his hair he lathered his dark hair with the shampoo, your shampoo. You two always shared everything. Clothes, food, calonge, perfume, whatever. It was everything you shared that built your bond as strong as it was. Rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and washing all the grime off of his body he turned the shower off. stepping out and grabbing a towel, drying his body off and drying his hair. Pulling his clothes on and walking out of the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror in the bedroom, stopping and staring. You had always took photos in that mirror, putting a polaroid of the two of you in the corner. 

Dae-Ho stepped closer to the mirror, taking the polaroid in between his thumb and pointer finger, a soft, nostalgic smile on his face. He missed you, too damn bad. putting the polaroid in the pocket of his jeans he walked over to the living room, grabbing his phone and calling you again, “Answer..” he murmured, his voice strained with worry before going to voicemail — again. Sensing something was wrong he grabbed his jacket and put his phone in his pocket, grabbing his keys and going out, locking the apartment door behind himself. 

While getting in his car Dae-Ho got a notification, his eyes widened, hoping it was you. No. it was a scammer, not you. Sighing, tears coming to his eyes he turned the keys, starting the car and driving off. Driving those two hours to your apartment, stopping at a gas station to get you two a Monster. You always loved Monsters, Dae-Ho didn’t know what it was but you loved energy drinks. Paying and getting back in his car he desperately checked his phone again, nothing. Deciding he should call you again he did, sighing with sadness when it went to voicemail. 

“Hey babe.. im coming to your apartment.. seeing you weren’t at ours.. i hope everythings okay.. love you. see you soon.”

Driving off again he finally got to your house not long after. Getting out of the car he got the two Monsters, going up to your apartment and unlocking the door with the spare key. Walking inside, taking his shoes off by the door, quickly padding into the kitchen and setting the Monsters on the countertop. Looking around for you before finally walking over to your bedroom door, seeing it was closed he raised a brow. Knocking he the next words left his lips nervously, “Babe?.. you in there?..”

Opening the door he started talking, looking at the ground while he did so, “Sweetheart.. listen im sorry for leaving.. i just.. we needed the money and this guy-“ He cut himself off, seeing a dim light from the bathroom, “Y/N?” He asked, walking over, looking in before his jaw dropped. A body. Your body. Laying there lifeless with the medicine cabinet open, various pill bottles empty on the counter. You killed yourself. Worse. You overdosed. 

Tears prickling his eyes he scrambled, getting onto the floor and trying to shake you awake. Screaming your name, “Y/N! Y/N! BABY PLEASE!”  Tears streaming from his eyes he held your lifeless body close. His worst fear come to life. You, the long of his life, his partner, his fiance, was dead; and he felt like the cause.

[deepsix-writing]

coming to terms with godhood.

(a jack nichols aka ‘eyeless jack’ story)

the birth of a god is a painful thing. it feels like dying, more than anything. you’d think, after people having worshipped deities for so long, they’d warn you about how excruciating it is to become one. but they don’t.

that was something jack nichols had learned through firsthand experience. recently, in fact. but the worst thing, for him, wasn’t learning to readjust; it felt like all of his senses had been fundamentally rearranged, but that wasn’t what bothered him most. what bothered him most was the trail of bodies it left in his wake.

“burn in hell. ALL of you.” he remembered the words birthing into the open air, but not saying them himself. but he did remember pulling the mask over his face, and he did remember leaving a bloody jenny to die in the forest alone. he remembered kicking away her pleading hands as they pawed at his ankle, her last chance of making contact with her reborn god. only it didn’t feel like jack’s voice, coming out of him. it came from some place far deeper than his chest, and it gushed from his lips like the tar that leaked from his eyes. when he finally scrambled back to civilization, hastily stuffing himself into the nearest gas station bathroom to avoid prying eyes, he puked his guts out. it was an ultimately futile attempt to get that noxious tar out of his body.

it was poisoning him, he was certain. it felt like it coated every inch of his insides, holding back the air in his lungs and turning the food in his stomach to bile. he didn’t want to look in the mirror. he didn’t want to see the state of himself, what those people had done to him, but he needed to know.

he wished he hadn’t looked. because when he did, he didn't recognize what he saw.

beneath the mask, crusted with black tar, festered two black pits where his eyes once were. he was mesmerized by the fact he wasn’t doubled over with the pain of it all. thinking about it, he was just as mesmerized by something else, too.

how am i able to see right now?

it was something that hadn’t even occurred to him until now.

sight of chernobog, some rogue thought interjected. then, it came back to him. that was what the cultists had said when they gouged out his eyes and replaced them with…

i should not be as calm as i am, reflecting on this.

jack never had been the emotional type, but this was really pushing it. it was like that tar that covered his insides had dampened his emotions, too.

...or maybe he was just denying himself the time to truly reflect on it. a part of him felt if he did that, he might never get back on his feet again. he’d curl up in a ball and crystalize, and years down the line he’d be nothing but dust.

jack didn’t want that. it was like the mountain climbers he’d read about in one of his medical textbooks. he just needed to learn to acclimate to the change in altitude. this could be okay.

how to acclimate, however… that was a tough one. he couldn’t do it around people though, he knew that much. he needed to be somewhere isolated, somewhere he could collect his thoughts and keep anyone else from getting—

go back to the college, his thoughts interjected again. you don’t know what its like to be truly alone. you don’t want that.

jack blinked, but shrugged it off. in the gas station bathroom’s sink he washed his hair, matted with blood, and made certain to wash off any blood that pooled on the porcelain when he was done. he took the mask, cast aside amidst his previous puking session, and slipped it back on. he slipped the hood of his jacket up over it to hide his wet hair, too, and took one final look in the mirror.

it was months from Halloween. there was no way anyone was going to look at him and think ‘yep, that’s normal’. in fact, jack was pretty sure he’d already gotten a horrified look from a lady filling up her tank before he’d darted into the bathroom.

his only hope was going to be finding somewhere secluded to figure all of this out. maybe, when all was said and done with, he could make up the assignments for the last of his classes online. he was pretty sure west point had a program for that.

his uncle had a cabin in some backwoods area nearby, he knew. jack remembered when he was a kid, him, his parents, and his cousins would all stay there during the holidays. his uncle had a different house he lived in, too, so chances were, the place was empty.

and, it was only a few dozen miles north, if he remembered correctly. he was on the track team back in high-school. it wouldn't be easy, but it would be managable.

it was the best shot he had at figuring this all out.

it would have to work.

whatever it was that had happened with the cult, whatever it was that they did to jack, it would all be a distant memory in a few years. it wouldn’t get in the way of his medical degree, and it sure as hell wouldn’t get in the way of his life.

right?

[oceaniareads]

Escaping the Enemy Chapter 1

Okay I finally started writing the story that's been haunting me.

I can't guarantee that it's gonna be Calron, but I do plan it to be if it goes the way I want it to. I also don't know if it's gonna have anything too crazy in it either as I normal write stuff that isn't too crazy.

Also posted on my Quotev. Chapter under the line. Thank you for reading! (not edited by the way)

Chapter 1: Headaches

""Sarah," he whispered, tears thick in his throat. "I'll tell him how you died protecting him. I will raise him to remember how brave you were." 

Magisterium: The Iron Trial (Black & Clare, 4)

Callum Hunt thought he would never get use to waking up this way: his head bounced off the window of his father's Rolls-Royce as they sped down the highway. 

And he was not happy about being woken up. 

Honestly, Call would normally appreciate being woken up to the pain in his head. It helped him ignore the pain in his bad leg and pulled him out of his nightmares. But he was having a good dream for once filled with his favorite foods, animals, and his family in one piece. Out of all of the aspects of his dreams, his family being together was the one thing he would never have.

His father, Alastair Hunt, had always told him the same stories about his mother's death over and over again. When he was five, Call had vivid nightmares about a man stabbing her to death; fifty percent of the time, Call was watching the scene from a distance. The other fifty percent, he was the one who killed his mother.

Since Alastair noticed his son was having nightmares about it, he stopped talking about his wife. Call didn't know any other stories about his mother. He didn't even know what she looked like anymore. But when he still had the nightmare, he knew that she was the one dying at his feet. 

"Callum," Alastair spoke. "I see you're awake." 

Call attempted to keep in his snarky comment.

"Yeah," he responded before muttering, "like I could sleep with you driving like a maniac." 

"I heard that," his father responded, "but I'll let that comment go. We're stopping shortly at a rest stop. You know the drill. Make sure you look presentable." 

Call rolled his eyes before carefully sitting up in his seat. He attempted to stretch his bad leg out, hoping that would help with the pain that normally came when he had been sitting in the car for hours. Since Call was five, they had been living out of different cars that Alastair had stored all over the country. Sometimes they stopped often in order for Call to get WiFi to turn in homework since he was taking online classes, but since it was the summer Alastair had insisted on driving longer distances. He had been extra paranoid recently and had even seemed like he was up to something (Call did swear that his father was always up to something). But Alastair never told his son anything until he deemed it important. And whatever was going on, he did not think Call needed to know; if anything was truly going on that is. 

"You're not going to tell me where we're going, are you?"  

His father turned off the highway.

"Not yet. I'll tell you once we're done at our stop," Alastair responded, "don't take too long either. We have somewhere to be by one." 

Call frowned, glancing at the numbers blinking on the vehicle's clock. It was almost 11:30.

An hour later, Call was brushing his hair in a gas station bathroom. He felt awkward wearing his nicest clothes: a dark grey collared shirt and a pair of nicer looking jeans. He rarely had any reason to wear this shirt. Normally it was for funerals that his father made him go to, even though they watched from a distance. 

When he walked out of the front doors of the station, his father had Call's suitcase on the ground next to the car. Call felt himself panic: was his father going to just leave him at this gas station?

"Call come help me with this," Alastair called from the trunk. Obeying his father, he limped over. Alastair had a couple other things on the ground including a bag of Call's favorite snacks and drinks, his laptop bag, and a couple of Alastair's bags, "make sure all your stuff is packed in your bags. Make sure you have anything you need. I'll give you some money and continue sending you some throughout the school year, but I don't know when I'll be able to send anything."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Call asked, "The school year?"

"I'm dropping you off at your new school. You'll be going to where your mother and I graduated from," Alastair frowned at his son, "Thought you might do well finishing school with other students. Plus they won't expect me to hide you there. It's become more mixed since I went there, more normal people these days. So you should be able to be unnoticeable while I keep them distracted. They don't know your name anyways, just that you're with me, especially since I've kept your magic in check." 

Whenever his father mentioned magic, Call always rubbed his obsidian bracelet his father had made him wear since his magic had appeared years ago. It helped dampen the energy his magic gave off when used and did not allow Call to use his magic as strongly as he could. It was a good way for Alastair to be able to safely teach Call everything he knew without attracting the wrong crowd or destroying things around him.  As his father reminded him during their lessons: earth wants to bind.

Call watched his father pull out a bag of almost identical bracelets and he barely caught them when his father tossed them at him. Alastair gave him a weird look. With a frown, Call helped his father repack his bags. Once everything was back in the Rolls-Royce, Call watched the gas station fade into the distance.

[blackberrywars]

🔀 Aiden/Lambert :)

Well. This song is basically begging for a blue-collar deep dive into Lambert's generational struggle with alcohol, as well as a sillier nod to the long-and-lean Aiden headcanon. She's a tall boy indeed. I'm also making it 70s americana because I personally deserve to imagine butch4butch laiden where Lambert wears nothing but a dirty boiler suit over a gray wifebeater and no bra, and Aiden is head to toe in disco menswear —burgundy flare pants and vest, with an outlandishly patterned green silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel.

Lambert is a mechanic, and has been since before she dropped out of high school, to the dismay of her chemistry teacher. She'd skipped town at 16 without a word to her or anyone else, taking nothing but her tools and her father's last 12-pack for the road —it was the only thing she couldn't leave behind. Everything and everyone else is gone, along with the hair clippings and bloodstains on the bathroom floor. She spends a few days sleeping in her shitbox rust bucket, making loops around the city before she moves on to the next. And the next. It's a good thing every gas station has a beer cooler, the way she drinks and drives her way to the east coast.

She makes it, though, and by the time some old bastard named Vesemir finally hires her after three shops turn her tits down, it's a habit. Ordering an irish coffee at 9am doesn't make the barista bat an eyelid in her neighborhood, and it tides her over until her break. A can there sits just right beside her coworkers', and really, they drink more than she does. No matter Vesemir's tuts, he never stops them, just scolds them for leaving the pop tabs everywhere. She's collected enough to make a curtain with them, hanging instead of her bedroom door.

It's a few years of this and Lambert is...... content. She's good at her job, and the only bruise on her body is from where she dropped a gasket scraper on her foot. If she drinks too much, then at least she has no one to take it out on, and really, she's just fine, really. Beer mellows her out, stops the lava under her skin, and the only drunken fights she's gotten in were well-deserved, in her opinion. She goes to sailor's bars with Eskel and Geralt, and goes to the dyke ones when she's not with them, but she never plays for keeps.

It's this Lambert that Aiden meets when her adorable yellow vespa calls it quits. Garage Morhen has a good word-of-mouth reputation with queers for never turning down a customer for the amount of glitter they put on their bodies. Rumor has it that the owner still vists the leather daddy clubs every now and again. Some other whispers say his second son's wife and boyfriend get along spectacularly. Even more say that the third son is the meanest dyke around.

So Aiden goes in all her glory, pushing her scooter in her five-inch boots, brown leather stained with grime. Looks up after five minutes to find Lambert leaned against her station, tall boy in hand and a scowl on her face. Her hands are dyed black up to the elbow, showing off her thick forearms, and her nipples poke through her wifebeater. Her eyes are a little yellow as they look up up up at Aiden, telling her it won't be a cheap or quick fix. And Aiden just smiles, because she's sure as hell not opposed to hanging around for a while.

EDIT: For anyone not aquainted with them, @whyzowl and @yolki-palki have drawn some GORGEOUS fem!laiden art, and the outfits described above are basically me using their designs like paper dolls. Art linked here, here, here, and here with my screeching commentary.

[brightside-of-the-upsidedown]

I'm not sure how I'll continue it yet, but this is the infamous pastel grunge punk!Steve I ended up writing instead of tentacles, so enjoy XD

Sparked by this beautiful post

By @discodeviant because while I was reading, Beggar's Song by Matt Maeson started playing in my head.

Steve looked into the backroom bathroom's cracked mirror and fixed his hair for the seventh time in the last thirty minutes. It was practically a ritual at this point when he was nervous. Well, maybe it'd become his lucky thing after tonight.

He brushed the hair away from his face and clicked his tongue ring pensively. From one side, his new haircut still had his usual thick brown voluminous waves with highlights that nearly brushed his shoulder. From the other side, he'd had it trimmed down into a disconnected undercut and dyed baby pink. He'd originally been planning on dying all of his hair pink and getting both sides shaved, but had chickened out. He'd still been thrilled by the outcome though.

Or at least he had loved it just this morning. But would everyone else? Had he made a mistake and fucked up one of the only good things about him-

A fist banged on the door and Robin's voice came through the door. "Come on, dingus, you're already pretty. Stop spiraling and let's go!"

Steve smiled and let her in. "Aw, Buckley, I'm pretty? Even pretty enough for you?"

Robin snorted and wrinkled her nose. "Don't push it. Now get your ass up on stage before it escapes those pants and makes a run for it. You're never going to throw those out, are you?"

Steve looked down at his worn thin jeans and yeah, maybe they were a bit tighter than usual in the ass, but their new apartment had a lot of stairs, okay! Despite it being almost more holes than pants, they were comfortable and definitely something his parents would never have let him wear when he'd still been under his dad's thumb. So of course that made them his favorite.

He turned and washed his hands once more. Robin let out a choking noise and pointed at his ass. "That's a new hole."

For a split second, Steve thought she was talking about something else until she poked at a spot on his ass not covered by the pants. There was a new hole in his jeans that showed off a not small peek of his ass and thigh. But it was low enough that Steve wasn't too worried about it.

"Buy a guy dinner first, jeez." Steve teased her.

She just slapped his ass. "Yeah, sure, I know a great little place on Easy Street called Cafe Puttana."

"Did you just call me a whore in my own mother tongue, Buckley?!" Steve gasped dramatically. "And maybe if you dressed like this more often, you'd stop having to resort to handing out free drinks to get a girl's attention." Steve hip checked her as she giggled at him and opened the door. "Now let's get this show on the road before everyone notices their favorite bartenders are both missing. My public awaits." He adjusted his pink jean vest over his Nirvana t-shirt as he stepped out, still picking, still-

"Your 'public' is a bunch of drunks, punks, burnouts, and half dead partiers." Robin hugged him from behind just before they got to the stage in the bar. "So don't let the nerves get you. Just have fun and sing me a song, piano man."

That got a genuine laugh out of him. "I'm no Billy Joel, but I'll see what I can do, uptown girl."

Robin went up on stage to announce him. She hyped him up as best she could given her audience and got a not too bad round of applause. Steve wasn't expecting much, this was a gig he'd just gotten only because he worked at the bar and the band that had been scheduled to play had canceled. He usually worked as their bartender and he was good at it. He probably wouldn't have gotten either job if Robin hadn't stepped up to bat for him.

Steve practiced his breathing exercises as the players they could find on such short notice got ready. He stepped up on stage, gave a friendly wave to the regulars who recognized and cheered for him.

He took a seat at the piano he'd had to tune himself before the show because it got so little use.

"Hey, you bunch of vagrants and drains on society." His words were met with proud hoots and hollers. "It's me, Steve, your favorite bartender." This was met with a loud boo from the bar, Robin playfully heckling him.

"That bunch of assholes the boss hired canceled, yeah, I know. So you get me instead, aren't you lucky? Usually you have to buy a drink to get to listen to my dulcet tones." Steve grinned as the crowd booed, whistled, and catcalled. "So enjoy the music, I wrote it myself. Yeah, that's right, fuck you, I have layers. Or if you don't like it, just shut the fuck up and enjoy the view you bunch of pervs." More catcalls.

Steve signaled the players and waited a moment, waiting for his cue, as they played the intro. They weren't bad for only two days of practice.

Jesus, come talk to me

I am but a blind mess, I am wild and free

I know that I need us more than I need me

One more whiskey, I am wild and free

Steve started playing as he continued singing.

Oh, but I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down

Oh yeah, I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down

Steve didn't hear any hecklers, not that he thought anyone was that willing to get on Robin's Shit List, but he still didn't dare look up.

Oh, my mother Mary, come walk with me

I am on four drugs, I am wild and free

I know that I failed less, the less I knew me

Wander through the darkness, and come walk with me

Steve felt good about the beat and the band seemed to be really getting into it.

Oh 'cause I'm a beat down washed up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'll be damned if I let it keep me down

Ay, yeah

Yeah I'm a beat down washed up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'll be damned if I let it keep me down

Yeah, yeah

He timed his breathing as the band trailed into the chorus.

Oh yeah, I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down, yeah, yeah

Oh, I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down, yeah, yeah, yeah

Steve nodded and belted the post chorus.

You know that it's not over

It's okay to let yourself hurt

Swimming in the murky water

Won't you come on out? Yeah, yeah

You know that it's not over

It's okay to let yourself hurt

Swimming in the murky water

Won't you come on out? Yeah, yeah

We sing a beat-down, washed-up beggar's song

And we sing it even louder when the money is gone

Because we'll be damned if we let it keep us down, yeah, yeah

Oh, I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down, yeah, yeah, yeah

Steve blinked his eyes open when he felt a bit of an echo- no, there were people singing along. He recognized Robin's off key voice and smiled. Steve sang out the lyrics with his whole chest.

You know that it's not over

It's okay to let yourself hurt

Swimming in the murky water

Won't you come on out? Yeah, yeah

You know that it's not over

It's okay to let yourself hurt

Swimming in the murky water

Won't you come on out? Yeah, yeah

He could hear a lot more voices raise with his as he sang the last chorus as the band tapered off. "Come on, beggers!"

We sing a beat-down, washed-up beggar's song

And we sing it even louder when the money is gone

Because we'll be damned if we let it keep us down, yeah, yeah

Oh, I'm a beat-down, washed-up son of a bitch

I got one more cigarette and all my money is spent

But I'ma be damned if I let it keep me down

For an embarrassing moment, Steve thought he might fucking cry at the roars from the bar. Yeah, it was a few dozen regulars, drunkards, and partiers blitzed out of their minds, but it was leagues above his self doubt's worst case scenario. He had to swallow hard more than once before he felt confident enough to talk into the mic again. 

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it, you assholes?" Steve knew he was probably smiling like an idiot, but it was hard to care. "Give a hand to the band, they had like two days to fucking practice my crap, holy shit."

The bar clapped and yelled for them. The band looked pleased with the positive attention and a few waved back. One flipped off the audience much to their delight.

"Now, the rest of the songs are covers, the good shit, I promise." Steve announced. "So spend your fucking money, don't forget to tip, and enjoy."

They ended up playing some Nirvana, a little The Clash of course, Dead Kennedys, Siouxsie and the Banshees, through in a Motley Crüe song, and topped it off with his beloved Queen.

To Steve's honest surprise and giddiness, there was a demand for an encore of Beggar's Song. He led them through it one more time before ending for the night. Closing time was in less than an hour and he wanted to help Robin out with last call.

They got a decent amount of tips that he let the band take the lion's share of, but still got a sweet fifteen bucks on top of the thirty his boss had already paid him. He'd be able to buy some pretty good food for him and Robin this month.

That's all I got for now!

The backstory is Robin and Steve moved together somewhere after Robin got kicked out for coming out to her parents.

Maybe she stayed with Steve until her parents told his parents and they called to tell him to send her home, whatever. Robin and Steve decided to strip whatever they could from the house, sell it, sneak into her room while her parents were gone to pack, and they rode off into the sunset. 

Now they have a shitty apartment, jobs at a shitty bar, and they've never been happier. ❤

I have plans to bring Billy and Eddie into it later.

Two Nights Ago

Robin: I volunteered you for a gig

Steve: I've only sang in front of you!

Robin: it's time to fly, I'm kicking you out of the nest, dingus

Steve: does this make you my mama bird?

-Robin throws a pillow at him-

Steve: how could you do this to your child!

[v4mplov3]

Roadtrip <3

Bf!Chris x Gf!Reader

use of Y/n

Warnigs: metions of a boner. Pet name (Ma) FLUFFY

It was around 5 am. Chris woke up early since you and his brothers had a roadtrip.

He hits your sleeping body with a pillow. “Y/nn!!! Wakeee upppp!!!!” Chris shouts. “Mmmm…Chris..five more minutes..” You say sleepily. “Nooo sleepyhead! Get up and get readyy!!” Chris shouts again. “Fine, fine..im up!” You yell. Chris walks out of his room to wake Nick and Matt up. You throw yourself outta bed and walk into ur closet.

You grab a white oversized shirt, pj pants, and thin black socks. You walk into the bathroom and put them on. You brush your hair and teeth. You walk downstairs and see sleepy Nick and Matt, then Chris who is jumping around. “Goddamn, how does this kid have so much fucking energy at five in the morning?” Nick says. “Its Chris that your talking about, Nick.” Matt says.

Chris practically jumped into your arms. “Chris!” You shout. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your forehead. “Gross..” Matt speaks up and he walks to his room, to finish up the last of his packing. Nick goes to his room to do the same. “Chris. Dont you even think about it” you say. Chris pouts and runs to his room. You follow him. “You done packing?” You ask him. “Mhm” He mumbles. “Tooth brush, charger, headphones?” You ask. He groans and walks into the bathroom. He grabs his toothbrush, walks out and puts it in his suitcase. He grabs his charger and airpods and puts them in his pocket.

“So you didnt finish?” you say. “Shut uup!!” Chris shouts. “Fine.” You say, crossing your arms and looking away. “No no no! Wait, Y/n im sorry! Please dont ignore me!” Chris pleas. “Thats what i thought.”

———-timeskip———

5:47 am. Matt was driving, and Nick was in the passenger seat. You and Chris were in the back. You in his lap, sleeping, your head resting on his shoulder. Chris is also sleeping, his arms wrapped around your waist. Nick had the aux, he was playing, doja cat, Nicki Minaj, Melanie Martinez, Ariana Grande, and stuff like that. Matt was dying of thirst. “Fuckkk..im so thirsty.” Matt says.

“Theres a gas station right there, dumb fuck. Stop there.” Nick says. Matt pulls into the gas station and parks. Nick pauses the music, takes the cord out and puts his phone into his pocket. Nick and Matt get out. “Chris! Y/n! Wake up!”

All four went into the gas station.

Chris and Nick walk off, leaving you and Matt alone. “You and Chris are gross.” Matt says. “Your just jealous, because you dont have a girlfriend.” You say. “And what if i did?” Matt says. “Then you wouldnt be calling us gross. Because you would understand.” You say, walking into the candy aisle. You grab a bag of sour patch kids and some gummy worms.

Matt follows you. “Yea but i still would think your gross! Chris is constantly clinging to you, calling you names, kissing you and saying he loves you.” Matt said. “Yea, because thats how relationships work, Matt.” You say defending yourself and Chris. “Fine.”

You and Matt eventually find Chris and Nick who are arguing about whatever. “Stop, were in public!” You say. “Y/nnn!!!” Chris says looking at you and jumping into your arms. “Chris get off.” You say. He gets off and grabs his two pepsi’s from Nick. “I got one for you ma.” Chris says handing you one of the surgar infested sodas.

“Thank you.” You say taking it. Matt grabs a redbull and Nick grabs a monster. (a/n: idk if Nick likes monster but js pretend he does.) You all walk up to the cashier and put your stuff on the counter. Matt pulls out his wallet and pays. The cashier eyes Chris. She practically has hearts in her eyes. You give her a glare. You all grab the bags and walk out.

You all get into the car. “Did you see the way that ugly ass bitch was looking at Chris?” Nick says from the passenger. “Yea.” Matt says, putting the key in and turing on the car. Matt drives out of the gas station. “I didnt like it.” You say looking over at Chris, who already had his airpods in and looking at his phone.

Nick plays music again. You stare at Chris. Chris obviously feels someone looking at him so he looks up at you. He smiled and takes one of his airpods out. “Need somethin?” He asks softly. You shake your head no. He nods, puts the airpod back in and looks back down at his phone.

You get on your phone and play a random game you downloaded before you guys went.

———-Timeskip———

8:35 A.M. You guys arive to the waterpark. (A/n: i had no idea that this is were they were going when i started writing this, and pretend the only waterpark that was open at 8:00 am was 3 hours away. And you guys wanted to go when there was no line at the entrance.) Matt parks. Theres only 3-4 cars in the parking lot. You all get out and go to the trunk and grab your beach bags.

You all walk into the water park. Matt pays. You go into the lady changing rooms, and the 3 boys go into the mens. You walk into a small room, that has tile floors. You shut and lock the door. You grab your red bikini out of ur bag.

(It looks like this)

You take off ur clothes and shoes, and put it on. You know it would turn Chris on so thats why you brought it. You put ur socks and converse into your bag and grab your sandals. You put them on. You grab your bag, unlock and open the door. You walk out and into the indoor water park.

Chris Nick and Matt were all waiting for you by a bench. You walk over and set your bag down where their bags were. You take off your sandals and put them on the bench next to your bag.

——-Timeskip——-

8:56 A.M. You were sitting on Chris’ lap in a lounge chair. Matt and Nick are off somewhere, goimg down water slides and playing like little kids. “Fuck..ma, your making me hard..” Chris says pulling your hips up a bit so your not sitting directly on him.

“Sorry.” You say.

After a few painful minutes, Chris finally puts you back down after his boner went away. You cuddle up to him.

“I love youuu…” He says burying his face in your neck.

“I love you more..”

Matt and Nick run over. Matt slaps the back off Chris’ head and runs off and jumps into one of the pools. “Fuck you!!” Chris shouts. “Hold on ma.” Chris says, and picks you up. He stands up and sets you on the chair. He

A/n: OKAY I DECIDED TO UPDATE THIS BEFORE I GO ON BREAK LOL BC I DONT WANT YALL WAITING A WEEK FOR ONE UPDATE!!! Im going on a break bc im sick :(( But i hope i get better! Have an amazing day/night! :))

[heart-full-of-lust]

The Somnophile of Blackpine Hollow

Chapter 1: The Wet Dream Epidemic Blackpine Hollow, 11:47 PM

The town doesn’t just sleep—it suffocates under its own silence. You roll into Main Street past midnight, your ’98 Corolla coughing up exhaust that mingles with the fog clinging to the pines. Blackpine’s buildings sag like rotten teeth: a shuttered diner with “GO HOME” spray-painted across its boarded windows, a gas station selling live bait and VHS porn, a lone streetlamp buzzing like a dying wasp. You’re here for the Sleeping Satyr—a tabloid cryptid story your editor called “niche erotica for Bigfoot fuckers.” But the bartender at The Stag’s Head stares at your voice recorder like it’s a gun.

“Ain’t talkin’ ‘less you buy a round,” he grunts, his eyes darting to your chest. You order whiskey, neat, and unbutton your flannel just enough to show the lace edge of your black bralette. His tongue loosens with the third pour. “First was Maryann Kellogg. Woke up with her nightgown ripped clean off, thighs black an’ blue like she’d been rode by a tractor. Feathers in her hair—black ones. Then Lucy Harte. Found her in the churchyard, ass in the air, babblin’ ‘bout antlers. Pussy swollen shut. Had to drive her to the ER in Bakersfield.” He leans in, reeking of menthols and dread. “They all say the same thing—somethin’ pinned ‘em down, stuffed ‘em full, left ‘em drippin’.”

You’re half-hard writing the draft in your motel room—Room 6, “The Lovers’ Nest,” according to the peeling sign. The carpet smells like mildew and condoms. You set up your gear: a Nikon with night vision, motion sensors, a .38 revolver you bought off a methhead in Pasadena. You slip into your “research uniform”—a red lace nightie you’d never admit you packed—and smear gloss over your smirk in the bathroom mirror. Clickbait writes itself, you think. “I Hunted the Sex Demon Haunting Appalachia—Then It Fucked Me.”

The first noise comes at 3:14 AM—a scrape of claw on windowpane. You pretend to sleep, breath shallow, hand under the pillow gripping the .38. The air turns thick, sweet-rotten, like honeysuckle choking a carcass. Your nipples peak under the lace. It’s just the AC, you lie, but then the mattress dips. A weight settles over you—not human, not beast. Fur brushes your inner thigh, coarse yet electric, and you feel heat radiating from something… grotesquely erect.

“Shhhhh,” it purrs, a voice like oiled hinges. A clawed paw clamps your wrist, pinning the gun to the nightstand. You try to scream, but your body betrays you—lips parting in a moan as a second paw spreads your legs. The thing sniffs you, wet and guttural, its snout nudging your clit through damp lace. “Pretty little liar,” it rumbles. “You wanted me to come.”

You’re frozen, caught between terror and dizzying arousal, as it shreds the nightie with a talon. Its cock—fuck, it’s ridged, knotted, dripping viscous fluid that burns cold against your thigh—prods your entrance. “N-No—” you choke, but it thrusts inside with one brutal snap of its hips. You’re split, stretched, tears streaming as it growls, “Dream. This is a dream.” And somehow, your traitorous body obeys, hips bucking, cunt fluttering around its monstrous girth. It fucks you like it’s carving its name into your womb, your screams muffled by the pillow it shoves over your face.

When you wake at dawn, there’s no blood. No proof. Just sticky thighs, a torn nightie, and the gun still loaded on the nightstand. But as you stagger to the shower, something clatters to the tiles—a jagged shard of antler, obsidian-black and thrumming with warmth. Outside your door, the motel clerk leers, eyeing your limp. “Y’all… enjoy your stay?” he drawls.

You slam the door, press the antler to your nose, and inhale musk that makes your cunt pulse. That night, you leave the gun in the glovebox. Pack a vibrator instead. (should I continue?)

[leelahsrose]

HONEY| LIL MEECH.

chapter six.

"𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙."

-Sade, circa 1993

5:30PM

"Is he doing better?" Khaleesi paces the fancy restroom, she attempts to talk loudly over the classical music. The short train on the gown she wears comes to a halt as she turns and looks in the mirror. She pulls up at the sides of her black dress—fixing her breast into place, Kamari's voice on the other side of the phone rambles on as she does so.

"He doing way better, I got him at home resting: got some people circling his place to make sure he good." As Kamari promised, he got Khaleesi home on time: after fixing up his friend's wound she rushed to the shower to wash off his scent then got dressed. She holds her phone between her shoulder and ear, her eyes glancing toward the door every few seconds. "You ain't find no colleges did you?"

Khaleesi knows he doesn't want her to go, the anxiousness in his voice stuck out. She bites down on the corner of her bottom lip, her hand clutching the phone. "I did, I saw a couple good ones but, it's too early to decide. My dad was... he was thinking about Atlanta." Her voice was low, barely audible. Her father has been wanting Khaleesi to be an alumna at Spelman, she would be the first in the family to graduate from college and an HBCU.

She hears silence on the other end but, it said a lot. "I know you your own woman and shit but, Leesi, I don't want you to go."

"You know it's my dad, I don't want to go either. But, I have to—"

"No you don't, wait, hold on baby— what the fuck you want, nigga? Damn." He takes his mouth away from the receiver, his booming voice trailing off. Khaleesi shakes her head then rakes her fingers through the ends of her hair, she curled it earlier but now they were starting to fall. "All you gotta do is say the word, you know?" His low voice coming back into the phone, she squeezes the counter in front of her. "And I'd get you out of there, with the quickness: for real."

Khaleesi shifts back and forth on her feet, she didn't know what to say. She didn't understand how he would get her without anyone dying. "That's dangerous." She interjects, her voice sharp: his raspy laugh now in her ear. "Nigga, what's funny?"

"So that's a yes?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Kamari please." Khaleesi begs quietly, she rolls her eyes.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, I got this. In and out, 20 minutes." She stomps her foot then crosses her free arm over her chest, Khaleesi sighs and shakes her head—what would Kali think? "Baby, trust me, please."

"When the time comes."

"Okay, be ready for our date though."

"What you mean? We're doing that tonight?"

"Hell yea, I'mma be there around 10: I'll come help you pack a bag." That only meant that Khaleesi had to get Kali to cover for her again. She already told their mother she went to a sleepover with one of her girl friends for last night.

"Kali has to cover for me again, I don't think she's going to do it though. I'm sorry, baby. We can do it another time."

"Nah, she gonna cover for you again. I think she seeing my homeboy."

"What?!" Khaleesi's eyebrows crease as she looks towards the door, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach. "Boy, what the hell are you talking about? She hates y'all."

"He told me last night, said they met at the gas station that night but she didn't know at first." Khaleesi thinks back on the time she first seen Kamari, trying to see if there was any time throughout the night Kali wasn't accounted for.  She hears a dainty knock on the bathroom, her head switches over to the door. "I gotta go, I'll talk to you later."

"I love you, perpetually." Khaleesi smiles, her nails tapping against the counter: her head completely empty.

"I like that, I love you perpetually." She hangs up and presses the phone against her chest, Khaleesi rushes over to the door then pulls it open. Kali stands on the other side, her embellished blue gown sparkling under the lobby's lights. "We need to talk."

"Not right now, mom is waiting for us. Let's go." Khaleesi walks out of the restroom and into the crowd of people with her sister. Kali grabs her hand and begins to walk down the corridor, her eyes scanning the various individuals.

"Kali."

"What?"

"Are you seeing one of Mari's people?" Kali stops moving all of a sudden, she looks back at Khaleesi and squints her eyes. She leads them to one of the side walls, pushing her against the wallpaper.

"That is none of your business."

"It is my business because Mari is my business. What happened to not fucking the enemies?"

"Bitch, we're not fucking." Khaleesi purses her lips, not believing a single word coming from her mouth.

"Maybe once. It's still none of your business, I'm a grown woman whose about to move out. They won't care."

"You're a hypocrite and a lying ass bitch." Khaleesi rips her hand from her grip then crosses her arms over her chest. "You will continue to cover for me—"

"No the fuck I'm not-"

"Yes, you will. Or I swear I will tell mom about the club and how you influenced me to go and stirred me away from school. Don't, cross me again. Have you lost your mind?" Khaleesi scowls and continues to walk down the hall, Kali's eyebrows crease as she treads after her.

"Khaleesi." She ignores her, continuing her movement. "Come on, okay I know I should've told you. I'm sorry, we always forgive each-other. What's different about this time?"

"Because, Kali, you made me feel like being in love with Kamari is wrong, saying that he's an enemy and what not but you're doing the same shit. That's fucked up. Can you not see how that's messed up?!" She slightly yells at the end causing several eyes to move over to the sisters, Kali looks around and shuffles them over to the side once again.

"Yes that's fucked up, I get it. I'm sorry, Leesi. You know it's still dangerous though, right?"

"I don't want to hear that right now."

"It's the truth."

"No, the truth is that me and you are in danger. You're not excluded from this, you're still very much a Taylor like me. Bitch, get real." And with that, Khaleesi leaves Kali in a pool of her own thoughts and regrets.

10:00 PM

same day

Khaleesi looks down at Mari's text lighting up her screen, he was on the way. Her TV was already turned off, bed made-up to perfection: the silence that hugs the room was comforting to her. The rose-colored duffle bag on her bed was already packed and zipped up, she sits her phone on top of it and walks to the bathroom to the side of her. She fixes her multicolored headband then flicks a piece of lint off her cheek.

"Khaleesi!" She hears her name and her head cocks back toward the door, her heart beginning to race. Kali had already told their mother she was staying with her girl friend again, what was it now? Her phone begins to ring and she sighs, Kamari's name popping up.

"Here."

"My mom wants to talk to me, what do I do?" Kali opens her door and comes in, shutting it behind her. Khaleesi looks over at her, wondering what she wanted.

"She wants to meet your friend, the one you're staying with? He better come up with something quick cause I can't think of anything else and Nizhoni is busy."

"Did you-"

"I got it, I came prepared trust me." Khaleesi nods her head and hangs up, she tosses her phone on her bed and breathes out a frustrating breath.

"That's all he has to say is trust me? Leesi, mom thinks she's already here to pick you up. If he can't come up with a physical human being within five minutes, I don't know what to tell you."

"He got it, trust him Kali, shit." The doorbell startles both of them, they both gaze at one another: wide-eye and anxious. They move to the door at the same time, Khaleesi goes out first and races down the stairs.

"Whose that?" Alicia Taylor treads out of the kitchen with a towel in her hand, she wipes her palms and tilts her head. Khaleesi opens the door and a young brown-skinned woman stands there, a friendly smile on her face as she holds a pair of keys in her right hand.

"Mom, this is Tracy." Khaleesi thinks of a name quickly, she turns around and stands to the side letting her come into their residence. Alicia smiles and walks towards her, greeting her with a small hug.

"It's certainly nice to meet you Mrs. Taylor, it's nice helping Leesi with her paper. She's doing really good."

"Oh—that's great to hear, my baby she's so smart. It's good to finally meet you as well, wanted to make sure she wasn't running off with no boy now." Alicia laughs amusingly, the three girls all share nervous looks as they chuckle quietly. "Well, I won't keep y'all long. Enjoy studying, Khaleesi don't stay up to late, I'll see you?"

"I'll be back tomorrow night, wanna work on it some more later that day. I won't be too long, ma, I'm just ten minutes away."

"Alrighty then, I'll call to check up on you, try to make it back before dinner? Q is coming over, you know how hard it is to get all of us together."

"Yes mam." Alicia smiles gently and walks back into the kitchen, they all stare at her as she does so. Khaleesi looks over at Kali and walks over to her, she wraps her arms around her sister and hugs her tightly. "Thank you, I'm sorry about earlier. I'll be back, don't worry he has me. It's cool." Leesi pecks her cheek and pulls away, Kali nods her head agreeing silently.

"Let's go, girl, what's your real name?" Khaleesi's voice fades out as Kali shuts the door, the young lady laughs and places her hand on her shoulder: leading Leesi to Kamari's car down the block.

"Kecia, call me Key though." They had walked for several minutes before coming to his car, Khaleesi's heart begins to jump up and down in her chest. "I took my own ride here, he told me to come earlier just in case something like this popped up."

"Well, thank you so much. Hopefully, he rewarded you gracefully for this. It means a lot."

"I love black love, and yep gave me a band." Kecia laughs as she holds the stack up to her ear, she treads away: further down the street. Khaleesi smiles then bites her lip, she walks over to the car and hops in the passenger seat. A set of arms wrap around her, Kamari.

"Baby." His lips attack her cheeks viciously, her fits of laughter fill the car. Khaleesi kisses him, her hand holding onto his bicep. "Mmm." She pulls away, her plump lips smacking on his: he wanted more but she didn't allow it. Her finger resting against his soft lips, she tilts her head and reaches over to turn on the car.

"Let's go, Kamari come on I'm excited. We can do this later, I promise." She smiles and pushes his shoulder, he laughs and puts the car into gear.

"Okay, okay I got you. Let's go." His voice smooth and full of charisma, she takes her shoes off and pulls her legs in the seat. Her fingers reaching over to lock the two-door car. "Don't ask me where we going either, it's a surprise."

"You play too much."

"Nigga, I'm tryna be romantic."

"Sorry, you're doing a good job." She rubs his shoulder and he looks down at her: they laugh together and he smiles brightly. Kamari grabs her bag and puts it in the backseat, she puts her seatbelt over her body then feels a warmth take over her.

"Here. A/C be blowing, you finna get cold soon: and before I forget." A blue blanket sits in her lap, it was the one that's usually laid out on his bed. Kamari reaches to the back one last time before pulling out a black square box filled with clipped red roses. The red color vibrant as can be, she gasps and takes them in her hands. One thing Khaleesi loves is flowers—trees, plants, any type of nature.

"They're beautiful."  The tips of her nails touching the delicate petals, she takes a whiff of them and hums. "And fresh, thank you, love." Khaleesi leans in and pecks his cheek, he looks over at her—disappointed. His lip up in a scowl as he stares at Khaleesi, she laughs. "What?"

"Give me a real kiss."

"We have to go, come on." Khaleesi goes back into her seat and holds onto her seatbelt, she looks over at him while pulling her blanket over her body: setting the roses on her lap.

"You cute."

They had drove for about two hours, Kamari was wide awake but Khaleesi had found herself knocked out in the passenger seat. Her face snuggled into the soft baby blue blanket, Mari's hand resting on her thigh as his other hand grips the top of the wheel. He pulls the black SRT up to the valet that was placed in front of a vast glass building.

"Baby." Khaleesi stirs a little she opens her eyes seconds later and sits up yawning. "We here." He opens the door then she throws the blanket into the backseat, Khaleesi gets out and hugs her beige coat around her body. She walks over to Kamari and leans her head on his shoulder, he takes her hand and leads them over to the steps.

Kamari hands the keys to a young man in a black suit, two other men pull up in SUVs and get out of the vehicles—coming behind the two. "This is beautiful, why are they here?" She whispers the last part then her lips land on his seconds later.

"Rented out the whole place for us, private exhibit views—didn't want anybody in our way. They're here because I want to be able to be as vulnerable with you as possible. "

"Red wine?" A man comes up to her, a small tray sitting on his palm with a glass of bubbling wine on top.

"Yes please." Khaleesi takes it in her hands then takes a sip of the alcohol. The sweet liquid buzzing on her tongue and swirling down her throat, she hums in agreement. They go into the museum, the soft studio lights surround the spacious room.

"An itinerary of the exhibits." Another gentleman coming up as he hands her a thick beige paper with black lettering, she takes it in her hands and thanks him quietly. Her eyes scanning the paper as her fingers squeeze Kamari's hand. The last exhibit on the paper named after her, with the word The before it.

"Baby, what's this?" She holds it out to him and he smiles, bending down to kiss Khaleesi on the cheek.

"You'll see." She lays her chin on his shoulder as they walk, gazing at the pieces in front of them one-by-one—every once in a while stopping to discuss. There were little white stands by every exhibit to the side, three lit ivory candles on each one. Khaleesi's heart fluttering every minute, she felt so peaceful in this moment. Nothing to worry about, not even Q. She felt safe.

"This is so nice." She says gently, her eyes staring up at the chandeliers: Kamari guiding her steps as she did so. They come to the last exhibit, before they could step foot into the room, he covers her eyes and she gasps. "Come on, Mari."

"Hold on, walk with me." He moves behind her causing her to do the same, they tread closer to the piece—the two men with them staying behind. "You ready?" He says in her ear, chills dance down her spine.

"Yes." He takes his hands off her eyes then wraps his arms around her waist, Khaleesi looks up and is met with a colorful and realistic portrait of her: various flowers from different species suspended in the air around the large canvas. Her hands instantly clasping over her mouth, tears already pricking at her eyes. "W-what?" She turns around, her face filled with bewilderment. "How did you—?"

"I know you surprised but, there's more." He takes her hand, leading her to the open space behind the portrait, a small place that's lit up only by candles.

A sea of red rose petals decorating the wood floor, a set of words spelled out in white. Khaleesi couldn't take it anymore, tears dropping from her eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Khaleesi Taylor?" She turns around, his eyes already pinned on her. "I know it's soon but, our bond—it's tight like honey. We've been through, everything together: you know that. I love you so much. It's okay, baby." He walks up to her, she looks down at his chest: her hands laying there.

Kamari wipes her cheeks with his thumbs, she gathers the courage to look up at him. She had finally had someone that had her, no more one-sided connections, or toxic individuals entering her life. This was it. She has someone who makes her feel safe, who appreciates her—and something like that was a thing she wants to fight for. She wraps her arms around his neck, her puffy face angling up towards his, Kamari pushes a couple pieces of hair to the side. "This means so much to me."

"Mhm, I know baby, I didn't get to show you actions back then but I'm showing them now. I need you to be with me." Khaleesi sighs, her heart thumping against her chest.

"This is going to be dangerous, Mari."

"Let me show you how far I go for you."

"Yes." They shift back and forth on their feet as they look at one another, Khaleesi had took his hands into hers—pecking him several times on the lips. "I'm yours."

[heresthelocallaundromat]

1/11/2025 (tw for suicide, gore, addiction, sh, sa, ed, and mental illness mention)

grief...or at least, how complicated it all is

i sit on the cold tiles of my bathroom in the tiny apartment i call "home". one hand rests on the brim of the toilet, the other pushes sweaty hairs out from my eyes, away from my sticky forehead. it is...pulsating, whatever it is, i am not sure, but nonetheless, my vision fills with the blue and red and yellow and green stars and my heart is beating so hard it is aching and my throat is raw. not even twelve minutes ago, i was filling my stomach with vanilla ice cream, cherry pie filling, and more vanilla ice cream melted into instant hot coffee and way too much nicotine. three minutes ago, i was filling the toilet after with the confetti of that night's binge.

i was doing really good lately, but sometimes all it takes is a little wobble as i am crossing the street, i fall out of the way when a car veers a bit too close, and i smack my chin on the curb of the sidewalk. the vehicle tonight is my phone ringing loudly as i am inhaling smoke and sipping on an iced coffee i have made last the whole day.

more specifically, it is the phone call and my mothers aching breath telling me, "i know you are not very close with my sister, Angela, but she is probably going to be dying soon," and before i could get a word in, she says a little bit more matter of factually, more steadily, "she has cervical cancer and it has spread into her lymph nodes and she also has a tumor in her throat getting so big, it is pressing into her carotid arteries..." and honestly, i was not quite sure how to respond.

she continued, as i breathed out with relief of her filling my silence in the way only my mother can do, "it is so important to keep up on paps, have you made an appointment yet? you really should...hey, tonight i don't have much of an appetite, i think ice cream will be for dinner, does the gas station have Ben's? do you want anything?" "uh, yeah, vanilla if they have anything." "vanilla? really? just vanilla?" "yeah, ma," "okay, i'll stop by in a minute, you need to remember to call your sister, she is upset you haven't yet..." "yeah, i...i know," "i'll see you soon, love ya," and then i hung up the phone before i breathed out, "i love you, too".

angela, or as we all sarcastically call her in my very dysfunctional family, 'aunt angie', is my mother's oldest sister, and she is also probably the most insane, and sure, i shouldn't speak ill of the dying, but she is clinically, actually medically diagnosed as insane. she spent her preteen years and teen years having run-ins with the law, with family protection services, years being exploited on the streets when the green river killer was prowling her city, multiple rehabs and mental health facilities and probably a preacher or two. she often hurt herself in every way she could. now, in a much more politically correct way, we would say she is quite sick, that she struggles with addiction, mental illness, and trauma, just in a much more severe sort of way even fairly compared to the rest of us in my family. i have only ever physically been around my aunt maybe 5 times at the max.

the first time i met my aunt, i was freshly 7 years old and we were on our way over to the coast for a rare "family vacation" aka to celebrate my cousin's (angela's eldest) graduation from high school. before we even got into my car, my mother and other aunt looked at us kids and told us in almost a gossipy way, "our oldest sister just came back from japan, she was dancing there and she now has fake boobies, they are very big and you kids need to be respectful and not stare or laugh..." and we all looked at each other before giggling in the way little kids do when given such information alongside the word, "boobies" being said by our mothers. in a more serious tone, my aunt warned us that she may be...a bit erratic.

in almost a comedic sit-com sort of way, my aunt angie was a stripper, or as my ma put it, "an exotic dancer" with bleached fried wispy hair, a slight beer gut, and an affinity for angel dust and the cheapest vodka on the shelf. in between her seasons of exotic dancing in asia, she lived in the cold tundra of alaska, dancing for sailors and fishermen too drunk to stand, much less give a fair tip. she often lived with a man she called her boyfriend, and all i knew about him was that he was blind and really loved his boxed wine. my aunt was always troubled, very often not involved with the family save for in bouts of homelessness or her saying she was finally wanting to be sober. it is not my story to tell, but she had lost custody of her three kids to my grandparents when they were little babies. she got to rarely play mom only for those special occasions, like a high school graduation. but she was never in the role of aunt, she was simply just...angie.

that trip ended with my mother and aunts all screaming, one bloody nose, and my aunt running all the way back to alaska. a cluster fuck and honestly, my first time really seeing what trauma as a human being could look like. the second time i ever saw my aunt was maybe a year or two after that disaster of a trip. my aunt nina convinced my mother to stop by to see angela. now that i look back, i think they were both just scared it would be the last time they ever saw her again. she would frequently take off, go missing, complete AWOL, threatening her life, and most often, everyone in the family. she loved to threaten to burn down houses when everyone slept. she scared me a lot as a kid and seeing her this time, it was not any different, save for more traumatic than the last time.

when we got to nina's house, i remember walking into the door way, seeing my aunt's precious moments collection in it's glass case, the only clean thing in that place. the faux leather couch was scratched up between the claws of dogs and the nails of children running amok. mostly, i noticed a smell i rarely smelled at that time in my life...cigarettes and astringent, like the doctors office when really old women would walk in. there was an ever layer of dust from all the boys running in and out, and the bottom of my baby blue jumpsuit was now turning brown and black. the tv was on, but i have no idea what was playing, all i could do was stare at the creature balled up on the couch, something slightly human, all messy hair and skin and bones and blood dripping from her fingers. drip...drip...drip...like a bathtub faucet leaking. the creature looked up, lips burnt and crusted, eyes half glazed, and a jagged piece of glass in her hand. it was...it was my aunt, or something that resembled her. on her arm, she had been carving into the soft flesh. looking at her older sister, my mom pushed my sister and i behind her further into the kitchen where my cousin stood making frozen corndogs. the heat of the oven felt safe, comforting.

nina sheepishly explained that "angie was doing so good, but then she got drunk and now she does not know who..." "MOOSE!!!" angie screeched suddenly, jumping up so fast none of us could react in time. before we knew it, she was out the door, running, and only then did i realize her chest was out of her torn white oversize tank top. we all stood out in the freezing january canadian air as she ran down the street yelling about a moose that was not there. she did not seem cold, more like she was on fire. and then, just as suddenly as she ran, she collapsed into the street. catatonic, her body was limp as my aunt and cousins lifted her from the asphalt. she curled up into that same ball shape and my mother ushered us out just as quick as we had came.

the third time was a summer vacation at the beach, where my grandparents had moved. i sat outside in the sea salt air and i was now 12 years old. i reached into the paper bag on my lap and pulled out a candy cigarette. placing it between my lips, laughing, my cousin said, "okay, angie". suddenly, our laughter was cut short by a loud clang in the house and the shrill squeals that would scare a banshee. more crashes followed as we all quickly walked into the house, only to see a wine bottle thrown across the room at my grandfather. just as quickly as the commotion began, again, my aunt collapsed. this time though, she spoke in the voice of a child, crying, asking for her mama, how scared she was. she often had these episodes, where she spoke different, had this glassy expression, but her words could be so, so empty, cold, this cutting lack of emotion. other times, she would just scream and scream. sometimes, her mind put her back into the moments of pregnancy, other times, the angry voice would threaten to burn down the house. many times, i watched her stick her fingers in her throat, or push her stomach, making herself sick.

the last time i had any sort of contact with my aunt, it was a threatening message on facebook and a delusion that i was a demon who replaced my mother, her sister, and it was really the first and only time she ever directly spoke to me, all venom. years and years later, now legally, she can not speak to me due to the threats on my life.

now, she is dying, and like many Januaries prior, i am losing another family member i never really got to know and there is something so incredibly anger inducing about it, yet something so incredibly cold. i do not know how to feel, but similarly to my father's sister taking her own life, there is this anger there. there is an injustice there. i wonder how my other family members feel, what they think, but i do not ask, none of us are really...close anymore. like joey and rachel, i will sit in the background, quietly mourning the person that never really got to exist in the first place. i wonder if this is what life is, or what is can be for many, if it is just loss and slowly, the loss is just replaced with this weird lump of numbness.

i do not know what is leading to me so publicly dissecting the death of a woman that some would call an aunt, but maybe privately, this is just another death that will lead to a surrealistic and very off-putting coping mechanism of silently asking god to give them a better next-life, that they will get to be people instead of the clay molded from the trauma. it makes me curious on what people will say or feel about me, will it be similar? will it be my oldest cousin telling her daughter, exactly ten years and three days younger, that the family member she only knew in passing is gone? will she cry? or will it be a silent numbness on a cold bathroom floor with the faucet leaking out?

i guess all it ever does is make me want to be healthy and better for the next generation that comes from the travesty that my family so often feels they are. i wonder also what she feels, or...the split apart pieces of her personalities, do they know? are they prepared? what abut her kids? my cousins? my grandmother?

i guess...maybe i will write tomorrow, when the head clears and the warm bath cleans my dirty skin. maybe i will drive and see my grandma and make some cinnamon rolls and ask her about my aunt as a kid before her sick consumed her. i don't know.

sorry for such a dark entry. a sad start to a new year.

2025.

[boogey-edits]

RUBBER

hi! this is an original story. i tried my best but i might lose motivation sometimes or the chapters might be short. so bare with me please. anyways, please read the warnings before starting.

WARNINGS: drugs, self h@rm, harmful thoughts, violence, suic!de, smoking, vaping, cussing, smut, and SA. please do NOT read if this will trigger anything for you. there are resources for help over google and pinterest. read with caution. if you are underage, i don't recommend this.

description: I snap the rubber band on my wrist. snap, snap, snap. And sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I snapped. If I just broke. Would it be how Milo snapped? Or something else. Fuck it. snap.

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People say things will get better. People say to just keep trying because everything will be amazing soon and that I won’t have thoughts that apparently normal people wouldn’t have. But what if things don’t get better? What if maybe I’m allegedly not normal? What am I made for in life then if I’m a sad, lonely bitch who cries at the bus stop next to the gas station while I wait to go home to my parents. My family isn’t awful, so I should be more grateful. I know it’s true, but why do I feel like no one cares or loves me? I’m trapped in this self-pity and it’s fucking exhausting. So what happens when I snap out of the rubber band holding me together? What happens when that band snaps? Do I commit suicide? Will I get better? Do I do something crazy like writing a song or some shit? It’s exhausting how my mind runs a thousand miles a minute. And how-

“Beatrix! Time for school!” My mom interrupts my thought process. I look down at myself and I’m not even ready for school. So, I reluctantly roll out of bed and brush my teeth as my mom waits. Sometimes I wonder how she’s so patient. I have no patience at all. I brush out my dyed ginger hair and ruffle up my bangs and short hair to add volume which my hair never has. Unfortunately, I was too tired to wash off my makeup last night and I don’t have time to redo it this morning, so it’s the school bathroom. I toss my makeup bag and wipes into my backpack and change into a baggy, vintage spiderman sweater I found in my closet with some jeans.

“BEATRIX!” My mom yells. I roll my eyes and grab my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. “Coming mom.” I say, yelling back. I hopped down the stairs and put my shoes on before heading out to the car that my mom was getting back into from coming inside to yell for me. I get into the passenger side and set my backpack down. “How’d you sleep?” My mom asks, pulling out of the gravel driveway onto the regular, concrete road that my mom refuses to change the driveway to. “Fine, I guess.” I reply, not wanting to talk much. I felt guilty that it came out moody, I just don’t like talking to anyone. Ever. “Tone.” My mom reminds me which makes me roll my eyes. Surprisingly, she doesn’t yell at me and just keeps driving. I don’t focus much on the oak trees outside next to the road, or the stupid drivers that almost crash constantly. I focus on the thoughts running through my mind. The word “sorry” repeating through my mind as I think about how I responded to my mom. However, I don’t have the courage or responsibility to say it. So I stay silent in self-pity. I know it’s bad, but it’s a guilty feeling I have. And I just let it swallow me.

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Once we reach the smalltown school of Georgetown, Colorado, I get out, not bothering to say bye to my mom. I don’t know why I’m rude to her. I have no reason to be, I just am. And that’s definitely a bad habit I should talk to my counselor about. As if she doesn’t tell my mom everything. But the truth is, I’m such a fucking blabber mouth that I tell her everything and she tells my parents. I know they know, they just don’t say anything. They don’t call me insane for having these train of thoughts, they just don’t speak about it. But I hear them arguing about it, every day.

I walk through the school, looking around me at all the high schoolers that go to school with me. Let’s just say, I’m known for my anger issues. And no one likes an angry girl that apparently has nothing to be angry about. But I could name a billion reasons why I get angry at everything. But I don’t need to bitch to all of you about it. Finally, I see Milo and Cyrus. Me and Milo have been best friends since kindergarten. I hate his girlfriend though. And no, it’s not that I have a crush on him or some weird shit, I’m lesbian. But, his girlfriend has just been giving him a hard time. Pressuring him into drugs, cigarettes, all that shit that isn’t for high schoolers. Cyrus is my everything though. Her blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, short and tiny. She’d be every teen movie dream. But what if a girl who is definitely fucked up likes her? Because I’m practically on my knees for her. She’s just everything to me. Why don’t I go for it? I’m sure I’d accidentally break her heart. And she’s fragile. I don’t want that to happen to her, she doesn’t deserve it.

Of course, by the time I get over to them, the bell rings. So no time to talk to my friends then? That’s shitty timing. Cyrus looks a bit down by the bell ringing but shrugged. “We have our first period together anyways. Let’s just walk and talk.” Cyrus suggests. Instantly, I nod. Wait, was that too quick? Do I look like a fucking puppy following around it’s owner? Well that sucks. “Yeah, sure. By the way, I can’t make it to the mall after school. Grace wants me to go to the diner around the corner again.” Milo said. Originally, we had all made plans to go to the mall. Of course, there is no mall in Georgetown. But there are a lot of shops all right next to each other and everyone calls it, “Historic Georgetown”, but we just call it the mall. And, you guessed it, Grace is Milo’s girlfriend. So graceful he won’t break up with her toxic ass. But I guess we all have someone toxic that we’re attached to, right? “Uh, that’s fine. We’ll see if we can find anything you’d like.” I reply with a small smile even though I’m a bit pissed since we had already made plans. But Milo really loves Grace so I won’t get in the way of that despite my judgment on her. 

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Jealousy. It’s an ugly feeling. I wouldn’t say that I want Milo to pay more attention to me because I like him, it’s just that his girlfriend is all he talks about now. He isn’t the same anymore and it’s worrying me. He’s stopped communicating when he’s usually a chatterbox that you’d have to slap tape over his mouth to shut him up, and he just always looks..empty. Not the same Milo I knew a year ago. I’m just worried about him. And I hope the drugs aren’t getting to his head, and that his girlfriend isn’t either.

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Hey everyone! I know that this is my first chapter and it’s not very long but I tried my best and I’m scared that if I close out of it, then I won’t work on it at all. But, thank you for reading this and if you have any ideas, please tell me.

[jimmycartersufo]

I just need to vent about pain and ocd and being autistic for a min so this may be triggering so I'm putting it behind a read more thing. so Cw for pots, issues with autism like melt downs, chronic pain, long covid, ocd.

yesterday the house behind us their dogs jumped our fence and ran around the whole court and into the next but they chased a poor stray cat up a tree. I don't think the dogs are violent or anything but they're puppies (husky) so they have energy and don't know what to do with it and what to do with cats. Anyway I tried to get the cat out of the tree so I picked up a log not thinking about anything else and I ended up literally covered in ants. like I felt my hand burning like static and looked and I was covered with hundreds of ants. after we returned home I ended up spiraling. I've been having an issue with contamination of food and drinks with bugs after an incident that happened the same day as the super Bowl where John got me a little pie, the ones you get from the gas station for a dollar, and I took a couple bites and noticed ants on my hands and it turns out that ants got to the pie. which makes sense bc it was a pie in a little cardboard box no plastic so if you're an ant you'd suss it out from miles away. Anyway it's been a thing that has stuck by me. it's always been a thing with me being nervous with food staying out, putting hot food in the fridge, etc but this was soo bad and has made me feel awful so basically I started to have a meltdown once everything was settled. I then noticed as I was drinking from my water cup that there was a tiny bit of mildew at the bottom of the cup. this put me over the edge plus I had taken allergy pills for the ant bites because I was very itchy and the itchy and weird stinging pain was irritating me so ofc ofc ofc I had a big meltdown which included me sleeping on the bathroom floor for comfort and for the solid feeling that a hard floor gives you. I woke up multiple times extremely groggy because with long covid/pots from long covid I have a hard time with normal things so I just... wasn't having a good time last night which included me trying to sleep. I had multiple nightmares about zionists and ants. I woke up yelling a couple times, basically having an anxiety attack in my dreams. I slept restlessly, obviously, so I would wake up without a pillow or my neck and head at weird angles. so when I actually woke up today I was in an immense amount of pain and feeling like a husk from the mental bullshit I was going through.

mentally I feel OK today but exhausted. like a deflated balloon. physically better by 6pm as it is now. but I'm having really bad hanger pain today, it's coming to me quicker it feels, or I don't have a grasp on time. or my neck is already hurting so I just feel it quicker. my hips hurt. random stabbing pains everywhere which is my normal ty long covid BUT with the ant situation my brain goes oh that's ants inside of you biting you :))))

I really need to shower. can't remember the day I did shower but I know it wasn't too long ago because I dyed my hair purple again. Thursday night? I've been relying on dry shampoo. I'm scared to shower today because of the tiles. tiles trigger me because of the thought of germs and fungus and mildew and bugs. what's sooo funny is we've been having an issue with a shitty member at work, she's been a problem for AGES and it got worse on Friday when she decided to scold a child and I went to her and said hey, if there's an issue with a visitor, you need to tell us and not talk to a visitor BECAUSE THAT VISITOR WAS A MINOR CHILD A MINOR!!!!! A CHILD!!!!! and she's like you're abusive you have abused me etc etc. one of her things is to give sob stories so Black women in particular will hug her it's a fucking thing her other thing is to tell you the graphic details of her sexual assault and abuse which then she explained to one of the security supervisors the reason why she spoke to a child she didn't know was not because the child being anywhere near her but the child jokingly hit their siblings leg ONCE and she saw it and scolded this child in the middle of our fucking lobby and considering this woman is also notoriously racist in the quirky little liberal way (pretending to be color blind but reading a Black person a poem she wrote pretending to be a slave) she was definitely scolding this child because they weren't white anyway I am very worried she gave graphic details to a fucking ten year old child trying to have fun in the museum. Anyway I bring this up because this woman tries to excuse all of her bad behavior on being a survivor of abuse and being triggered but she literally puts people, a captive audience, in a position where they may be triggered. like literally my first month in the job she gave me a graphic description of her sexual assault. and then whenever she confronted about something she either says you're abusive or she's like oh I never thought about it like that. meanwhile I'm afraid to shower because if I see a bug idk what I will do. like I can't shower because I'm afraid of the FUCKING TILES! it's just wild how white women in particular weaponize victimhood and survival. she uses it to collect Black women, because she hates Black men for the obvious racist reasons, and once those women aren't palatable and safe for her she turns on them. And for white women (I'm not a woman but I doubt she understands the concept of gender) when you no longer accept her ruse of being a sweet little victim who can't do harm because she's a victim then you are an abuser. which is funny because I have GONE OUT OF MY WAY to never speak to her in the three damn years I have worked here because of the first interaction I have had with her. she calls me abusive because I had to raise my voice to be heard in a busy lobby, but she also doesn't know who I am because she tried to introduce herself and ask me my name late last year because she did not recognize me, but then she also tried to harass me about not making eye contact with her and greeting her and when I told her I am autistic and I do not make eye contact she just turned around and walked away but yeah I'm Sooooo abusive. did I mention she wrote a poem pretending to be a slave?

which just reminds me of how stressful work has been. there's been a ton of bullshit. every god damn week there's something. multiple somethings. I'm tired. we went to John's family after work for Easter. no one stayed but his mom. so it was his mom and grandma and the whole time she complained about her sons not speaking to her enough and had the audacity to be like well Rea how would your mom feel like ma'am, I have a good relationship with my mom, perhaps it is time for self reflection but regardless of that I really found myself struggling to stay masked as in have the right face, the right tone, the right amount of eye contact, etc. I instantly felt drained. working at the museum the last three years is what triggered me looking into an autism diagnosis despite me suspecting since 2018 at the very least, having autistic people tell me for years, etc. I am not able to fully perform the whole customer service role like I used to but I wonder if I was actually doing such ever. or did I just not realize. it's been a lot of looking back and analyzing and realizing that oops someone should have noticed but for the reasons we know it never really happened. Anyway it was a specific interaction I had with my now former boss where we had these jazz concerts we did and one was coming up and I said I'd work the like second or third one but I had questions and I was like oh I dint know much about this event what should we expect and she had kinda snapped at me and was like Rea your coworker is working this event not you you don't have to be stressing etc and it was.... weird. she sometimes did that, not often but it was a thing that would happen and I felt like very weird because I thought I was asking so calmly and it was a spark like..... is my perception of my social interactions different than everyone else's????? is it truly that bad? but no, actually it wasn't. but me needing to know what to expect even months in advance was Def a major sign and it was literally me needing an accommodation except asking for something explained isn't accommodation it's like, my fucking job but anyway!!!!!

today is a pain day. that was the point. I'm in pain I feel awful. I had a vertigo spell whole laying down but I need to lay down because the pain. Just got a notification the neck massager I ordered from tik tok shop should finally be here tomorrow. I got it because there's no way it isn't good when they have people moaning and whimpering online and I really need something for my neck stiffness and pain. Anyway!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am hoping that soon I will be OK enough to shower. I miss our old shower only because it was big enough where I could shower with John which was really helpful. maybe he can sit there in the bathroom with me?????

I need to stop venting and rambling and go lay down again and drink some water. at least I have a lot of food bc of Easter :) and I can eat ham and Mac and Cheese cold which I prefer because I don't always like. hot food esp if I'm already feeling bad and shitty!!!!! cold Mac and cheese really hits. and my dad made it and he used jumbo noodles which is like not a thing but he wanted to lol and I actually rly like them!

[spacedoutman]

Never too young to die | Oc X Velvet von Ragnar (Part 1)

Penny. The disappearance of the love of her life never stopped haunting top-secret agent Helena “Leni” Hé. What happens when the ghost of her past comes back to not only haunt her, but put everything Leni had ever fought for on the line? What happens when that ghost is the psychopathic Velvet von Ragnar?

Can she stop herself from falling for her again?

Gonna start posting parts here after arguing with people on Facebook.

Warnings: Dark subjects such as abuse, addiction and mental health struggles.

Where would that girl end up? Hopefully, whatever happened, it would be the best it could possibly be. Leni’s mind whisked her away like a hurricane. Penny. Maybe her name would change at some point, right? Maybe, she’d wind up in a prestigious college and move on to never worry about anything again.

Maybe, hopefully, she could use dollar bills as makeup wipes and reassure Leni there was a lot more in the bank and that there was nothing to worry about.

Click. The door pulled Leni’s hand like it was its life mission to slam. Leni fought a war to ease it shut. She locked it. Her heart almost burst from her chest like a bullet. Of course, she had no problem with that. Penny didn’t look like a penny. Leni turned around. There was no way in hell she looked like a Penny.

The dim overhead light touched her features, reflecting her dull eyes and dying her smokey eye-shadow brown. Her white teeth shone between her full lips as a hazy grin ran across them, emphasizing her smile lines. What would her eyes look like if they smiled too? Penny looked more like a Theodora, Evangeline or Maria. If she were a Theodora, her nickname would be Theda.

She looked nothing like Theda Bara. Hell, she should’ve been standing in the driveway of a gilded mansion though, not some dumpy gas station bathroom. Penny’s features were far softer than even Leni’s warm gaze. She’d definitely look stunning in some of Theda’s outfits, that was for sure. Maybe she moved like Theda too. Quiet humming took over. Leni’s heart still rushed with adrenaline.

Penny somehow looked exhausted. Leni cupped her face and pulled her over. Her lips against Penny’s was what heaven was. The smell of lavender conquered the slight hint of mold.

Penny melted into her. Leni grasped her shoulders and pulled her in more. Closer was written all over Leni’s mind. Fire raged in their kiss. Leni’s hands raced through Penny’s curly jet hair. Penny’s arms hung loosely around her neck. Time stopped. Mint overwhelmed Leni’s taste buds in the best way possible. Leni would never pull-

Penny pulled away. Leni cupped her face. Penny’s eyes hung half-shut as she gazed through her thick lashes. Her brows drew together slightly and her lips rested parted. She was drunk on her presence. Leni’s head spun enough to erase the stained up white-ish and brown walls. A soft grin spread across her face. “I just wanted to let you know how beautiful you are.”

Penny looked down for a moment. “I had my eye one of those blue sparkly cars outside.“ Penny said a bit absentmindedly. “You know, those fancy ones?”

“Is that your way of telling me you love me?” Leni teased, Penny gave an airy giggle.

“We’ll definitely get married next then.”

Married. That word sent a slew of happy memories through Leni’s head. Like, running her hands through Penny’s hair even when it grayed, or taking her sweet little honeysuckle to any city she even mentioned. Penny blinked long and slow. Leni couldn’t wipe away her grin. “But wait.” Penny’s eyes widened a bit. She looked down and to the side, her brows pressing down.

“No way. If we did, everyone would be able to tell we were a couple. Our names sound too alike.” She mumbled as if it were the second coming of Jesus (or third).

Leni giggled. She tilted Penny’s chin up. Penny looked up at her, her smile faded by now. “That doesn’t matter.” Leni shrugged. “If we went somewhere far away from here, it wouldn’t even matter. Plenty of Pennies and Lenis hang out all the time.”

“That’s true, Helena, but wouldn’t it raise a lot of suspicion?”

“Just as much suspicion as us being in this bathroom together.” Leni replied, matter of factly but still playfully. “The way I look at you has probably given us away.”

Penny looked down with a little smile. Leni’s hand slid, stopping at her upper arm. Penny leaned into her touch. “Every time I look at you, I hear an angel’s chorus.”

“I can say the same for you.” Penny looked up at her. “What would we do after we got married?”

“What married couples normally do.” Leni joked. “But the rest? We’ll figure it out.”

“Take it day by day.”

“Yeah...” Leni reassured in a dreamy sigh.

Penny rested her hands on the rim of the bathroom sink and sat down. Leni looked up at her. Penny sighed, looking away at nothing. Her pupils unfocused. “There’s not enough room for me.” Leni said playfully. Penny scooted—Leni moved her right back, eyes still wide. “Don’t hurt yourself!” Penny burst into chuckles before looking up at the ceiling and sitting against the mirror.

“I’ll never have to visit another art museum, I can tell you that for sure.” Leni said with delight, stepping beside her and sweeping up her hand (carefully).

Penny looked down at her before bursting into chuckles. Music to Leni’s ears. Leni joined her gladly. “I don’t think anyone’s going to notice our absence.” She shrugged. “We could stay here all night.”

“Does anyone really come in here?” Asked the concerned Penny.

“Drew probably would.” Leni joked. If Penny were drinking something, she would’ve spit it out.

Penny smiled and raised an eyebrow as if she were reprimanding her. Leni rested a hand on her jaw, caressing her cheek with her thumb. “Don’t you have curfew?-” “Curfew my ass.” Leni scoffed. “I’m twenty something and still crashing on mom’s couch.” Leni’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh,--speaking of!”

Penny leaned close. Leni laid the tip of her pointer finger on her chest and pushed her back gently. “Wait.” Leni cooed. “Better yet, close your eyes and give me your hands.” Penny looked away and closed her eyes. She raised her hands. Leni opened her palms and reached into her oversized leather jacket. Penny shrunk a bit.

“Are you getting me a lighter?” Penny huffed, trying to pull a hand away.

“Even better. Cigarettes for days.”

Shiny pearls clicked as Leni laid a what, two or three-hundred year old necklace?, in Penny’s palms. She closed her hands carefully and eased them against her chest. “That feels weird.” Penny whispered humorously… but maybe a little awkwardly.

“Open your eyes.”

Penny looked down. Her jaw could’ve hit the floor as she gasped. “I don’t believe it! You know how much your mother values this thing-”

“I know.” Leni assured, anger sprinkled into her calm voice. “She’ll grieve more than if I got into some freak accident. But as this point, I think she deserves it.”

Leni waited for some optimism to leave Penny. Penny held the necklace close to her chest. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath of the crisp air. “Well, if some freak accident happens, you can count on me to hold it dear.” Penny said in a honey-drenched voice, quiet enough to be a whisper.

“You know if you sell it, you can get a place out of here.” Leni said quickly.

Penny held it tighter. “You won’t ever have to worry about any of those pricks again.” She grew assertive. Her chest tightened. “Not only that, you can get your ass to college and-”

“Leni.” Penny’s little voice rained on the flame. “Everything’s okay.”

Leni’s expression softened. “You’re right.” She bit her lip. “It is okay.” Penny leaned in. Leni cupped her face. She glanced at the necklace which shone like stars in the light. Penny clutched it tightly, yet her hands were as gentle as a dove’s wings. Leni’s shoulders drooped. She looked away for a moment before composing herself.

She rubbed Penny’s cheek with her thumb. Penny closed her eyes, savoring her touch. Leni leaned in, planting a little kiss on her nose. Her thumb hit something rough. Leni forced herself to look. A couple band-aids clung to Penny’s cheek. Only two showed themselves. The rest were hidden under Penny’s sweater. At least there weren’t as many as typical.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be as many bruises this time either. Leni felt as dizzy as she would if she spun. She closed her eyes before-

Leni yanked the glass off the nightstand. Her lungs collapsed as she heaved for air. Her hands shook like mad as she raised the glass to her mouth. Her gasps echoed like her head was a chamber. She chugged. The water failed to help her dry throat. The glass slipped from her hand, crashing against her leg then rolling off and onto the bed.

Darkness touched the pretty neat room, melting it all into an ugly blur.

Where did that girl end up? She could still see Penny as well as she could a picture. Leni rested a hand on her chest, slowing her breathing and closing her eyes. She laid her head back. It was just as easy to remember her trembling hands as she sat on the sofa of that old trailer, waiting for the effects of whatever her mother took to sweep away her grief.

Leni wiped the tears from her eyes. Another deep breath. She’d be lying if she denied feeling a leftover bit of that dread every time one of those blasted memories rolled around. She climbed out of bed. The thick blankets rolled off her. She pulled herself over to the window, taking the dramatic curtains and sweeping them open.

Golden lights shone like stars as they lined the yard. The pool water shone deep blue, touching the cobblestone pavement around it. The moonlight clung to the neatly placed pool chairs, reflecting off the silver grills and shining through the umbrellas that shielded the spotless glass tables. Lush rose bushes watched behind the white picket fences. She breathed deeply, swearing she could smell them from here.

Penny would smile. Why was she still thinking about Penny-

“Mom?”

Leni lowered the magazine. The sun beat down angrily. She looked up at Cliff through her sunglasses and smiled happily. Neon green and purple pool noodles were stuffed under his arms. “I’m going to do something crazy.” He said, bursting with confidence. Leni grinned widely and nodded.

“You know what?”

“What?”

Leni rested an arm on the arm of the pool chair and shut the magazine. “Don’t forget the propeller you were building.” She said playfully. “I think it’s in the garage.” He nodded as if he were taking notes.

“Alright, see you, mom!”

“See you, Cliff. Good luck!”

Cliff gave a rushed nod and scampered off. Leni opened the magazine and looked down. She couldn’t get the grin off her face. Helena “Leni” Hé had seen more than her fair share of things as a top-secret agent. But she’d won in life. She’d succeeded. She had her son, her mansion and hella cash. So why was the memory of Penny, the girl that disappeared all those years ago, still haunting her?

[dreamyzworldlove]

this might have been said before but jason is blond… thalia has black hair… is it possible thalia dyed her hair???

[s-brant]

Epilogue

Five years later. (or the epilogue of hitman!h)

Warnings: past trauma, death, grieving of a loved one, and angst.

-

The rolling hills of the town they live in seem to speak to her on their daily walks.

It's a ritual now. After four years of rising with the sun and finding their sweet, smiling toddler waiting for her in their bedroom, Y/N is now programmed to get her blood pumping with an early morning hike through the rural areas surrounding their quaint home tucked away between the vineyards in the area.

The house they live in used to be an old farm shed when she and Alanis happened upon the cheap property in a newspaper advertisement on their second week in the country. What used to be a rundown, deteriorating building has been transformed into a fully functional home over the course of the years they've spent working on it. It took a while for them to get their bearings in the new country, but, now that they've established themselves here with the bakery they run together, the life they lead is an easy one.

The road to New Zealand wasn't an easy one to navigate.

She still doesn't like to think about it, even after all this time has passed, but, on early mornings such as these, she can't help but come back to it. The rushing water that circled her weary body haunts her, it's the reason she cannot find relaxation in baths the way others can, and, if she tries hard enough, she can still remember how the current tugged at her when she swam for the boat. It tried to bring her under and hold her there until she drowned, and, for a moment, she wanted to let it. If Harry was dead, what business did she have continuing to live without him? But, then, she remembered what she failed to when they were standing on that rooftop and decided to fight.

She never fought for herself, she fought for them. For him, actually.

Every time she looks at Roman, who she named after her father within one second of setting her eyes on him in the hospital room, she sees Harry. There's a good representation of her in their son too, most notably in the shape of his lips and the jaw that he inherited from her, but, other than that, it would be obvious to anyone who knew him who his father was.

He was born with a head of hair, and now that he's four years old, it has grown into the same mop of brunette she once used to run her fingers through in idle moments spent cuddling on the couch with his father. The only difference is that his is straight. He resembles the childhood photos she remembers seeing in the nursing home the night before Harry was killed to an eerie degree.

His personality, on the other hand, is a fifty-fifty amalgamation of the two of them. And, yes, that is as much of a nightmare as it is a blessing at times. When he's energetic, he reminds her of herself as a child and how she was constantly bouncing around, ever the inquisitive little girl always asking questions about everything they encountered. When he's playful, he reminds her of Harry and how the dimples in his cheeks became pronounced whenever he smiled at her. Albeit different due to his young age, she discovered early on that he got his dry sense of humor from his father, not her.

Alanis swears he's exactly like her, not even wanting to speak the name of or acknowledge the man that accounted for half of the sweet child's parentage, but Y/N knows that he reminds Alanis of Harry and she refuses to admit it to herself.

It took a long time for her to work up the courage to tell Alanis the truth.

It took months to find her in Italy after she drove away from the warehouse in Garrett's boat, dyed her hair in a gas station bathroom, and fled the country on the cheapest plane she could find at the last minute. But, eventually, she managed to track her down by combing through the phone books for the name she had yet to legally change, which was something she scolded her for soon after they reunited.

Once they reached the safety of New Zealand with Roman being a few weeks old, however, she spilled every secret she'd been withholding in the months they spent waiting in Italy for the late stage of her pregnancy to give way to the grueling process of labor. Her best friend's reaction had been the same one she had at the beginning: rage. But, the difference between them is, Alanis's rage has lasted years and hers hasn't. Hers has shrunken over time and been transformed by grief in the aimless months she's spent pining for someone who no longer exists.

Unlike Alanis, Y/N isn't afraid of acknowledging the existence of the man who both ruined and saved her life. If anything, she's afraid to forget him, and she must take the reminder of him she sees every day in Roman gratefully. Although painful, it's all she has left of the man she loved.

"Mummy! Mummy! Look at the birds!"

The sound of their boy's high-pitched squeals of excitement wakes her from her thoughts of Harry as they amble down the familiar path of their daily walk over the crest of a hill that overlooks the sea. Past the collection of vineyards, there's a cliff that drops off into the ocean with a small beach at the bottom, and they sometimes go there to watch the sunset on weekends. For their morning walks, they watch them from a distance. That's usually her number one rule—they stick to the path on their walks.

But, for today, she smiles at him and asks, ruffling his hair beneath her hand, "You wanna get closer to them?"

He takes off like a track runner dashing from the starting line with no warning offered to her, and she can't help but giggle at him running off the path of the road into the grassy field before the cliff's edge.

"Don't get too close to the edge!" she shouts with hands cupped around her mouth.

A little arm shoots up above his head to display a thumbs-up that prompts her to shake her head at him. He's his father's son, that's for sure. Much like Harry, he's a boy of few words with most people. She and Alanis are the only two in the world who are blessed with the gift of long conversations with him, but, even then, he gets quiet the same way Harry did quite often and leaves her wishing she could peek into that head of his.

Now that years have passed, she has felt comfortable enough in her new life to stop coloring her hair the shade she picked out when hiding beneath the hood of her sweatshirt in a Florida convenience store. At twenty-six, she remains mostly unchanged by the time that has passed from a physical standpoint. Emotionally? That's a different story.

Every few months, she gets bombarded with questions from Alanis about why she refuses to go out and meet someone new, and every time she tries to explain it, she doesn't understand, so she's stopped trying. Alanis found a way to move on after she was told about what Zayn did to get her out of the city, but Y/N has never been able to escape the love she felt for Harry to the point where she has given up on trying.

"You don't get it," she said to Alanis when they were painting the walls of Roman's room the shade of green he requested before the new school year. "I know you hated him, but..." The words got caught in her throat for a second despite freely flowing in her mind. "He was the love of my life. I mean, it'd be nice to have someone, I guess, but I'll just compare them to him. It wouldn't work."

Alanis was quick to point out the biggest piece of evidence that pointed in the opposite direction.

"He ruined your life"

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

"He actually saved my life. Over and over and over again."

The air is warm where it brushes up against her face and bare legs, clad in a thin pajama top that buttons down the middle and a pair of jeans she cut into shorts herself with their kitchen scissors a few summers ago. Each blade of grass tickles her calves on the walk up to where Roman stands, far away from the edge, with his binoculars held to his face and aimed at the birds swooping and dancing over the water.

She crouches down beside him to make herself closer to his height and asks, reaching a hand out expectantly, "What kind are they, Ro? Let me see."

As he watches her take the binoculars and raise them to her eyes, he says, "I think they're swallows. That book you gotted me showed pictures and they look like those."

Memories are particularly unkind to her in moments like these. Whenever she hears something like that, something so specific to the short period of time she got to spend with Harry those years ago, it hits like a punch to the gut every time, and today is no exception. But, after the pang of pain recedes, it gives way to an aching nostalgia that has her torn halfway between fond recollection and sorrow.

A little hand tugs on one of her long braids in a quiet request to give him back his binoculars, and she makes sure to give him a very pointed stare that reminds him of his place and has him murmuring, "Sorry," with his head hung low.

But, she smiles.

With hands placed under his arms, she scoops him up and shifts them so he sits in her lap with her arms wrapped around his little waist. It provides him the comfort of knowing he isn't in major trouble with her while simultaneously providing her the comfort of having her child near while the past threatens to tug her back into a pit of depression.

He squirms in her grasp for a second before sagging back against her chest and fumbling with his binoculars in his dirty hands before getting them back to his face.

"Did you know," she starts, and as she says it, she thinks she can feel Harry here with them, "that swallows mate for life?"

"Noooo."

"What? They didn't have that in your book? I'm gonna have to have a word with the guy who made it and tell him he needs to get his facts straight."

Birds quickly became a fixation of his after he became old enough to be aware of his surroundings and retain memories beyond the short-term ones that evaded him when he was one and two years old. Part of why they take their walks is due to his fascination with them, and, she cannot deny, when she was first faced with his fixation on them, it felt like a jab of sadistic irony from whatever force that controls the universe on puppet strings.

She presses a kiss onto his temple and allows her smile to widen at the sight of the birds flying up ahead.

"They pick one mate, and when they die, the other one stays until the end. They're one of the only species that does that. Isn't that amazing?"

When he nods, she takes it as her chance to do something she's avoided for as long as she could. It isn't as if he hasn't asked about his father. In fact, the first time was when they were on a walk and one of the women working in the vineyard invited them over to walk the property. Between explanations on how they harvest the grapes and turn them into wine, she asked where his father was, and Roman didn't know what to say. She never mentioned his father. Not yet, anyway, and nobody else ever asked until her.

What she told him that day was the truth: his father passed away before he was born but would've loved him just as much as she did had he not. But, she's been too afraid to mention Harry past that explanation, What happened if she told him stories about him and he started getting upset with her for bringing up something he can never have? What if, when she talks about him, she'll have to confront the fact that he truly isn't coming back?

Pushing through the knot of anxiety sitting heavy in her stomach, she asks him, brushing his hair from his face, "Do you know who told me that?" And, when he shakes his head, she smiles sadly at the birds out above and says, "Your daddy told me that. He had those birds tattooed on him just like me."

Roman simply bursts with excitement at this and spins around in her lap with his hands grappling onto her shoulders for stability. When she sees the happiness on his face, she knows that she hasn't made a mistake in bringing Harry up. If anything, the mistake was waiting this long to do so.

"He liked birds too?!"

A giggle leaves her in the wake of his untamable zeal, and she nods.

Then, he asks, "Can I get a bird tattoo?"

The smile that has been plastered on her face for the past five minutes drops at the question accompanied by his trademarked puppy dog face.

"A temporary one. Not a real one until you're all grown up. Sorry to disappoint but that face doesn't work on me for tattoos, little man."

The idea of a temporary tattoo to match his parents seems to please him for the time being, though, and he spins back around to watch his beloved birds with a happy sigh.

It's the quiet moments like these where she feels the absence of Harry's presence beside her the most. In the mornings when they're sitting and eating blueberry pancakes, when she waves him goodbye outside of his primary school, at bedtime when she tucks him in, and, most of all, when she trims his hair once per month while they sit on the porch stairs together.

She'll look out at the road stretching ahead, knowing that this is the perfect place in the world for their son to grow up—a place of peace and simplicity, far from the chaotic environment in which he was conceived—and picture Harry walking up over the bend of the hill with that dimpled smile on his face. He'd get down on his knees and allow Roman to run into his arms, then spend the next four minutes locked in a tight embrace to make up for each year of his life that he missed.

No matter how impossible it is, there will always be a small part of her waiting for him to fulfill his promise and come find her. It doesn't matter that she now knows that he didn't mean those words literally. Alanis can keep asking and bothering her to put herself out there again, but she chooses to live in those moments of fleeting daydreams while she cuts Roman's hair. What else could anyone expect from her but to wait?

After all, swallows mate for life.

[chaletnz]

Crossing El Salvador: Cerro Verde to San Miguel

We left Cerro Verde for what would be a two day affair to cross the borders getting us to Nicaragua where our real trip continued. I woke up very early to try and get a lukewarm shower at the campsite rather than the cold ones everyone else had been getting. It was a good way to refresh, and then I packed up ready to load my bag onto the van and have breakfast. Deme and I went back to the cafe but having learned from our mistake, we just ordered the regular cappuccino this time! Others in the group did paintballing while the rest of us took our morning easy. The group returned to the bus ready for our five hour drive to San Miguel sweating and covered in welts and bruises. Georgi had been shot particularly hard as she had accidentally hit Max in his manhood and he'd been given a free redemption shot that turned into him emptying the gun on her. The ride was long and dull and broken up only by some gas station stops for snacks along the way. We'd left around 11am from our campsite and had expected to arrive around 5pm to San Miguel. Traffic was quite heavy as we passed through what seemed like El Salvador's only main road. We stopped for lunch at Comida Mercedes in Cojutepeque which was, in a word - chaotic. Walter had attempted a Spanish lesson during the drive and taught us the names of some fruits and vegetables that we might like/not like and lettuce and cabbage which we should not eat at all until we reach Costa Rica due to pesticides. There was a stop to ride a boat around Laguna de Apastepeque for one dollar each, the music was blaring and we all crammed into the boat. The boaties rocked it from side to side to where I was a little nervous that either the boat would fill up with water, or we'd flip over and fall in the lake. After circling the lake and waving at everyone we came across the boaties helped us all back onto land. We got back into the minibus and after a couple more hours we had arrived at a mall in San Miguel down the road from our hotel. We had about 30 minutes to use the toilets, buy some snacks for the long day tomorrow to cross two borders, and look around the mall. We tried to find souvenir magnets for El Salvador but the only ones for sale were $7 and terrible quality. Instead I went to the supermarket to spend some money on some snacks for tomorrow. The cashier didn't believe the $20 bill I paid with was real so they had to check it out, and then he didn't have enough change either so I was stuck waiting for him to get change. I ended up being the last one back to the bus and felt so guilty taking my seat when everyone else was ready. Our hotel was a few more minutes away and then we could check in and shower at last! Walter made a reservation for us in the hotel restaurant and about half the group showed up. I sat with Tyrza, Wout, and Boukje, the Dutch speaking trio as well as Jess, Emily and Cam from the UK. Boukje and Jess split a grilled fish platter and Wout, Tyrza, and I split a barbecue grill platter. It was huge! It came out with chicken, beef, and sausages, as well as about 4 large potatoes cut up on the grill, a bowl of garlic bread, and 4 dipping sauces/salsas. Split between the 3 of us, we only paid about $9 each and ate until we were stuffed. With a few cocktails tacked on there it was still less than $20 for a relatively nice restaurant dinner and drinks. After dinner we headed back to our rooms for an early night before our 4:30am departure tomorrow morning to get to the border. I saw Emily and Georgi sitting in the lobby in a panic that the receptionist couldn't speak English and they needed a taxi. Georgi had dyed her hair again (after dying it two days earlier while at the campsite...) and it had gone fully orange. They were on a mission to try and find some toner but keep in mind these are the two who didn't even know the words to ask for a bathroom in Spanish, going out alone at night when we needed to be ready to leave at 4:30am! I told them to take a photo of the hotel sign and how to say "help" if they ran into trouble and wished them luck.