#but it’s fucking expensive in California

[xx-riffraff-xx]

𓇼~rafayel characterization/headcanons~𓇼

a/n; FISHBOY ON THE BRAIN. CHARACTERIZATION LIST FOR RAFAYEL BECAUSE IDK IF HE'D SAY THAT OR NOT. seen both myths and main story, not all the memory cards yet so this is not set in stone but i think i have a general gist of how he is. spoilers under the cut

would write you love letters. wouldnt show them to you, but def writes them.

you'd love to read them, unfortunately, his handwriting is like your grandmother's cursive. Beautiful, yet illegible.

whiny, spoiled brat on the outside, soft, sweet, considerate lover on the inside.

pretends to be way less competent than he is because he likes the attention.

acts of service and gifts. dont think he's a spoken-devotion kind of person.

will spend days painting, will only stop for you

struggles with pressure, i think. very avoidant. like when thomas is on his ass about a painting, he lashes out and avoids everything, hence why you have to help him finish things.

looooves little treats. you bring him a little treat and he'll do whatever you ask.

guilt complex that manifests as ruthlessness. i can't really explain how this is? but like, his darker side in the Siren Song anecdote and what i've seen of his desert myth (dont want to bother looking it up rn)

likes savory foods!

i dont think he can cook. he can cook just enough to keep himself alive. im talking scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, fried fish, MAYBE learned how to steam a vegetable

doesn't seem the vegetables type.

a note on fish: this man is an apex ocean predator. he is okay eating fish as well as many other sea creatures. he enjoys sashimi, in fact. (sidenote about the author, cant do sashimi because of the texture, but i do like sushi! i am tragically basic, california roll is my favorite.)

doodles you everywhere on everything. paints you. sculpts you. takes pictures of you when youre not paying attention or when he catches you in a particularly captivating light.

his favorite pictures to paint of you are the ones where you are so obviously bright with life.

big spoon, likes to sleep with his nose nestled in your hair.

buys you perfumes/colognes that he thinks go well with your natural scent/preferences/soap scents.

sniffs you. all the time.

loves the fresh laundry, faintly floral scent. prefers subtle, quiet scents.

raf has synesthesia! mainly based around color and scent. (purely a headcanon because i want to explore my own synesthesia.)

absolute baby when he gets sick. even if its just a cold, he is on his death bed and needs you to say his eulogy.

dramatic idiot <3

deals with conflict very maturely, if he fucks up.

if you fuck up tho? it takes a bit for him to make it up to you.

hugs, all the time. from behind, in front, the side, in your lap, in his lap. hugs.

i would pen him for a wine drinker? like, white wines.

very sultry when inebriated. like you've heard of happy drunk, get ready for relentlessly horny drunk. (also has the potential to be a happy drunk. very relaxed i'd say.)

sprawls when he sleeps. also steals the blankets. he will sprawl all over you.

hence, king bed for way too much space to sprawl.

would and has lied about his height.

i actually dont think he'd drive an expensive car tbh. he'd drive like a middle of the road car.

this is probably because he drives recklessly and it's easier to insure a less expensive car lmao

likes listening to your heartbeat. it's comforting to know you're still here. (some element of this will probably be true across all my headcanon lists for the lads guys)

thats all for now, folks! it was somewhat difficult to think of all of these, but i hope you enjoyed!

[applecherry108]

[to the tune of the Lego Movie’s “Everything is Awesome”]

Everything is stressful! 🙃

Every-thing causes anxiety! 🙃

Everything is stressful!! 🙃🙃

When you have ADHD! 🙃🙃🙃

[eastgaysian]

100k is still unquestionably fucking upper middle class for a HOUSEHOLD not even a single person in the bay area btw these people are fucking insane 😭😭

[andshewasamovie]

okay, i'll tag this one so you can find it.

to the anons and commenters: thanks for your responses. that was a fun thing to see.

to watcher: can't wait to see what you do when you don't have advertisers looming over you! super excited for what comes next.

the the fans who have left racist comments on steven's posts: what the fuck is wrong with you?

to all the fans of watcher: i am politely bowing out of this one. i'm pretty sure you guys already hate me anyway, or at least the comments and anons have made it seem that way.

[lesbiancloudtail]

every time i think it's expensive to live in the dc metro area my california mutuals keep me humble

[kerosene-saint]

I need to move some where that has lots of trees. mountains too.

[shithitsmynipples]

Just delighted to discover that "been very emotional about things/ stomach has been very fucked for the last week" is yet AGAIN a result of finasteride really hating me and I'm probably gonna have another surgery 🙃🙃

[deletingmyself]

Days like these I wished I had my own place

[fappellmoan]

lost my stupid dumb ass fucking idiot vape

[femslashspuffy]

It is sooo depressing to move from Colorado to Texas I'm applying for jobs for next semester and they're like 'yeah we're so cool we'll pay you $10 an hour" and I'm like I could make double that at Home Depot here bad bad kill

[water-in-the-wind]

It is absolutely insane that the cheapest space for rent in my hometown is a STUDIO with no ac, no washer/dryer hookup, no pets allowed, and street parking only for $1,450 a month 😭 wtf

[bookclubforghosts]

There was that one Reddit post that was like “I just realized you can actually make hundreds of thousands a year, what the fuck am I doing, I gotta go back to school NOW”

and it made me think about how the job I’m doing is something I love but I only made $12k last year and most of that was spent on gas and food and vet bills and programming supplies for work that my work’s budget couldn’t afford

and then I got a raise in January which was great! and I’m supposed to get promoted this year in august and it’ll be a really good promotion that will double my income !!!

but that’s still not really enough to sustainably live on

so I have to go back to school for my masters so I can get a librarian job that’ll pay $60k/year hopefully and I got accepted for a 25-week certificate program (woo!!) so from there starting in January I can go for my masters officially

so Yknow 2 years from now when I have that degree fingers crossed I’ll be a real librarian but then I think about how there are still people who make double that. Triple that. Quadruple that.

And I feel nauseous.

Because while I’m working towards 60k, I’ll be making $15k and then maybe hopefully possibly $30k, and all the while there are ceos making $200 or $300 or $400k and I don’t know if what they do is as meaningful as library work yknow but idk idk idk

So now I am looking for a second job in the meantime right.

And I found some that pay twice what I’m making now in the publishing industry as proofreaders.

And it’s really hit me that I could make my promotion’s annual salary in 6 months of work.

If I was in a different industry my bachelor’s degree would be worth, income-wise, that of my hypothetical master’s.

And Yknow you see that 54% of American adults can only read and comprehend up to a 6th grade level and you see teachers and libraries so underfunded that your staff members are making pennies and can’t afford to live in the area they serve and it’s so disheartening and not even surprising that the literacy rates are so low and keep dropping

And I don’t even know where I’m going with this I’m just frustrated and sad and anyways fingers crossed I get an interview at one of these publishing places I applied to tonight idek I need more money

[heich0e]

iwaizumi got a lower back tattoo on his 21st birthday.

if you showed one hundred people in the street a photo of 30-year-old hajime, and then surveyed them as to whether or not they think he has a lower back tattoo, it's unlikely more than one of them would say yes—and even the one who did probably just misheard the question. it's as unbelievable a thought as any, and still somehow it's true.

he was 21, legally drunk for the first time in america, and hanamaki and matsukawa had finally come to california to visit him to mark the occasion. it was kind of a stupid trip, they realized afterwards, because issei and hiro were still only 20 and couldn't even go out to the bars near UC irvine that all of iwa's college friends were inviting him out to for the first time.

but he didn't mind.

he bought them beer and sugary canned cocktails from the convenience store near campus using the birthday money his nanay sent him, silently repenting in his mind as the store clerk in the polyester vest rang the expensive purchase through. then they all got drunk in iwa's tiny student apartment while they played video games, called oikawa, and eventually wandered out into the warm california night in search of food.

the details beyond that are fuzzy, but the lines inked into the little space at the bottom of hajime's spine are not—even after nine whole years.

most people have no idea about the tattoo—and hajime has gone to great lengths to keep it that way. he wears a compression t-shirt at the gym so there's no risk of it riding up and accidentally revealing it. he orders patches to conceal it on the rare occasion he goes to onsens. he never showers with the athletes at work, always either opting to shower at home, shower after the team, or use the staff facilities when available.

but in spite of all of that, he's not embarrassed of it.

he doesn't even really regret it.

it's just not anybody else's business.

the ink on his skin is a secret kept between him, matsukawa, hanamaki, the guy who tattooed him, and oikawa who was screaming on facetime in the background while it happened.

and now you, too.

your hand snakes up the back of hajime's sweatshirt as he stands at the stove preparing breakfast, cool fingertips tracing the curls of ink even without seeing them—having long mapped them to memory. hajime suppresses a shiver, not expecting the contact, as you crowd yourself closer to his back and lean your weight against him.

"i was trying not to wake you," he says quietly, the hand not holding the chopsticks he's flipping his omelette with reaching behind him in search of you.

"you didn't," you murmur into his back, catching his seeking hand in yours and twining your fingers together. "smelled food."

hajime laughs to himself, his eyes crinkling. he squeezes your fingers tightly as his heart thuds in his chest.

underneath his sweatshirt, your nails rake lightly against his skin.

"shouldn't i be making your breakfast?"

hajime transfers his omelette to the plate waiting beside the stove, flicking off the burner and then turning to face you. he wraps his arms around you and holds you properly now, your face burrowing into the collar of his hoodie the way you always do, his nose brushing your temple.

"wanted to let you sleep a bit longer," hajime grunts out, his cheeks burning a bit hot—still shy, sometimes, even after so much time has passed. "thought you might be tired after..."

you snort, your head popping up to look at him. "after you fucked me within an inch of my life into the wee hours of the morning?"

the fire burning under hajime's skin grows even hotter. he splutters a little, and struggles to meet your gaze.

"i'm not tired," you whisper, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. the incorrigible one he fell in love with. "we were celebrating, after all."

hajime's eyes are burning a little bit, to complement the stinging in his cheeks. you lift your hand up to his face so you can feel the heat of his skin, and he rests his own hand—larger, more calloused than your own—to rest overtop of it. he looks at you, and sees happiness reflected back at him in your gaze. so fathomless he thinks he could drown in it.

hajime turns his face into your touch, and his eyes flutter closed as he noses against your palm.

he presses a kiss there. soft. adoring.

then another, just slightly higher, to the ring he put on your finger the night before.

he peeks at you again, that same heat in his cheeks, though not nearly as unbearable.

he's got another secret he doesn't regret now, one just as permanent as the ink in his skin, but this one won't stay hidden long. eventually he'll call his parents, and his nanay will probably get teary. then he'll tell his friends, who will put his mother's tears to shame. he'll leave the tattoo artist out of it this time, though—wherever that guy is now.

"happy birthday, hajime," you whisper to him with a smile he can't help but return.

he might keep this secret between the two of you today, though. just for a little while longer.

it'll be his gift to himself.

[howlingwolf23]

And they don't mention that the adobe is turning back into sand so the structure basically needs to be completely teared down as it's not salvageable

I still love New Mexico real estate listings. They’re like “This iconic adobe structure was built in 1843. There is an abandoned flooded silver mine in the back yard. This home served as a brothel, saloon, general store, post office and military base during the Mexican-American War. The abandoned silver mine in the backyard is infested with vampire bats somehow, you’re not allowed to fill it in because scientists are will studying it. The house was remodeled in the 1970s when archeological excavation of the silver mine revealed it had been the dumping site of a serial killer who was active between 1896 and 1901. Three luxurious bathrooms, 5 spacious bedrooms and a lovely courtyard. Billy the Kid stayed here during the Lincoln County War and reportedly haunts the property. In addition to the vampire bat infestation, there are a number of poisonous spiders inhabiting the mine, do not go in the mine. We cannot warn you away from the mine enough. Otherwise, a fantastic property with so much history and so few malicious entities inhabiting the structure and land. $2.3 million dollar asking price.”

[remy]

Hey y'all. Moving across the country is really fucking expensive. Like the full amount of our gfm wouldn't cover it. Like almost $8000 expensive. If anyone can spare any money at all we really need it.

Gfm link

My ppal

Vnmo is negans

Anything helps, we'll have an update and breakdown of the cost of everything soon. We've been stuck in California with my partners verbally abusive parents for two months and we really just need to go.

Please don't tag as anything

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes �� bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.

After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?

An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.

Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.

The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.

It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.

(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)

They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.

In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”

Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”

A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.

~~~

Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.

Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –

Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.

He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.

~~~

They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.

Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”

His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.

~~~

It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.

Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.

Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.

The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.

He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.

~~~

They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.

They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.

“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”

“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.

“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?

“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”

~~~

They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.

And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.

He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.

Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.

It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.

~~~

The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.

Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.

Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.

They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.

“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.

~~~

“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.

It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.

(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)

They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.

They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.

He looks golden, in this light.

After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?

“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”

They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.

“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”

He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.

As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.

Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.