#decided to make a shitty edit

[flowercrowngods]

happy valentine's day to my favourite trio in particular 🫶

[daily-basil]

The FUCK happened

Scrunched up tissue paper

[fritzes]

Jannik Sinner // "Young Volcanoes" by Fall Out Boy

[alien-girl-21]

Jere hip sway + ricky martin = latina

anon you put this idea in my head and i deliver in the worst way possible:

(inspired by my stupid ass tags in @tuituipupu 's post)

[destinedtobeloved]

‘Kelly is my boss’

[razorsadness]

maybe we’ll hug each other in a past life (part one of three)

So much to say, and where to begin. “Begin at the beginning, and when you come to the ending, then stop.” I guess I’ll begin with the Giant Paddy O’s Show on September 7th, as that was the first big event of these past two+ months, and I jotted down so many notes about it.

We were truly blessed that day; it was the first day in months when it was chilly enough to be leather jacket weather, which was perfect for the outfit I was gonna be rocking that night. I was vending at the White Lilac, a new venue in Kenosha (well, they’ve been open about a year now), and also performing on the stage there at the end of the night. The day before, I’d been told by one of the event organizers that I had to bring my own card table for vending, unless I wanted to use one of the small high-top bar tables at the venue. I have a card table I could’ve taken, but I really didn’t want to haul that around on top of all my merch, etc., so I was just like, fuck it, guess I’ll use a small table. But, blessing number two, when I walked in to the White Lilac and explained my situation, Kelly—the owner, who was also working the door alongside his wife that night—said: “No worries, we have an extra table you can use!” and pulled a long folding table out from under the stage. And right after that, he gave me a free bottle of water and a free basket of popcorn fresh from their popcorn machine. The little while after that was spent setting up my table and waving away the yellowjackets that flew in the open door and landed on my popcorn, then I went outside to have a cigarette before the first performer went on stage. That’s when Pookie and Dean showed up, and I was like: “Holy flashback to 2000-2004, Batman.” Dean said ‘hey’ to me but we didn’t talk much, he seemed anxious and wanted to stand off by himself chainsmoking, which hey, I get it. But Pookie, he came up and gave me a huge hug and said: “It’s so good to see you.”

Here’s a little summation of my friendship with Pookie: he is one of the few friends from that era of my life I had a totally platonic relationship with. Though actually it requires a more nuanced explanation than that. When I say “platonic relationship,” I don’t necessarily just mean people I never hooked up with, I mean people that there wasn’t even any flirtation or romantic/sexual spark with. And actually he and I did make out—once. It was at a Halloween party at Paddy O’s in 2003, and a bunch of us were out back in the beer garden, and Beagan and I started making out (because that is the kind of friendship we’ve always had), and Pookie and Beagan had made out before so they started making out, too, and we were all drunk and back then Pookie and I were both single and we were both makeout bandits, so we made out for a little while before stopping and just looking at each other like: “No.” Later, we talked about it, and we were both like: “No offense, I love you, man, and it’s not that you’re unattractive, but there was no there there, and I feel like if we ever made out again it would just make me feel weird and sad, so, let’s not?” And then we cheers’d each other and that was that, there was never any awkwardness between us afterwards, we just both knew we did not at all feel that way about one another. We had a great friendship, the kind where you can give each other a hard time in an affectionate way, but also have deep, meaningful conversations, and know that the other person always has your back. Like, we could talk shit to/about each other (he’d call me a dirty Mick and I’d call him a filthy Frog—though I have French ancestry too, he’s mostly French; we’d make fun of each other’s favorite music), but if anyone else seriously talked shit about one of us, or did something fucked up to one of us, and the other one found out? Heads would roll. He was one of the only guys that were part of the Paddy O’s crowd/Kenosha scene who a. believed me and b. cared when I started telling people that the King of Kenowhere had raped me. Yeah, we were great friends, but I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in at least a decade until that Saturday night—not because we’d had a falling out, just because life happened—and then he hugged me, and let me tell you, I hadn’t been hugged like that in such a long time. It was the biggest, warmest hug, full of love and 20+ years of friendship. He hugged me, and then we immediately went on to reminisce about ye olde days.

Back inside the White Lilac, the first act, Kenye, a glampunk poet/musician, went on. He performed songs about being bipolar, and about class war, and one called “Emily Dickinson Was Right,” and then he performed poems about heartbreak and ghosts (specifically about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin). So clearly I have a lot in common with this fella! I went up to him after his set, to say I really liked his stuff, and to talk about ghosts. I told him some of my own stories of local haunted places, and mentioned that I’d also done a lot of research about haunted places in southeastern Wisconsin for a blog post when I was writer-in-residence a few years back. Kelly overheard us talking, and jumped in with his own spooky local story, and it was pretty neat, to be chatting about ghosts and haunted places with a couple likeminded folks.

Codes Within Codes (aka Cody) went on next, and I got really into his stuff. It was like Radiohead meets the Chemical Brothers meets some heavier industrial bands. I was messaging with Yoni at the time, and was like: “Oh hey, check this guy’s stuff out,” and he did, and said he dug it, and might play it on his radio show at some point. Then I got my first beer of the night, a tallboy of Garage Beer. I’d never had it before, or even heard of it, but I liked the name and specifically chose it because it has a low ABV. Even with the low ABV, I sipped it slowly, because it was still early on in what was gonna be a long night, and I did not want to get blotto before my set. I sipped my beer, watched (d)VICES’s set. One of the people vending at the table next to mine was this gorgeous woman; I immediately got a teensy crush on her. She came over to look at my stuff, bought a copy of my mini art zine, and we chatted about various stuff, art and music and zines and the like. Somehow the topic of train hopping came up; it turns out we both used to do that. And then we were talking about our favorite cities and it turns out she has a New Orleans connection, too, and even knows some of the people I know there. Shit like this happens to me all the time—meeting new people and discovering they have connections with some of the same people and places I do—but every time it happens, I’m amazed all over again at how fucking small this world is. Also, she had a leopard print sweater tied around her waist, and I noticed that she had a leopard-spot tattoo on one of her arms. I was wearing a leopard print shirt, and I rolled up my sleeve to show her my leopard-spot tattoo. She said: “Leopard twins!” and we fist-bumped.

Then it was time for me to head over to Paddy O’s to see The Yates Kids. Oh, The Yates Kids. One of my longtime Kenocore favorites. (There’s a lot more I could say about that band, but I’ll get back to that later.) I’ve seen them at least a dozen times over the years, but it had been over nine years since I’d last seen them, and, other than the Bikini Kill concert in April 2023, I hadn’t seen any live punk show since pre-pandemic. So, needless to say, I was stoked. All the Paddy’s bands were playing on an outdoor stage, back in the beer garden, so first I walked in through the front door, and waited at the bar to get a drink. It was packed, so I had to wait a while, and while I waited, I noticed my friend Hank was standing at the bar next to me. He was standing next to a guy I vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. They were talking about feeling old, and I jumped in and said: “I know the feeling.” Hank said: “Oh yeah, you’re like the same age as us, huh?” And I said: “I think I’m a little bit younger than you are.” (Hank is 48, I’m only 42.) The other guy said: “Jesus, Hank, are you saying she’s an old man, too?” Then, turning to me: “You don’t look like an old man. You’re beautiful.” Hank said: “Hey, this is my friend High Life. High Life, this is Jessie.” High Life reached out to shake my hand, and said: “It’s great to meet you.” I said: “Oh, we’ve met before,” because at that point I’d realized who he was, but he was adamant that we had not met. “No way. I wouldn’t have forgotten you. You’re way too hot to forget.”

Let’s go back in time for a minute. Back in the days when I spent most of my time at Paddy O’s and The Port (or at least, most of the time I was in Kenosha), High Life was a regular at both bars, too. He was a sexy, fucked-up punk rock dude, and I was a fucked-up punk rock girl (and all the Kenosha punk dudes found me irresistible, ha ha), and when none of our other friends were around, we’d drink together, and flirt. Eventually, we ended up hanging out outside of the bars, one-on-one or at parties; we’d make out and do drugs together, and we fucked a couple times. It was never anything serious, but it was what we both needed (or at least what we wanted) at that point in our lives. Then I stopped hanging around those bars quite as much, and by the time I was back in that scene he’d gotten married and had a kid and stopped coming to the bars much at all for a while. We’d still run into each other at shows occasionally, but we never really talked, and before September 7, we hadn’t seen each other in over nine years. Still, I never forgot him. He was a good dude, despite his issues, and aside from the sex and drugs, we also shared great conversations. I’d sometimes think of him, and our brief symmetry, fondly, especially when I was nostalgic for my misspent youth of wild parties and brief flings. So yeah, as soon as Hank introduced us and I heard his name, I knew who High Life was. And even if that hadn’t rung any bells for me, I would’ve figured it out by the time I went out to the beer garden to see the band, because did I mention he’s one of the guitarists for the motherfucking Yates Kids? Yeah, he is.

So there I was, feeling really fucking awkward, because he was sorta hitting on me (which, don’t get me wrong, was great—he’s still a cutie and I don’t get hit on so much these days) yet insisting that we’d never met. It’s not that I was upset that he’d forgotten me—our little thing ended 20+ years ago, and as I said I hadn’t even seen him in nearly a decade, and we’re older and look different and I hadn’t even recognized him at first, and not everyone’s memory works the same way mine does—it’s just. What was I supposed to say: “We’ve definitely met. We used to fuck! We’ve shot up together!”? I was not going to do that. What I said was: “Oh, y’know, it was like twenty years ago, back when everyone was at this bar every night. No worries.” He said: “I really think I’d remember you. But we’ll talk more later, okay? I gotta get out to the stage.” He headed outside (Hank had already wandered off, to talk to another friend of his); I got my drink (whiskey & ginger ale), then I headed towards the beer garden, too. On my way, I saw Lily. She gave me a hug and said she had a gift for me. I asked her to bring it over to the White Lilac later, so I could stash it in my suitcase rather than trying to carry it around; she said she would. Then I saw Honey, who said: “I just texted you YATES KIDS NOW!!! because I knew you wanted to see them tonight.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m way ahead of you on that one, babe.”

Outside, I made my way through the crowd and got a spot near enough to the stage I could see the band, but far enough away I wouldn’t be bumped into by anyone in the slam pit. Then The Yates Kids played, and it was awesome, just what I needed. I danced my ass off and sang along to all the songs I knew, which was most of ‘em, and I watched everyone in the pit and was happy that there was a pit and that it was mostly women and old punks. Joni, who was also there dancing and singing along, came up and gave me a big hug and then went back to dancing, and I sipped my drink and looked around at all the familiar faces. There were also some faces who notably were not there, and I don’t just mean the dead punks—I mean a couple of dudes who were part of the Kenocore scene who have now been kicked out of bands and banned from most events because word got out they were rapists and abusers. It’s been really heartening to see, actually. The tide is turning—people are less likely to tolerate that type of shit these days, at least as far as I can tell—and what’s been especially heartening is that most of the people making sure these fuckers don’t show their faces have been other (cis, straight, white) men. Back when the King of Kenowhere raped me, well…

Granted, it took me a while to tell anyone (other than Jenny) what had really happened, but… Okay, so. K.K. had a reputation for being a heartbreaker/womanizer type. There were a lot of girls and women in southeastern Wisconsin who “hooked up with” or dated him, and then weeks or months later were like: “Fuck that guy.” I was not the first, nor was I the last. The guys in the scene—his bandmates, other dudes that ran in the punk scene or just hung out at the same bars—they just assumed he’d broken our hearts and moved on to the next girl, and that’s why we hated him. But a while after he raped me, I started talking to the other women that hated him, and discovered that no, he hadn’t broken our hearts. He’d either raped us or emotionally/physically abused us, or some combination thereof. We kinda became a whisper network; we spread little bits of what had happened to all of us in a way that wouldn’t “out” any of us individually, to try and warn other girls away from him before he got his hooks in. (He was really good at turning the charm on so you wouldn’t notice all the red flags, and if you did happen to notice one of the red flags? Well, he’d tell you some sob story about his life that made you think: “Poor little sad baby boy, I will take care of him in a way no other girl ever has, I can fix him, and he will understand me.” And now I’m thinking of Kathleen Hanna’s “True Love:” And then she met this boy (the anti-hero) who had these beautiful sad eyes and looked like a lost and abused little child and he said, “I am wild like you, I am fun loving like you and understand what has happened to you, I will love you.”) I’ll never know for sure, but I can only hope that our whisper network kept at least some women from being hurt by him. But yeah, the guys just never knew. Or didn’t want to know. And when I finally tried to tell some of them what had really gone down, most of them responded with: “Oh. That sucks.” And that was that. They didn’t kick him out of their bands or kick him out of bars or beat his ass or even seem all that concerned about what had happened to me and all those other women.

So, yeah. It’s just heartening to see that the women in that scene are now being believed, and the men are now keeping the creeps and abusers and rapists out as much as possible. (Thankfully, K.K. was also not there, nor were any of the guys who brushed off what he did to me.)

After The Yates Kids’ set, I walked back across the street to the White Lilac. I stopped outside, in the purple lilac dusk, first, to have a cigarette. Micah walked over at that point, and we talked for a while. Micah is the guy who sets up the whole Giant Paddy O’s show every year; that night he was also performing not one but three sets—one solo and two with different bands. Oh, and he’s my best Beagan’s ex. We’ve messaged each other a bit since they broke up, but I hadn’t actually seen him in person since, and that was two and a half years ago. My loyalty is of course to my bestie, but she’s never told any of her friends to cut off contact with him (it wasn’t that kind of breakup), and they were together for such a long time that he and I became good friends in our own right. It was really, really good to see him. After our chat, we both went into the White Lilac, and it was time for Micah’s solo set, as Torrahbull. His solo stuff is electronic and really fucking good; it reminded me a lot of The Prodigy and some other big beat stuff from that era, mixed with abstract hip-hop, and I once again danced my ass off. (Micah messaged me the next day and said the highlight of his set was looking out into the crowd and seeing me dancing.)

Then I just sat at my table, watched some other poets and musicians perform, sipped another beer, talked to people that stopped at my table. A few people bought zines; I made some new friends and talked to more old friends. Lily came by, gave me the gift she had for me—a miniature horse skull replica, because we’ve been trying to get a Mari Lwyd happening in our area for the Yule season for years now, but there’s always been some hiccup or other. (Fingers crossed, it may actually happen this year!) Now that night had fallen, there were no more yellowjackets flying in—there were moths flying in, instead. But moths are significantly less bothersome than yellowjackets. Cody stopped by my table; we traded stickers. I told him that I’d recommended his music to a radio DJ friend in Philly, and he was stoked. He also told me that he’d recently been making connections with some electronic musicians out in Philly, and so might actually end up playing some shows out there in 2025. And again, it was a moment of meeting someone new who has a connection to some of the same places and/or people I do.

Every once in a while, I ducked outside for another cigarette and a moment alone, or to talk to people who were hanging outside. Hank had come over to the White Lilac by that point, and we had a big long conversation about everything from local poetry community drama to politics to parenthood to punk. He told me how his other friend (meaning: not High Life) that had been at Paddy O’s had left after the Yates Kids set, because he thought things were getting “too crazy.” He said: “I mean, he’s from here, but he’s lived in Oregon for a long time now, and I think he forgot what the midwest punk scene is like.” We talked about how midwest punks are a rare breed; how most of us are lifers in the scene even if we don’t go to shows and party hard every week like we did when we were younger. We agreed that Midwest is best and that midwest punks are more hardcore than punks anywhere else. Then we were just quiet for a bit, looking around at the neon signs of restaurants and bars and the lights bending and refracting on the water in the harbor, and it was like a hundred thousand nights before and it was just as beautiful as the first time. I said something about the lights on the water, how poetic it was, and he said: “It is poetry.” There’s not too many people I could have that exchange with without feeling like a huge dork, but Hank gets it.

Then it was time for Joni’s set, and my set, with Honey (as Dead Language Decoder) backing us up. I had brought my tripod so I could get video of the whole thing, but when I pulled it out, I discovered the locking pin was missing. Fortunately, one of the people at the table next to mine had electrical tape, and when I got the tripod to the right height, he helped me tape it into place. Joni went first, and she brought the house down—she’s a fucking amazing performer (as well as a phenomenal poet). When I went up, I said: “I don’t know how I’m going to follow that.” I wasn’t actually looking for encouragement—I wasn’t feeling bad, I was just simply trying to acknowledge how fucking great she was, in a mildly self-deprecating way—but still, a few people shouted: “You got this!” And I did have it. My performance went great, too; I’m not the same kind of performer Joni is, but when I’m on I’m on, and that night I was on. Afterward, we hung around while Honey did some of her music solo. I started packing up, while also talking with more people. Pookie gave me another big hug on his way out, said: “I love you.” (Oh, to be told you are loved by an old friend! That’s the stuff!) One of the other poets who’d performed earlier in the night came up to me, and said she was heading home to immediately go write some new poems, because my stuff had inspired her so much. (That’s the stuff, too—being told my writing inspired someone else is probably my favorite compliment ever. Though being told my writing made someone cry is a close second.)

After my stuff was packed up, I stepped outside for one last cigarette and to chat with a few more friends/say my goodbyes before hauling my stuff to my car and heading home. I talked to Hank some more, and then: oh, High Life was there, too. Turned out he’d been in the crowd for my set. “Hey,” he said, “your stuff is really good.” “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, “I uh…I do remember who you are. We used to…” “Yep, we did.” “You must think I’m a complete asshole, or maybe just stupid, huh?” “Nah, it was more amusing than anything. Like I said, it was a long time ago.” “Yeah. Oh, but hey—I did mean what I said. I think you’re hot.” “Thanks.” “We’re all going over to The Port for the after party. You should come.” “Wish I could, but I’m kinda beat. Plus I don’t wanna get too drunk before I have to drive all the way back to Racine.” “I get it. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” “Yeah, maybe.” Then he gave me a hug and moseyed off to the after party. I said goodbye to Joni and Honey. Honey said: “It’s so good to see you. You need to come out more often.” “I for sure do,” I said, and she hugged me. Then Joni hugged me and said: “I love you. Your stuff is so awesome.” “So is yours,” I said, “It was so good to perform together again. It’s been too long.” “We should do it again soon!” “Yes we should! I love you.” And with that, I went back inside the White Lilac one last time, grabbed my stuff, put it in my car, and drove home.

My whole family was already asleep when I got there (no surprise, as it was well after midnight), but I couldn’t fall asleep. I was still fired up from all the love, and the music, and the adrenaline spike I always get when performing. It didn’t help that through the open window of my bedroom I could hear both an owl hooting in a nearby tree, and a loud accordion from someone blasting norteño music a few streets away. When I finally did fall asleep, I had sex dreams about High Life.

The next morning, I received Facebook friend requests from both Dean and High Life. I accepted both. Dean and I immediately got to chatting. He apologized for not really talking to me when he saw me the day before, but said that he has really bad social anxiety these days, and was currently in the process of adjusting his meds, so was extra on-edge that night. I of course said “no worries, I get it,” because though my anxiety isn’t as social-based as his is, it can sometimes be triggered by social situations, and I’d had my panic meds in my bag at the show just in case. Then we started talking about other stuff, like the Beats—he’s one of the few people I’ve ever known who was into the Beats in as deep a way as I am. In any case, we message each other about random stuff every few days or so, now, and I’m glad he’s back in my life. The first message High Life sent me was very flirtatious, a lot of: “No, seriously, when am I gonna see you again?” And I was very tempted to respond with: “I’m free whenever you are,” cuz like I said, he’s still a cutie, and his band rules, and the sex dreams were hot as fuck, but I decided to play it cool, and ultimately decided that I’m not gonna pursue anything with him. Mostly because it would be 5000 kinds of messy—the Kenosha scene is very small and borderline incestuous (not in the literal sense, obviously), and I banged my way through it Back in the Day, and there was so much drama, and there would probably be even more drama now, and as I’ve said before…I am too old for that shit.

I was feeling good all day, albeit a little achy (I fucked my hip up dancing at the show) and tired, but mostly good. Realizing that so many people remember me fondly, and like me, and like seeing me, and want to see me more often. And then in the evening I got a text from our landlady: “Can I come do a walkthrough of the property next Saturday?” And I went into full-on panic attack mode. I was shaking, crying, pacing, swearing, the whole bit. Because I have had bad experiences with landlords or their lackeys doing walkthroughs. Especially when we lived in the house on Colonial Ave.—our landlady’s daughter was always trying to evict us because she didn’t like the way we kept house or yard, and basically just didn’t like us, and was also a raging bitch. So I was having flashbacks to that and going: “Oh my god, what’re we gonna do, what’re we gonna do?!” And P. was very calm and rational, saying: “It’ll be fine, we’ve lived here over six years and have never had problems with her, and she gave us almost a week’s notice. We’ll just clean and organize as best we can, but she has to understand that we live here.” And though I knew, logically, that he was probably right, I couldn’t turn my panic off, because panic is not logical, and then he got kinda shitty, telling me I had to get my shit together because I was upsetting the kids. And of course I didn’t want to upset the kids, duh, but telling a person in the midst of a panic attack to calm down and get their shit together does not help.

The following week was full of mostly bullshit, broken up with small good things. We had to do all kinds of cleaning and organizing, and my hip injury had gotten worse, so I was in a lot of pain while doing all that. Plus I was still internally panicking about the impending walkthrough, and the kids were both in constant bad moods, and during that week it was Derry’s birthday and I was missing him so hard and worried about him too because he’d had surgery in the time since I’d last seen him, and I wanted to write but had hella writer’s block, and after our one weekend of cool leather jacket weather it had gotten hella hot and dry again (and windy—and hot dry winds make my allergies worse), and ugh ugh ugh. The small good things were trips to the craft store for Halloween-related craft stuff, and making visual art. And I got to talk to Derry—though we couldn’t be together on his birthday, I was able to call him—and he was doing well; the surgery was a success and he was recovering speedily.

And the walkthrough happened, and it was chill. The landlord said she understood why our house was a bit cluttered, and she wasn’t upset about any of the normal wear and tear. She said she was going to have the front porch repainted and repaired (there were a couple boards that were partially broken and needed replacing), and the broken storm door replaced. The only thing she seemed a little concerned about was how overgrown our yard was—not grass-wise, but “weeds”-wise. She asked if we could do some weeding, especially out front, so she didn’t get a citation from the city, and that a week later she’d come back with her husband to haul it away to the yard waste composting place. We of course said yes, no problem. So after she left, I breathed a sigh of relief—I really thought P. had been right; I had been panicking for no reason, and everything was fine.

The next day we went to a local farmer’s market, for fresh apples and cranberry white cheddar and some other treats. I dressed up a bit, for no other reason than that I felt like it, and took a selfie, and the day after that I posted it on Facebook with the caption: “I looked hella cute and autumnal yesterday.” And a bunch of people commented, and one was Ashanti, saying: “Hell yeah you did.” And I responded with: “Miss you, lady,” but the amazing thing was she was typing the literal exact same words to me at the exact same time, and we both clicked ‘post’ within a millisecond of each other. And then she said: “We said it at the exact same time. That means we’ve gotta fix it.” So we started DMing about when we can get together. That was two months ago and we still haven’t yet—we’re both very busy—but I almost cried tears of joy that day when we first got back in touch. We hadn’t talked in so long, and I really thought she hated me or at least had written me off entirely. See, for a while after we met, she was relentless in trying to hang out with me one-on-one, and we only did a couple times—partly because we were both busy a lot, but partly because of some weird feelings/insecurities on my end—and then she just stopped trying, and when I would message her she wouldn’t respond, and yeah, I thought I’d fucked up what could’ve been a really close friendship. Well, from talking to her again I found out that it had nothing to do with me. She’d just been going through her own shit and wasn’t very active on social media (including messaging apps) for a while. Much like seeing all those old friends the night of the Paddy O’s show, it was a reminder that a. everyone has their own shit going on that can keep them from reaching out and b. most of the people I care about still care about me, too.

On the last day of summer, we took the kids to Old World Wisconsin. We drove there on the backroads, through all these small towns, one of which was having their autumn festival that day. The houses and the downtown storefronts were so lovely, and I briefly thought: “I could live here,” and then I saw how the ratio of Trump signs to Harris signs was, well, heavily skewed towards the Trump side. Old World Wisconsin itself was fun—despite the fact that the weather was still very much summer weather (it was 90 degrees that day)—we learned about Norwegian rosemaling and old-school shoemaking, and played a game of sticks and hoops, and P. and I got to try an old-style Lithuanian beer. When we got home that day, we did a bunch of weeding in both the front and the back (focusing on the front), and piled everything in the front yard. And not an hour after we’d finished, our landlord showed up. She did text first, but I wasn’t looking at my phone—but anyway, they decided to come by and haul the stuff away early because it was supposed to rain the next day. And that’s when shit got really weird. She started freaking out about all the “weeds” we still had left, even though I thought we’d done quite a good job of clearing things, and she started freaking out about the clutter that she’d previously said she understood. We didn’t talk much about it that day because they were in a hurry to load everything into their truck, but she seemed really pissed and said that over the next couple weeks, they’d be coming by not only to repaint and repair the porch and replace the storm door, but also to clear out the rest of the yard to their liking. So I was immediately panicked again.

But the next day, the first day of autumn, came with a drop in temperature and some soothing and much-needed rain, and I made more art, and set up my autumn altars, and ran errands, and drove around in the rain while listening to Depeche Mode, and I felt briefly better.

My better mood didn’t last long. After the one day of rain, things got warmer (not as hot as before, but still too warm for my liking) and drier and windy again, and the landlord and her husband were there every day for a week, absolutely ripping every single plant out of both the front and back yards. And every time I tried to talk to her, to ask if there was any help we could give, she’d say no, but then start ranting about something. It was either “the yard looks like trash because you let all these weeds grow and most of this neighborhood is homeowners with immaculate lawns and you’re bringing the property values down,” or “there’s too much clutter in the basement, you just can’t keep it there, it’s a fire hazard, you need to get a storage unit if you don’t wanna get rid of it.” And I still had writer’s block, and the kids were still grumpy, and I couldn’t even take them out to play in the yard because it was full of people ripping plants out. After a few days of feeling like a hostage in my own house and seriously worrying she was going to evict us, I decided I had to talk to her about it. Of course I couldn’t say what I really wanted to say: “I don’t give a fuck about property values, and we purposefully let certain plants grow if they are non-invasive and good for pollinators, not to mention leaving some overgrowth so that the fireflies have a place to lay their eggs. And the clutter you’re freaking out about? It’s in the unfinished half of the basement—isn’t that the part of the house most people use for storing things? And it’s some boxes of papers and some bins of old clothes. It’s not like we have stacks of oil-soaked rags next to the furnace. And fuck off about a storage unit—are you going to pay for it?!” So I phrased all that in the nicest, calmest way I could: “We purposefully let some of the plants grow, because we like to have birds, bees, and butterflies in our garden. I wasn’t aware it was such a problem; I promise in the future we will not let it get like that again. As far as the clutter goes, I am aware that we have a lot of stuff we need to get rid of, and I have been going through it and getting rid of stuff, little by little. So please don’t worry too much.” It wasn’t a lie about going through and getting rid of stuff—in fact I’d taken a huge load of things to the Goodwill the week before she did the walkthrough—and in any case, I must have said the right thing, because she almost immediately calmed down. She apologized, said it was partially on her for not doing the walkthrough sooner and letting us know about the issue with the yard before it got to that point, and also said she’d been stressed because the company she’d initially called for a price quote on the porch job had tried to upsell her and insist they needed to rip out and rebuild the entire porch, for which they were going to charge an exorbitant price. She also said she wasn’t trying to get rid of us, that she likes us, and that she can tell we love this house just as much as she did when she lived here. Crisis averted.

Even though she was still around in the evenings working on the porch through the end of September/beginning of October, I was no longer worried about getting evicted. And my writer’s block cleared. I suddenly had all these ideas, and wrote some poems, and started working on that month’s zines…and then all the weeks of dry winds and allergy bullshit caught up with me, and I got a sinus infection. I was in excruciating pain, and hella fatigued, for a few days, in fact it was so bad I was afraid I might not even be able make it to Chicago Zine Fest on October 5th, let alone finish the new zines. But I guess I’ve gotten better at managing my disabilities than I used to be, because I got in some writing and zine-layout/zine fest prep time every day, yet also took plenty of time to rest and do other stuff to take care of myself, like take long hot baths and drink a lot of tea and eat soup. And I got the zines done, and one of them—Neal & Jack & Me—I think is a pretty good piece of writing. (The other one isn’t bad either, it’s just that that one was a reprint of a story I wrote in 2018, so it’s not brand-new.) And by the day before CZF, I felt mostly better—definitely well enough to go.

[the-acid-pear]

These two lines really make me feel like Susie is only a bully for, let's say, survival reasons. But that's as coherent as i can get so i'm going to ramble the rest of my thoughts on the tags.

[marklikely]

the results of that "is fanfic a book" poll have shown me one thing and its that this site never graduated past that absolutely insufferable phase in 2013 where everyone acted like every book is the single most sacred thing on earth

[skitskatdacat63]

Podium on Sunday? 👀

[kulemii]

another shitty holiday hat edit from me to you <3 happy new year!

~please not repost/copy/edit without my permission! thank you~

[almadelsur]

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.��✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart. 

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken. 

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

[myshenanigansarebetter]

[aphelionwrotes11]

(MDNI, dubcon) (not edited)

Thinking about stalker!john price who retired early and can’t stand spending his time in his big ol’ house all by himself :(

Wanders across a pretty little dear like you, working retail in one of the little stores in the small town you live in. Can’t help falling in love with those tentative eyes that look up at him through your lashes, all shy and soft.

He just can’t control the way he feels like he has to keep you safe, your his now, doll. Follows you home every night, just to make sure you’re safe. Puts a few cameras around your house, only to make sure no unwanted visitors are hanging around, of course!

But he can’t help himself when he finds himself in your room when you’re sleeping, gazing at your relaxed figure. Oh, so peaceful and gorgeous.

You start getting a bit paranoid when you begin noticing a few things out of place. A door closed that you could’ve swore you left open when you left, a few missing shirts, a few missing panties, and now you come home to an apartment just a bit cleaner than you left it. Your bed made a little neater, no dirty laundry hung from a chair or lying on the edge of your bed.

At first you think you’re losing it. This shitty job must be taking too much out of you. But, on a night when an especially shitty shift happens, everything comes crashing down. Some rando decided to take out their frustration on you which then led to you bursting into tears and running off to the back room, frustrated and humiliated. A few minutes later your manager comes to tell you that you can go home, that bloke was dragged off by some guy into the night, she’s certain he won’t be a bother again.

So, you make your way down your usual path. Sniffling every now and then, pausing only to wipe your puffy eyes. When you get to your front door, you find that it’s already unlocked. Blinding hot fear lodges itself into your throat. Did that guy follow you home? (No lol)

You push the door open to be hit with the smell of your favorite take out. You take a few cautious steps in, scanning the kitchen and living room. It’s empty, but spotless. Dishes are put away, the counters looked like they’ve been scrubbed clean, the floors are swept. On the table rests a bag from your favorite restaurant, a note lies beside it reading, eat up little dear :)

John watches you from the crack in the door of your small hallway closet. Watches you walk through your house, kitchen knife in hand, looking for any potential threats. You look everywhere, besides the closet in the hallway. Oh honey, what would you do without him? What if there had been a real intruder and you had just missed him? Gosh. But, John’s upset is quickly replaced with joy as you settle into a seat and eat your still hot dinner. He can’t help but shiver as a relaxed look comes across your face, more relaxed than you’ve looked in ages. That must mean that you accept him now right?

Well, he takes it that way. Starts getting more bold. Leaves gifts on your counter for you to come home to, your favorite foods, books you like, items from stores you looked at just a bit too long. Keeps your apartment tidy, clothes washed, dishes laid to dry. At first, fear grabs you by the heart each time you come home from work to find another gift and a clean apartment. But after a week or so you decide that whoever it is that’s been watching you has been more of a help than a nuisance, and if they wanted to hurt you they would’ve by now, right? So you stupidly allow yourself to relax into this routine. Had to decide not to call the cops when you came home to find a few pairs of lacy panties laid out on your bed, matching bralettes resting beside them. In your size of course.

So, on one of your worst nights of the year, a shitty shift, shitty day, shitty week. You find yourself sobbing into a pillow in the darkness of your room. Sleep just couldn’t find you. You gasp when you feel the other side of the bed sink. Lying there, frozen. You feel a big, warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly. John sucks in a breath just at the feel of you. You start to cry more, “no- no please-“ you sob, terrified.

And John just coos at you.

“Shh, shh, don’t worry honey. M’not gonna do anythin. Just wanna hold’ya, make you feel better.”

He lays down behind you, warm arms encircling your waist, pulling you closer to his broad chest. And despite better logic, you allow him too. Find yourself relaxing in his warm grip, melting from his low coos. This is bad, very bad. Extremely dangerous. But at this point you just don’t care.

John holds you like that for a while, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, pressing his nose into your hair.

“What’s got you all worked up, honey? Hard day? Could make you feel a lot better. Could make that all go away.”

He whispers into the soft skin of your neck, and you whimper. Starts squeezing the fat of your hips, placing little kisses along the length of your throat. Your hands find his hair and tug, he takes that as a sign to keep going.

S’not long before he’s spearing you with his hot, heavy cock. Thrusting into you at a languid pace from behind. His calloused fingers rub your clit. Your whining and moaning, melting from his touch.

“Would do anything for ya honey, promise’ya I would, so perfect..” he groans into your ear, a hand coming up to roll your nipple between his fingers.

He’s moving so perfectly, his thrusts hitting a spot inside of you that sends ripples of pleasure up your spine. When you finally come, shuddering and clenching on his cock, he whimpers.

He doesn’t stop there, flips you onto your back and starts thrusting into you like a battering ram, no more soft love making. That’s when you see his face, that ruggedly handsome regular that you’ve had the biggest crush on, who just so happened to also be your stalker.

Your too fucked out too care, and he’s too pussy drunk to think. Fucking himself into you like an animal.

“Been waiting to touch you like this sweetheart, waitin so long- fuuuck-“ he sounds drunk, his voice thick. His eyes are glassy as he stares down at you.

“Need ya, I love ya..” he mumbles deliriously, getting closer to filling your tight cunt by the second.

“Cum in me..” you whisper. And that’s what throws him over the edge.

He cums, hard. Thrusting his seed into you, milking his cock with your clenching cunt. He’s crying, a few tears dripping down his cheeks. :((

“Love you, love you, love you, love you-“ he repeats like a mantra, fucking himself into you still despite the overstimulation. Looks utterly wrecked.

Takes a few weeks, but eventually he manages to coax his little sweetheart into living with him. It’s a lot easier, isn’t it? I mean he’s always with you regardless, been following you around for a while. Now he gets to see you constantly. Has you quit that shitty job, promises to take care of you. Deposits money into your bank account each week to ease your nervousness, just so you don’t feel too trapped, not that he’d ever let you go.

Follows you around like a lost puppy, always an arms length away. Eventually you mind less and less.

Months pass by in a blur and it’s not long till your stomach is fat and swollen with a little baby, and he’s on one knee in front of you with a ring. Doesn’t matter what you say though :( you’re his girl, forever.

(Gaaahhhhh I love him so much. NEEEEEED HIM.)

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Boyfriend is to Husband

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: How would Miguel react if you did the “calling my bf my husband” trend? 🤔

content warning: It gets a little suggestive, but other than that, it’s fluff fluff fluff. There are short mentions of food, but nothing too crazy. The Miguel in here is also not Spiderman. Just a little guy.

credit for art and dividers: Me! and @kimjiho1 (plus another person for the gif divider, if this is yours, lmk!)

a/n: This will be apart of a series called The Trendy Couple! This is the first installment ☝🏾😌. I’m not sure how long the series will be, but right now it’s just based off of cute couple's trends. My fyp has suffered trying to do research for this…

word count: 2.2k

I use the word "buggy" in here. Buggy = shopping cart or trolley. I'm southern so buggy just rolls off the tongue. ❤︎ Plus, it sounds cute!

You and Miguel have been out since 8 am running errands and grabbing supplies to fill up the new apartment. 

After a year of your dresser being full of his sweatpants and hoodies and his furniture hosting several of your blankets, his fridge being stocked of your favorite fruits and your shower caddy holding his body care, you both decided it was best to live together. 

Towel sets, bed sheets, comforters, silverware, curtains. This was only the tip of what you and Miguel had managed to stuff inside the car.

After hitting five shops just that morning, you opted to stay in the car while Miguel went and handled a pickup order from the hardware store. It was getting closer to lunchtime and you didn’t want to become irritable because of the long lines. 

To pass the time, you decided to scroll on TikTok, watching video after video, reacting to each accordingly. 

First, it was chatty kitties begging for food. Then, it was edits of hot wrestlers. Next, it was ramen recipes to cook at 2am. There were even a couple of NPC lives even though the trend was nearly dying at this point. 

Finally, you scrolled to a video hosting a girl and her boyfriend huddled together in a car over the console.

She’s leaned up against him, her smile beaming, “Today I’m going to be guessing my husband’s favorite things!”

“I’m not your husband,” are the words that shoot from her boyfriend’s mouth, fast as lightning. Cold. Unkind. Callous. 

You watch as the girl’s smile drops and the video cuts, her laughing out of shock beforehand, evidence of her trying to stamp out her embarrassment. 

You watch more as his grin widens and she gives him this awkward glance. 

“Not yet,” he adds, seeing how quiet she was. 

The video ends with her jumping at him playfully, trying to play the situation of. 

“Jesus,” you sigh, mouth turned sideways as you pause the video and open up the comments. Thousands of people were telling her to dump him, others questioning why he would say what he said in the way that he did. 

Your heart went out to the girl who clearly wanted to do a harmless joke that completely backfired. 

You liked a comment about this being a possible red flag. Although he could have responded that way because he wasn’t ready for marriage, his response was so quick and distant that it was like he was disgusted at the possibility of being with her that long. 

After working yourself up by scrolling through the comments, you decide to go even further by pressing the “calling my boyfriend ‘husband’” search at the top. 

There were so many stitches to the original video with people giving their own thoughts about the situation. Some people were proclaimed dating coaches, others psychologists, and a few influencers. 

You even see a follow up video from the original couple with the guy giving a shitty excuse as to why he was so quick in his response. 

“Yeah right,” you mumble, watching the girl snicker at her boyfriend’s pouts. You agree with the comments that his response makes the original video even worse. 

Still scrolling down, you find another video featuring a new couple. 

They’re at a table eating donut holes out of a hat, and when the girl calls her boyfriend “husband”, the guy’s entire body lights up. He’s grinning, cheeks rosy, and can’t stop staring back at his girlfriend. 

From there, you were able to see countless other couples with cute videos, all of the guys radiating at the word “husband.”

Biting your lip, you wondered how Miguel would react if you called him your husband. 

You loved him with all of your heart and you were sure that he loved you. You guys are literally moving into an apartment together. But the thought of him being unsettled by you calling him your husband weighed on you. 

Just as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock near the trunk of the car startling you. Looking up in the rearview mirror, you see Miguel standing with a few bags and wood planks in his hands. You reach over and press a button to pop open the trunk. 

“Got everything?” you ask, turning to watch as he drops items in the back. 

“Yeah, I think so. Although there was almost a brawl over some potted plants,” he said. “Some older lady just came up to this guy and snatched his monsteras.” 

“What?” you respond, watching as he closed the trunk and walked around to the driver's seat. “Out of his hands or the buggy?”

Miguel laughed, both recalling the scene and finding your terms adorable. “She just came up and snatched it out of the cart while he was waiting at the end of the line. She swore that she saw it first.”

You listened to him retell the story, hand under your chin as you leaned closer. He was cute, lilt in his voice to make an impression of the plant thief. Thinking to yourself that you liked this little moment of playfulness, you take your phone out to record. 

Placing your phone in a case attached to the dashboard, you smile at the camera while Miguel’s still going. 

“‘You youngins think the world owes you everything, and that’s just not the case!’ And the poor guy is standing there going ‘ma’am, I just want my plant back.’ He looked so distressed.”

“I would be too! A random lady just shopped from my buggy. It’s like, why are you this close to me to see what I’m trying to buy?”

Miguel turns the car on and buckles up. “It started to escalate when the lady’s friend came over. Then there were two shrill voices fussing at this guy.”

He started to back the car out of the parking spot, hand behind your seat and head turned towards the back window. 

You slowly glanced at his arm, eyes tracing a vein up his shirt. 

Too bad you were in a car right now or else you’d let his arm wrap around you elsewhere. 

You tune back into his words, silently scolding yourself for letting something so simple get you to fold. 

“Luckily, I was able to calm them both down. All it took was me showing them some dasheen leaves,” he said, driving the car closer to the exit of the parking lot. 

You came to a conclusion. There was no better time than the present. 

“Aw, look at my husband. Saving the day with his genius,” you say, hand reaching out to pat his chest. 

Then you feel your body jerk to the right. The seat belt tightens as the car jerkingly swerves in between two parking spaces. 

You stare in a panic at Miguel who puts the car in park and turns his entire body towards you. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks, eyes searching yours, a little startled but mostly hopeful. 

You decide to keep the charades going, “I was just praising my husband for stopping the creation of another Karen video. Why did you turn the car like that?” You’re still looking at him as if he has two heads. 

“You just-!” Miguel takes your hands into his and places his forehead on his fists. “Baby, you know what you just said.” 

You laugh, a little giddy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Miguel leans back against his seat and closes his eyes, reaching down to take his seatbelt off. His eyebrows scrunch up as he brings your hand to his chest, “Feel my heartbeat.”

Your mouth drops as you feel his heart rattling against his chest. He really wasn’t being dramatic. 

“Baby look at me,” you grab his hands and hold them tight. “You did a good job today.”

His breath stopped, as he looked at you. His face was tinted from the whole fiasco. 

“Husband.”

Miguel’s entire body slumped as he grinned wide. He nearly jumped over the console to sag his body onto yours. 

His shoulders were shaking and you heard his laugh muffled by your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and make a face at the camera. 

“What’s up, Mig?” you say, trying to get him to talk. 

He mumbled into your clothes, shoulders still shaking. 

“I can’t hear you, you gotta sit up.”

He sits up and sniffles, turning his head toward the backseat. 

Looking at his profile you can see a few streaks down his face. 

“Are you crying?” you ask, turning his face towards yours. 

Miguel swipes his wrist across his cheeks, “Stop, this is extremely embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not! I promise it’s not,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his ear. “Talk to me.”

He chuckled, eyes looking down, “It just feels really good to know that you think of me that way. We don’t have to ever cross that line, but one day, if you would like, we can make that title true.”

“Is this a pre-proposal?” you ask, heartbeat in your ears. You went out on a limb to follow a trend, not knowing how it would end. Now you’re staring at Miguel’s flushed face with his heart pouring out into your lap. 

“Maybe,” he whispered, grabbing your hands. “Possibly a promise for what could be.”

You bite your lip to hold back a grin, “Can I know what could be right now?”

“And expose my plans? Not a chance,” Miguel smirked. “Besides, a husband knows what’s best for his partner, right?”

“He does,” you quip, rubbing your hand in a circle on his chest. “He also apparently forgets that SUVs can flip very easily.”

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he says, looking sheepishly at the placement of the car. “Did I startle you?”

You just giggle at his concern and give him a quick peck on the mouth. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that big of a reaction.”

“How would you react if I casually called you forever mine? While driving!”

“Go 90 in a 70,” you joke. “Maybe pull over and do a little more than make out.” You rub your hand down his chest, and squeeze playfully at his pec. 

Miguel stared back at you, body instantly reacting to the shift in conversation. “We can actually do that right now.”

He leaned forward and brought your lips to his. You could taste the mint from the gum he had earlier, humming when he pushed further into your mouth. 

He started to reach for your hips, ready to pull you over onto his lap. 

Your stomach let out a loud grumble, making you jump. 

“Ok, let’s try this again after we get you some food,” Miguel says, plastering kisses on your face. 

The day moves on smoothly with Miguel not letting you out of his sight, hands itching to hold you in some way. 

He also never lets the husband thing go. 

As you’re ordering lunch, “One lemonade for my baby. And a water with lemon for me, the husband.”

As you stop in a clothing store at the mall for a small break, “These say boyfriend jeans. Do they have any husband jeans?”

As you’re trying to reach the top shelf to grab the last of your favorite detergent, “No, cariño. Let your husband get it for you.”

As you’re looking for throw pillows and towel sets for the apartment, “You think they have a couple’s set? I want something that says ‘Mr.’ on it.”

As you stop at a gift store, looking for something extra to give to the movers, “Look, this shirt says it’s made of ‘hubby material.’ Should I get it?”

This feeling is only amplified when you post his initial reaction online. The comments were full of people yearning to be in your predicament. 

“If my boyfriend doesn’t crash the car when I call him husband, THROW HIM AWAY. 😒”

“Does he have a brother….asking for a friend”

“I needed this after the “I’m not your husband” he in LOVE”

“If your bf doesn’t cry at the thought of you, what are you doing”

“He was blushing HARRRRD 😭😭😭”

“So when’s the wedding? 🤨”

“He was literally cheesing and crying omg”

“Get you a man that stops the car to declare his love”

“What if I did a five mile marathon on i-55”

“He’s so in love with you that it’s palpable”

“He was ready do a lot more than make out 😭”

Miguel saw most things, a little embarrassed but mostly happy that so many people found him to be genuine. 

You laid on his shoulder as he checked the comments, liking the funny ones as they passed by.

“Do you want to make a response video?” you say, liking a comment going ‘he’s a good man, Savannah.’

“No, I think this is enough,” he replies, handing the phone back to you. “Let me keep a little mystery. At least until I actually propose, of course.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes.

“A mysterious husband. I kind of like the sound of that,” you say, wrapping your body around his side. “Maybe I can be nosy, find out his secrets.”

“I bet you would, cariño,” he voiced, nuzzling his chin on top of your head. “After, everything is planned and done.”

You laughed and snuggled closer, happy to be with him.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading! ❣️

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

I'm excited for the future of this series and I hope you guys are too. When I finish the series masterlist, I'll link it here. If you guys have any trends that you want me to include, then just let me know and I'll see what I can do!

- Blue ♡

[a-fangirltrash]

"Ford treated Fiddleford so bad!!" As if him treating Fidds like shit wasn't directly a product of being constantly gaslighted and abused by Bill.

I'm genuinely getting tired of people flaming Ford, but in a serious tone. Like people are acting like he's a toxic selfish man that used to put Fidd down... and... no he never did???

Ford ADMIRED Fiddleford, he TRUSTED his friend for what he described as "the project of his life" and Ford, being the most prideful man in the world, decided to ask for help because he knew how CAPABLE Fiddleford was.

When Fiddleford arrived Ford let him know how thankful he was that he was there with him, the man even took a bath and made sure to make him feel like he was at home. Ford even remembered his favorite bean brand?

When Fidd got traumatized by the gremoblin, Ford TRIED to help with what he knew. He tried to help him meditate, took days off for him, decided that they could go out and have some good time. Be mindful that this might've been the total OPPOSITE of what Bill wanted, and he still did for his friend sanity. Bill would make Ford work like CRAZY.

Also, for him it wasn't "putting him in danger!!" For him it was sharing adventures with his friend! Just like hi did with *cofcofSTANLEYcofcof*. That's love language all around.

Fiddleford could abandon the project anytime, but he didn't because he liked being there. And Ford is NOT the guilty one for Fidds creatinf the gun :/ it's nor his fault that fidd interpreted "using his creativity" in that way. Ford NEVER approved that gun.

Also, Ford noticed that RUBIK THING, HE APPREACITE HIM SO MUCH HE KNEW HIS HABITS. AND GOT CONCERNED RIGHT AHEAD.

"B-but he free Frilliam!" The portal was close, did you all READ how much gaslighted Ford was at that point? He didn't free it because "ugh i don't care about this shitty axolotl" but because Bill started to freak out and yell at him to get rid of it. Ford wrote "A friend" with a heart in the title??? Wdym he didn't appreciate it aaaagh

If Stanley took the diaries (i don't like this universe because...stanley:() he WOULD have looked for Fiddleford, they'd have made the Institute of Oddology, he'd have shared his success... with the man that helped him the most.

TBOB SPOILERS AHEAD

He got sad when Fiddleford told him he was gonna get back home to spent time with his family, he PLANNED holidays with him. Even if he DIDN'T like holidays.

He took a day off just to make him happy after his atrocious christmas party, he USED RESOURCES that as you know ford is the most practical mam in the world JUST to decorate the portal as a tree and make Fiddleford happy.

And that atuff of "h-he doesn't appreaciated Fiddleford gifts!" IS SO DUMB OMG, he wore the gloves in the snow and was incredibly thankful about them. When BILL that dumbass triangle pretty much LACERATED his hands, he used Fiddleford gloves as a way to hide those scars, and in a sense, probably to comfort himself because he was ALONE.

I think that was the reason of Fiddleford fast forgiveness, not only because he's a sweet heart, but because after fighting with Bill i think he noticed how BIG was the monster torturing his "partner".

And after all of this i'm not trying to excuse Ford treating him poorly and not listening to him in time

BUT FORD IS NOT A PERFECT VICTIM

Even if i believe he wasn't "the" (at least only) reason of Fiddleford becoming crazy, i know it could have been better for him and he could have avoided so much trauma. But can we please stop seeing Ford as a selfish, evil mad scientist and start seing him as a victim... of a terribly abusive relationship that checks in for all types of domestic abuse... please!!! Ford is not a perfect VICTIM Can we blame Bill!!!

All this rant is because there's certain ship... which i kinda like, but i just HATE HATE HATE the interpretation and how much they put Ford as a villian on it omg

Edit: fixed the use of word narcissism, since it might've been ableist! Replaced with words that actually relate to what i intended to say, instead of referencing a personality disorder

[cheriladycl01]

Walls are for the Weak - Oscar Piastri x Reader SMUT

Plot: After a particularly challenging race, Oscar meets you in his driver room

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, blowjob, fingering, dirty talk, semi-public sex (in drivers room) 18+ Minors DNI

You watched as Oscars race just kept getting worse and worse. He started P3, but after a failed start, a slow bit stop and a bump with Sainz he was down in P16 towards the end of the race trying to scramble his way back up into the points before the end of the race.

But he ended up in P13, not getting close enough to the points and feeling really shitty as Lando had a P2. Of course he was happy for Lando, but he couldn’t help but feel a little hard done by. Everything that happened felt like it could have been avoided but it just seemed the day was out to get him.

It may as well have been Friday the 13th.

You knew he would go straight to the team briefing after the race and you weren’t allowed there due to all the statistics and data being thrown around so you decided to start to clean up his drivers room.

Oscar was an incredibly messy boyfriend, even around you shared apartment, it wasn’t that you actually minded either because you enjoyed cleaning up with a audio books, a podcast or music playing as you did so.

You started to pick up his clothes that were on the floor and coming out of his duffle bag where he’d been rummaging through it earlier looking for a fresh team top. Then you started to remove the cans of coke and water that were around the room from when he and Lando were preparing together for media duties.

After half an hour it was fully cleaned and ready for McLaren to take apart at the end of the weekend.

You remained on the sofa, laying down on your stomach, legs swinging in the air as you watched TikTok’s on your phone. You waited for what seemed like forever for Oscar to make an appearance, it had been so long that edits from the race had already started to make their way onto your fyp. A lot of Olivia Rodrigo.

The drivers worked hard, but the editors seemed to have unlimited time and resources to get edits out only 45 minutes after the chequered flag was waved, ending the race.

“Come on, we’re leaving” Oscar says bluntly making you turn to look at him.

“Oh, hi hello” you say sarcastically looking up at him.

“Not now Y/N I’m not in the mood” he huffs out grabbing his bag before looking around the room in shock.

“Did you clean?” He asks, still void of any emotions that were letting you in on what he was feeling. It was obvious he was frustrated but there was something else.

“I always clean up the drivers room Oscar” you sigh, knowing most of the time you met him with his bag outside.

“That’s what we hire cleaners for” he says looking down at you as you start to push yourself up so you could see him without straining your neck.

“Mmmmmm the money and fame finally got to that head of yours baby?” You ask knowing he’s only now saying this because he’s moody.

“Y/N will you just shut up!” He says, face like thunder which makes you fully sit up looking over him.

“Oh I just know you aren’t talking to ME that way Oscar Jack Piastri” you say with a frown wondering why he has to be such a massive dickhead.

He comes up to you, his pointer finger and thumb grabbing your chin in between and pulling your face towards him as he crouches down in front of you.

“Now listen here. I’ve had a shit race and you know I have because you watched it and for some reason you’re doing everything possible to get on my last nerve right now. So you my beautiful girlfriend are going to help me out” he says with a gritted sort of expression and a small smiles appears between your slowly squishing cheeks from his rough grip.

“And how am I able to help?” You ask.

“You are going to be quiet and suck my dick, right here right now before we leave” he says taking a seat on the sofa next to you. You’re quick to get on your knees in front of him. This is the first time that you notice the straining in his pants.

“You think its funny you laying there face down ass up in that skirt when I come into the room already frustrated and annoyed. You’ve just made me a whole different kind of frustrated” he says as he grabs your hand pulling it closer to the bulge in his trousers.

A soft groan comes from him as you start to palm him, feeling around and starting to get him a little more worked up before you soon pull down his trousers and pants with the help of him raising his hips closer to your face to help you get them off.

His dick slaps up, already fully hard, hitting his team top that now had a small trail of pre-cum dampening it.

“Awwww baby, why didn’t you tell me sooner” you tease, giving him a quick rub up and down, a soft moan coming from the back of his throat as his head is thrown back.

“Fuck baby, get that mouth around me” he says resting his arm up behind his head that’s still leaning backwards. You raise up on your knees, licking a strip along the underside all the way up before going over the tip that had his hips thrusting up.

“Patience baby” you complain looking up at him.

“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough Y/N! Come on” he says holding onto your hair to help guid you down. You kitten lick the tip before opening your mouth up your lips encasing around him. You bob your head up and down with the help of Oscars hand in your hair.

“That’s so good Y/N, please” he begs with a whine, his earlier moody and broody persona completely gone.

Your hands reach forward to steady you on the edge of the sofa as Oscar’s hips begin to have a mind of their own and start to thrust up trying to get as deep as possible in your mouth.

“Im close baby, so close” he says and his moans get louder. You pull of his with a popping sound, a string of your saliva mixed with his pre-cum still attaching you together.

“Why’d you stop baby, I was so close” he complains looking at you with those puppy dog eyes.

“Because your being too loud Osc and people are still here packing away” you smile getting up. You straddle him putting pressure on his dick against your lacy panties giving him some relief.

His hand comes down to your waist going under your skirt and playing with the edge of your underwear.

“Can you pull them to the side?” You whisper in his ear. And he immediately groans. He pulls them to the side making sure it wasn’t digging into you. You place a gentle hand over his mouth, before your other hand comes down to help guide him in.

You sink down immediately bottoming out and it’s a good thing you had your hand over his mouth muffling the sounds that were currently coming from the back of his throat.

You started to lightly bounce up and down until you needed the support of both your hands on the back of the sofa to help you move quicker.

“Think you can keep quieter for me baby?” You ask and he nods quicker than you’d ever seen him agree to something in his life.

His hands come down to your waist as you start bouncing quicker with more passion. You’re starting to find it hard to keep your own moans to yourself as his name starts to fall from between your lips as his hands come to your hips to help guide you up and down. He buries his head in your neck kissing along the side.

“Walls are for the weak anyway baby, let them hear just how frustrated I was and how good your making me feel” he moans loudly as his hips start to meet your bounces going at a faster pace and his hands had a bruising grip on the day or your thighs.

“Baby, shut up” you gasp cheeks flushing read at the thought of Lando hearing when he’s next door or Mark coming round to talk him down after today! You’d be mortified. But his dick pushing against your tight walls was the only thing on your mind.

You hug against him as you clench around and he stops thrusting inside of you. All tensions from both your bodies leaves and sighs come from the pair of you. You go weightless against him letting him keep kissing your neck as you both come down from your high.

“Feeling better now?” You ask and all he does it nod, before pulling you back by your hair and kissing your lips.

“You always make me feel better. I love you” he smiles genuinely.

Taglist:

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