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k9iriz · 11 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 (𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐚’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞)

𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 ; 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 ; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳

𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 1/5

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦

ever thought you had a reminder of your past? like a constant itching feeling you had something watching you every night?

you moving away from texas to flordia was the best thing, but it was a pain in the chest due to you being a single mom of a 10 year old.

it was hard to get him a perfect tutor. or anybody to babysit him when you did go to work for long nights.

after freshly moving in, you just had divorced your longtime high school sweetheart girlfriend, soonly mentally slapping yourself for being this financially stuck, but felt bad because your son was being neglected.

“im coming!” you yelled as you ram at the door, before being stopped in your tracks while opening it, a tall black haired woman stood at your door with your flyer, blinking in and out of your intrusive thoughts.

“my god…” you thought quietly to yourself.

“uh? i saw your poster down at the library for tutor and babysitter position? im actually a college student who’s looking for a side job.” the woman explained.

smiling happy that someone seen it right away, you stepped aside letting her in. “oh yes! come in!” you greeted, as the two walked into the dining room, sitting down at the table.

you couldn’t keep your eyes off of hee nonetheless, she looked like a mature young woman who knew what she was doing.

“um, yes! so what do you do on your free time?” i asked, looking up at the woman, taking in her features.

“study. i do like these tutoring classes for my classmates since im valedictorian, but my dorm fees have been stacking up. so i need a side job, which is what made me look at your poster, oh im demi by the way. call me rhea.” the woman smiled.

nice name…

“well, you don’t seem like a bad person. but are you good with kids?” y/n asked, grabbing her cellphone before looking at her records.

“very. i got siblings so i have to take care of them. it’s natural.” rhea nodded, smiling widely, showing her piercings that rested inside of her mouth.

“my private area has a heartbeat…” you thought, biting the inside of your mouth.

“he’s a 10 year old in the 3rd grade, he needs help in his math. he struggles a lot and without me here to help him, he’s not gonna pass. so you came just in time.” y/n explained, before taking a big breath of relief that she didn’t have to wait that long for a tutor to come by.

“i could help him out, im a math genius. i have a perfect semester grade in math.” rhea nodded.

“perfect! when can you start?” y/n smiled, before sitting up, everything checking out good.

“whenever you need me to ma’am.” rhea smiled at her efforts into getting a job.

“how about tonight?”

[ 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝐁𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐀, 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀 ]

“alright bub. rhea is downstairs making you dinner. ill be home in the morning, okay?” y/n soothes her son before he smiled, running to hug her tight.

“okay! me and rhea are gonna have so much fun! we’re gonna watch the new mario movie!” y/s/n smiled, before rhea came up from behind me, leaning against the doorframe.

“im gonna miss him, he’s gonna go with his grandparents for a vacation.” y/n sighed, as rhea stood next to her.

“you still need someone to watch the house for you? or until his grandparents get em?” rhea looked at me up and down.

sometimes i get nervous when she does that. even though she’s been working here for almost a month, it’s not a day that does by where i get nervous by her.

her grandmother moved next door that she knew of so to kill the road and gas money usage, she stayed there with him and helped from time to time.

“yeah, i should be back by 12 since they need me for three hours and not the whole entire night.” y/n nodded before rhea and y/s/n ran downstairs, watching a movie.

she felt like she picked the right person to take care of her son and he sure did feel safe around her, felt like his second mom.

late that night….

y/n sped walked to her porch before opening the door, locking it before meeting darkness, but a light beamed in the kitchen.

“hey! he’s gone?” y/n whispered as rhea chuckled, smiling as she put the top over the pot, leaning against the counter.

“yeah. they got him a hour ago. sit down i made something to eat.” rhea suggested as y/n took the chance, soonly sitting down along with her.

“thank you. im so fucking beat from that shift and it was for only three hours.” y/n breathed out, before sitting her work bag besides her, feeling someone occupy the space.

“i can tell. that’s how my classes are. but, i meant to ask, are you married of some sort? this house is big enough for a married couple and a couple of kids.” rhea asked, feeling embarrassed for even asking, just laughing.

“it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. divorced. married to my wife for three years and we had a son. we haven’t talked since then. she doesn’t wanna talk to us. i guess.” y/n frowned, sighing afterwards.

rhea got mad on the inside. who would want to divorce a woman like her? she was nice, beautiful, caring…even attracted to her.

and rhea found that out? she was already ready to make her move.

y/n poured some wine in her cup before sitting back next to her, moving closer.

they were a little tipsy, you can say.

“well…i wouldn’t want to be her. id be happy to take her place.” rhea jokingly requested as y/n laughed along, but rhea wasn’t joking, least to her.

“i would let you but, you’re way too young for me.” y/n felt herself getting tipsy, before getting up to walk to the living room, but soonly being stopped by rhea.

“since when did age stop you from fucking who you wanna fuck? hm?” rhea towered y/n, as her hands sat above her head. she was practically very tipsy.

y/n couldn’t take the heat of it all, she was practically just…falling into it & she loved every second of it.

“hm?” rhea muttered before softly kissing her lips, something you’ve been missing for awhile now.

“r-rhea…” y/n muttered before she softly began to kiss along her face to her ear, before she began sucking her earlobe, making y/n moan lightly.

everything felt so right and so damn good in that moment that she didn’t wanna stop.

everything flew out the window in that instant.

“give me one night. let me just…make you forget about her. just watch.” rhea whispered along her neck before picking her up, making y/n gasp.

“okay…but h-how?” y/n asked brainlessly before she threw her on the bed, slapping her thigh in a demanding order.

“take your panties off and let me show you.” rhea grabbed her leg before trailing kisses on the inside of her legs, making y/n’s whole body shutter.

“shh.” she lastly spoke.

im back? :)

for those asking, im working on “unwanted temptation” and my request box is closed! but dm me if you want to request a rhea imagine!

part two is a sex scene so don’t worry, lol but this is a new series i wanted to start bc i watched “the boy next door” and was hella inspired.

kai signing out! <3 lmk how i did!

#rhea ripley #rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley angst #rhea ripley fluff #rhea ripley x reader #liv x rhea #demi bennett imagine #demi bennett x reader #demi bennett #Demi bennett smut #demi bennett fluff #wwe #wwe women

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echoalyssa · 6 months

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For the Last Time | Dick Grayson

image generated by Midjourney AI

just an angsty smut piece for my fav bat boy

~~~

We had split weeks ago, but here he was, silhouetted against my front door. It had been ugly, and the wound still felt raw, but we still gravitated towards each other. Despite the terrible memories that lingered, we always ended up together. For better or for worse.

“Hi.” My voice comes out whisper quiet and he hesitantly steps inside, nudging the door closed with his foot.

His dark hair falls in front of his eyes and he lifts a hand to push it back behind his ear.

The air is thick with tension and the words that had gone unspoken. He follows me to the couch, making sure to leave ample space between the two of us. He’s looking at me so intensely that I can’t help but find the bookshelf fascinating.

There is so much to say yet nothing to say at the same time.

I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. I rest my head on my arms and just take a second to look at him. It’s been too long since he was last on this couch. Even being in his presence had a calming affect.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, playing with his thumbs. He looks up at me quickly and then drops his head.

“You asked to come over.”

He nods and pulls at a loose thread on his shirt. “So then you should pick what we talk about.”

It’s stupid really, we both know what needs to be addressed but for fear of disturbing the calm we’re both tiptoeing around the topic.

I nod at him but still stay quiet.

“I’m sorry. I watched you disappear before my eyes and I was too absorbed in my own head to realize that you needed me. I should have never left you and I should have been someone you could depend on. I let you do everything for us financially and I still expected you to clean up the apartment. I’m sorry. That’s not a partnership and you deserved better.”

It’s everything that I have ever needed to hear from him, but was it too late? The damage had been done.

“Why couldn’t you see that before?” I ask him.

“I was selfish. I was jealous. I didn’t care to and that was wrong of me.”

I choose to stay quiet, knowing that he’s asking for my forgiveness, the problem is that we’d done this before. An apology followed by the exact same behaviors that got us here before. To tell him that I had forgiven him would be a lie and that wouldn’t benefit either of us.

The silence stretches between us and he stands up to stretch. He rolls his neck and the soft crack of the bones fills the air.

“I miss it.” He says softly, looking around the apartment that we had once shared. It had been his home too. More than that though, disguised under his words was that he missed all of it. He missed me.

He sits back down, closer this time. He sits in his usual spot, and he places his hand on my knee. His thumb traces the curve of it gently, as if I might vanish before his very eyes.

We sit in silence for a few minutes until that line of tension snaps and he’s pulling at me just as much as I’m reaching for him. In one swift motion I climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. It’s like we’ve both been allowed to breathe for the first time and neither of us can get enough of it. His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me in so close that there isn’t a millimeter of space between our bodies.

Dick tucks his head into the crook of my neck and lets out a shaky exhale. I’m holding him just as tight. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, and I sniffle into his shoulder. His fingers drag up and down my back, kneading at the knots that had accumulated without him. He touches me like it might be the last time he ever gets to.

His fingers slip lower, playing with the hem of my shirt. “Is this alright?”

He’s giving me an out but that was the thing, even if I tried to take the out it was inevitable that I would end up right back where I started. Here. With him.

“Yes.”

“Look at me.” He says quietly, his fingers wrap around my jaw, and he angles my face so that I have to look at him. “I love you.”

I duck to avoid his eyes but I whisper it right back to him because that was the only part of this mess that I was certain about.

“Look at me.”

I pry myself out from the crook of his neck, eye contact had never been my strong suit. The second our eyes meet I can feel the impending tears come rushing back. His mouth meets mine and then it’s a mess of teeth and hands and clothing hitting the floor.

“You’ve lost weight.” He doesn’t say it in a bad way, but he’s acknowledging that our break had been harder on me than he had thought. His voice is laced with concern. “I’m so sorry. You’re tiny.”

He wasn’t wrong, it hadn’t been intentional but whenever I was stressed my hunger pangs would disappear, resulting in my noticeable weight loss. Dick, knew just how much I valued having an athletic physique and the drastic difference had brought tears to his eyes.

“Stop that.”

He doesn’t need me to tell him twice, knowing full well that I won’t talk if I don’t want to, and flips me over. His fingers press me up over the back of the couch and he guides my hips back. He pauses briefly to step out of his shorts but then I feel him right where he belongs.

The physical size difference between us means that we line up perfectly. We moan in unison as he seats himself inside me. His hands press me into the position that he wants and then his right hand tangles in my hair. He yanks it slightly, causing my back to arch and groans, dropping his mouth to my shoulder.

“If you could see the way that you look right now…”

He’s rough with me, in a way that makes my legs weak. It’s weeks of tension that had been building up to this point and neither of us can deny it.

“Please.”

His knee knocks my own further apart and the grip in my hair tightens. We had been doing this long enough for him to know exactly what I need. The new angle has him hitting parts of me that only he can find.

The force of his thrusts has me pinned to the couch. I sob, holding the couch as if that could keep me grounded.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” My orgasm is approaching rapidly and I open to my mouth to tell him that but it rips through me before I get the chance.

My back arches and my vision goes black, the force of it all renders me completely silent.

“Fuck.” He grits out but he never lets the pace slow. All I can do is hold onto him as he fucks me through it.

~~~

I can already tell that I’ll be sore the next day. Coming off two back-to-back orgasms the oversensitivity was bordering on uncomfortable, but I loved every moment of it.

He’s staring at me through lidded eyes, trained on me like I’m the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. His lips are parted slightly, and his hand is wrapped tightly around the headboard. The veins in his forearm stand out prominently. His other hand dips between us and I can feel my eyes blow wide as he rests two fingers on top of his shaft and peers up at me expectantly. ‘Take it.’ His eyes whisper to me. I was already struggling to take him into me, let alone the long thick fingers he has ready for me.

“You can do it.” He murmurs, and the deep rumble of his voice sends another wave of pleasure through me.

He drops his hand from the headboard, curling it around my hip to hold me in place. I’m drowsy with pleasure but I let my body press closer to his, pulling his fingers and his length into my body.

My head falls back immediately, my eyes rolling back into my head. It’s such an intense feeling that my head empties of any thought that isn’t just him.

He’s moaning underneath me, twitching slightly as if he’s fighting the urge to move inside me.

“Look at you.” He murmurs, curling the fingers that are inside me for emphasis.

I sob, and my nails dig into his chest. He’ll have marks tomorrow that he probably won’t be too pleased about.

“I’m so close baby. You look so good taking me like this.”

My nerves are on fire but I’m still dragging myself across him, watching the way that his face contorts with pleasure. His hips snap up, meeting me halfway every time. His thumb brushes against my clit, adding to the pleasure.

“I-I’m going…”

His body tenses under me and I feel him twitch inside me. I cry out his name, collapsing into his chest as the waves of pleasure roll through me. Dick shudders underneath me, finishing with a few small thrusts.

His fingers slip into my hair and he kneads at the back of my neck. Neither of us is concerned about cleaning up the mess we had created. We were just basking in the pleasure of each other.

“You really love me, don’t you?” He whispers while dragging his fingers through my hair soothingly.

Emotion gathers in my throat and all I can do is nuzzle into his hand and close my eyes. Even though we were together tonight, I still wasn’t sure that I would experience him this gentle with me again. I would enjoy this for as long as I was allowed to have it.

#nightwing smut #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #richard grayson #dick grayson smut

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dilf-rights-activist · 1 year

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Another Life: part 2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader, Platonic Hobie Brown & reader

Summary: A sad Miguel O’Hara returns to run his company with slumped shoulders and a cloud over his head. In a somewhat lame attempt to lift his spirits, his assistant, Lyla, runs to a local cafe to get the office some drinks, where she meets a kind barista with a stained apron and tired eyes. Or, the one where you drag your exhausted corpse to your second job to meet Lyla, only to find out her boss had recently been dumped. After work, you settle into the floor of your cozy apartment with your eccentric roommate: one Hobie Brown.

Word count: 3.7k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop au, no use of (y/n), the slowest of burns (we’re not even gathering fire wood yet), sfw, Hobie being cool, descriptions of financial hardship, swearing, aged up Hobie

AO3 part 1 part 3 part 4

Miguel’s office chair creaked dangerously when he leaned back and breathed out a large sigh. The conference call had been done for ten minutes now, and he was still feeling a little drowsy from his early morning. He looked out his office window just in time to see Jessica scrub a hand over her face, eyes droopy and tired looking. He watched as she stood up and stretched her lower back to release the tension that’s been building there. She sighed and rested a delicate hand on her round belly, rubbing soothing circles before sitting back down again. Miguel has been urging her to take her maternity leave early, but she refuses him every time, stating that he could never survive without her. This wasn’t entirely true but still. Miguel frowned to himself before straightening up at the knock at his door.

“Miguel?” came a high-pitched voice on the other side of the wood.

“Yes?”

The door opened slowly to reveal a young, freckled face smiling brightly at him. “Hey, Miguel! I have the reports you wanted.”

Miguel smiled at his assistant and held out his hand to receive them. “Thanks, Lyla.”

“You got it.” Lyla was a student at Columbia that works part time as Miguel’s assistant. Her cheerful demeanor easily lifted those around her. If he was being honest, he thinks Lyla goofed off a little too much, but she was the best assistant he’s had in a decade. She was quick as a whip, and helped him with everything from managing his allergies to figuring out the best energy source for his nano tech. Plus, Lyla was the only one who could handle him when he was sleep deprived and hangry (which was all the time).

The brunette fell silent as he looked down at the reports in his hands, not really paying enough attention to process any of the words he read.

“Hey, Miguel?”

He startled and looked up at Lyla, she was still here? He must have really been out of it.

“Yeah?”

Lyla’s big brown eyes peered at him pensively before sighing through her nose “You doing okay, boss?” Her glossy pink lips were pulled into a small frown. “You look…tired. Like, way more than usual.”

Miguel huffed softly and blew a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Alright, One: I am tired. And Two:” He looked at her sternly, pointing a strong finger to emphasize his point. “I am fine.” He said a little too quickly. Lyla rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically.

“C’mon, Miguel! You can tell me!” She walked up to his heavy desk and placed both hands atop its smooth surface. “What? Did the Mets lose a game?”

“The season is over-“

“A pigeon poop on your Porsche?”

“No-“

“Did Tony call you ‘Dark Garfield’ again?”

“No!”

“You get dumped?”

Miguel’s jaw shut promptly and he pursed his lips into a tight sneer. He looked at his grinning assistant, who had clearly said that as a joke. She blinked a couple times at his silence, slowly picking up her hands from his desk as she straightened a little.

“Oh shit. Really?” She said softly, almost feeling bad for bringing it up so casually. “I’m…sorry to hear that.”

The large man let out a soft laugh and waved his hand in the air. “It’s fine, Lyla. Really, it is.” he sighed, was he trying to convince Lyla or himself?

The girl looked at her sneakers and shuffled awkwardly for a second, “Is there anything I can do for you? Cancel your appointments? Get you coffee?”

Miguel visibly perked up at that. “Yeah, that would be great, actually. There’s actually a specific place I’d like you to go to…”

---

A heavy sigh left your lips as you bent forward and leaned onto the counter in front of you, limbs going unpleasantly numb from overuse. You stayed there for a couple moments, contemplating just how you let your life get to this particularly pathetic point. Peter was right, the morning rush had been bad. Exhausted students and working class New Yorkers alike came in by the truck load, shooting order after order at you and your boss with little sympathy.

You glanced down at Peter, who was currently squatting behind the counter and wolfing down a croissant like his life depended on it.

“Slow down or you’re gonna choke, stupid.”

The brunette looked at you like a man possessed. “Shut up! I haven’t eaten anything today!”

You laughed softly and flexed your fingers, wincing as they cracked and popped. “Christ, I’m tired. And it’s only,” you glanced at your watch and held back a groan. “8 am.”

Peter looked at you and wiped the crumbs off of his frowning face. “You sleep any last night?”

“Only the usual four hours.” you grimaced and put your head down again. “Some dude came in last minute to drink last night.”

“Damn.” Peter sighed from his place on the floor. “I wish I could help somehow. I’d do anything for you, y’know.”

You smiled and peeked at him through your arms. You met Peter during your second year of college. He remembered you frequenting his cafe as a freshman to fuel up on caffeine and use his Wi-Fi. He always welcomed you with ease (and not just because you were a good tipper). Eventually, he offered you a job, and you’ve been working with him ever since. You opened your mouth to say something before the bell at the door chimed through the cafe, signifying that someone walked in.

“Customers!” Peter almost shrieked, tucking more into himself on the floor. “Don’t let them see me! I’m not here!”

So much for doing anything for you!

You shot him a look before straightening up to see a girl with a large white coat and fluffy brown hair peer up at the chalkboard menu above you.

“Hey, welcome in.” you smiled and lightly kicked Peter’s side behind the counter. The quiet “Ow!” wasn’t heard by the girl in front of you as her large eyes darted from her phone to the menu at an alarming rate.

“Hi!”

After exchanging pleasantries you nodded as she relayed her lengthy order, talking at 100 words a minute.

Her hazel eyes blinked behind her heart shaped lenses. “Sorry for the large order! These are for my office.”

“It’s no problem!” You lied through your teeth. “What’s your name?”

“Lyla.”

“Lieee-Luh.” you repeated slowly you wrote her name on the empty cups before you, making sure to draw little hearts on her’s. “Got it! I’ll have these out in a little bit.” Lyla gave you a million watt smile and nodded eagerly, making his way to the end of the bar where her drinks were to be deposited. You went through the motions of drink making with ease, humming lightly to yourself to keep you focused. You looked at Peter, who has yet to move from his position on the floor. You flipped him off quickly and capped Lyla’s drinks, ignoring the over dramatic look of hurt the musician shot you.

“Thank you so much,” Lyla looked at you from across the bar and smiled.

“It’s really no problem, it’s literally my job.”

“Yeah, but still…” she chuckled to herself. “I think this’ll really help.”

That caught your attention and you looked up from the carmel drizzle you were working on. “Yeah? With what?”

A small crease appeared between Lyla’s worried brows as she smiled sadly. “My boss got dumped yesterday.” You pulled a face, Yikes, you thought, not a good season for the lovers. Your mind immediately drifted to the heart broken man that came into the restaurant last night. His entire demeanor was depressed with loneliness, even his hair seemed to droop slightly in sadness. You didn’t know the man very well, but you could tell that he was a person who would go out of his way to help someone, someone that wouldn’t hesitate to do the right thing. You hoped he was okay.

“Oh…” you started lamely, because how the fuck were you supposed to respond? “That sucks.” Lyla’s head snapped up at your abrupt reply. You blinked, realizing that you must have been more tired than you thought because what the fuck? You can’t talk to customers like that! You pressed your lips together and quickly thought of an apology. “I’m-”

“It does suck, right?” She smiled lopsidedly and let out a laugh. You breathed out a sigh, relieved that she wasn’t going to write Aunt May a strongly worded letter or trash the cafe on Yelp. You finished the rest of the drinks with ease, handing Lyla her order in two cup holders.

“Thanks a bunch!” She took his order with a grin and began to turn towards the exit.

“Ah, wait one second!” You said before sidestepping a still squatting Peter (who had somehow gotten another croissant) to quickly shove a few pastries into two paper bags. You stood there in thought for a second before grabbing a sharpie from the cash register, scribbling something on one of them.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” you said, handing Lyla the baked goods. “One of those is for you, good luck at the office!”

If you thought the girl’s smile was blinding before it really had nothing on her expression now. “Really?”

“For sure.”

Lyla’s heart shrouded eyes blinked at you for a moment, as if studying you. Her pink lips spread into a grin before turning to you fully. “What’s your name?”

You smiled back at her and gave her your name as you dusted your hands on your apron. “The other one is for your boss, tell them to take it easy, okay?”

---

Miguel stared at the city’s activity below him from his office window. People milled about on the sidewalk below, interacting with one another throughout their day. The large man took a bite out of his scone thoughtfully, admiring the subtle vanilla flavor. Lyla came in with his coffee order not too long ago, bringing a small pastry bag as a surprise. He said that a nice barista gave it to him, ordering her to tell him to “take it easy”. Miguel accepted the treats gratefully, promising Lyla that he was fine (really, he was).

Probably.

He popped the last of the scone in his mouth and moved to toss the bag in the trash before something caught his eye. Looking at the pastry bag more carefully, he could see that the barista left him a small note.

Everything’s gonna be okay. If it’s not okay, that’s okay too.

Miguel dusted his crummy mouth as he stared at the piece of paper, chuckling softly to himself. The barista also drew him a cute little bunny giving him a thumbs up in encouragement.

The brunette’s thick brows knitted as he carefully tore his little note away from the rest of the bag. Miguel placed the note in one of his desk drawers after making sure that there were no remaining crumbs sticking to it and threw the rest away (he hated ants).

“Looks like I’ve got someone looking out for me.”

---

You tapped your pencil against the page in front of you in annoyance and took a large sip of your tea. You started doing your homework over an hour ago and barely made any progress due to its difficulty. You huffed, recalling just how little you paid attention in class due to always falling asleep.

You stared at the equations in front of you, and they glared back just as intensely. You looked up from your staring contest to glance at your roommate, Hobie, who was humming quietly to himself as he created the setlist for his next show. You met Hobie when you first moved to the city for school. He was born in Camden Town, London, and was literally the coolest person you have ever met. He came to New York to work on his music and study fashion. His time was split between that, antagonizing fascists, being a part-time runway model, and working at the bar with you. You saw him sneaking shots for both himself and some of his regulars, but never told a soul. You knew Hobie hated working there, hated being a cog in the system, but he had bills to pay (you both did). The two of you shared a cozy space nestled in the center of New York City’s ChinaTown, right below the smog covered stars, and right above Timmy Chan’s Hong Kong Style Dim Sum (a favorite lunch time spot you frequented together).

“Hey, Hobie. Could you help me a little?”

He looked up from his notes, pen cap stuck in between his lips and grinned.

”Yeah, sure. What is it?”

You smiled gratefully, picking up the page and walking over to him. You crossed your legs and sat on the floor at his side as his eyes skimmed the page, nodding as he read along.

“You daft?” Hobie elbowed your side gently. “Integral calculus? This is bright and breezy.”

You looked up at his big brown eyes and pouted. “I’ve been falling asleep in class.” you said with a huff. Hobie’s pierced brows creased with concern at this, shuffling slightly to wrap an arm around you.

“Again?”

“Again.” you sighed. You looked to the ground, idly picking at the fraying carpet you two sat on. You knew Hobie worried about you and how hard you’ve been pushing yourself. He could see how the stress from work and school were affecting your health and it was beginning to concern him.

“Y’right?”

You looked up at him wryly, bringing a hand up to flick his shoulder lightly.

“I’m alright.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hobie squinted at you before turning back to the page in his hands, deciding to drop the subject for now. “Whatever. You’d tell me otherwise, yeah?”

You leaned on his shoulder and nuzzled his bicep playfully, yawning obnoxiously before saying, “Of course.”

He gazed upon your drooping form, pursing his lips. “You said you only hit the sack for, what? Four hours?”

“Just about, yeah.”

Hobie huffed and straightened out the piece of paper in his hands. “Right, some dick walked in right before closing and demanded to be served.”

“He wasn’t a dick he was just…” you adjusted yourself on his shoulder. “Sad.”

“A sad dick?”

“No!” you smacked him lightly and you could feel yourself shake with the rumble of Hobie’s chest as he chuckled warmly. You thought about the man that came into your life the other night, it amazed you how someone so large managed to look so small.

“He just got dumped.”

“Bliiiiimey.” He pulled a face.

“That’s what I said!”

“Oh, really?”

“Well, not that exactly!” You huffed out a sigh. “He looked like a kicked puppy. Which is hilarious, because the man is like a building with feet.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! His arms are like tree trunks! I think he could kill me with a flick of his wrist.” You shook Hobie’s lean arm lightly to illustrate your point. “He just looked so...hurt. And he just, like, accepted it, y’know? Like he’s been hurt like this before.” you blinked and lowered your eyes, hugging Hobie’s arm a little tighter. “I hope he’s okay.”

Dark eyes shifted from the paper and onto the top of your head, Hobie huffed out a small laugh. “Aw, you fancy him.”

You pulled back from your friend’s arm sharply and gaped up at him. “I do not!” Fancy him? You only just met the guy and knew nothing about him. Fancy him!

Hobie threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “You do!”

“I don’t, I just-“ you huffed out a breath and paused to collect your thoughts. “I dunno, there was just something…about him, y’know? He seemed like someone who had a lot to offer the world, to offer someone. He looked like he had given up. Seeing him crushed like that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

He side eyed you skeptically and let out a sigh through his nose. You were always pushing yourself so hard, always putting others first (often at a detriment to yourself). Between the two (sometimes three) jobs and school, he had no idea how you were functioning. Hobie grimaced, thinking about the multiple occasions where you were so overwhelmed you sat on the floor eating (his) instant noodles while crying, too stressed to even tell him what was wrong. Other times, he’d go days without seeing you as you’d lock yourself in your apartment to focus on schoolwork, scaring him half to death with your lack of response. He physically kicked in the door of your room only to find you half dead and twitchy in your hyper-focused state. He never wanted to see you like that again.

“Yeah, well” he shrugged and you whined as the movement jostled you on his bicep. “Just don’t bugger off with your fit bev and leave me with your rent.” You laughed softly and pressed your cheek into his arm, smiling against it.

“I could never, Hobie.”

You assumed he accepted your response, as he nodded and turned his attention back to your math homework.”Right, the integral of 2xd is x squared, yeah? You plug that in here at the top and subtract the bottom.”

You breathed deeply and closed your eyes, already feeling yourself start to doze off again. You knew you should be paying attention, but you were too content with snuggling up to Hobie’s arm for some (not so) well deserved sleep.

“Thirteen squared is 169, minus ten squared is…Oi. Oi, you listenin’? Do your homework!” he jostled you gently.

“Yeah...of course…” you mumbled quietly.

Hobie looked down at you with a frown, already knowing that any attempt he made at waking you would be in vain. He sighed as he picked up his pen from its abandoned spot on the floor, deciding to finish your homework for you.

“Hopefully I can mimic your rubbish handwriting.” he sighed.

“Y’can’t do math homework in pen,” you mumbled.

“I don’t believe in conformity.” He sniffed before twirling the pen in his fingers. He tenaciously began to scribble perfect arithmetic on your page, stopping only to smile when you let out a sleepy “thanks” against his arm.

“Anytime, love.”

---

The long days turned into longer weeks as time went by. Miguel went through the motions of his position of CEO with relative ease, meticulously leading his company to further success.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Large shoulders sagged as Miguel sighed into the palms of his hands before peeking through his fingers to blearily peer at the clock in his desktop monitor.

8:43 pm

Jesus Christ, was it already that late? The brunette looked up through his office windows to find that yes, it really was that late, as the building’s lights had shut off and everyone had long gone home. Miguel has since changed into more comfortable clothing to ease him into his work night. The soft material of his oversized gray hoodie combined with the relaxed fit of his favorite pair of loose joggers were the perfect combination for his frequent occasional over night stays in the office. The man let out a yawn as he stretched his arms high above his head before rising from his chair, ready to call it a day. Grabbing his coat and phone, Miguel left the building, letting the automatic doors lock behind him with a soft click.

The brunette inhaled the Autumn air with a light hum before beginning his commute back to his apartment, occasionally picking up litter as he went because why not. He listened to the sounds of the bustling city; the distant sirens, the blaring music from strangers’ headphones as they walked past, the clinking of ceramic in cozy cafes.

Oh. Miguel slowed his stride to a stop in front of a small coffee shop lit warmly within, the same shop he sent Lyla on a coffee run to. Turning fully to face the entrance, the brunette spotted the same nice looking man he saw the first time he laid eyes on the shop. Miguel checked his watch to glance at the time before walking through the wooden door that led to the sweet smelling cafe.

Notes: I deadass spent over an hour learning about the English Cockney accent and have two (2) tabs open with English to Cockney translators. If anyone has any suggestions on how I can make Hobie sound more in character PLEASE let me know. Part of me wants to really lean into the rhyming slang, but I’m afraid no one will be able to understand him (but that’s, like, part of his character right?), he’s in his early twenties here.

The answer to the equation Hobie was solving is 69 lol

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fic #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x you #across the spiderverse fanfiction #sugar daddy au #coffee shop au #bar/pub au #platonic Hobie brown #i hate tagging these like its humiliating lmao #writing

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ff6webcomic · 1 year

Text

Hello everyone! How are you all doing? ^_^ I came to give you an important update about Final Fantasy VI Webcomic!

You guys may have noticed that we got an unplanned full month break in March, and we didn’t get any new pages for two weeks during June. The gap between chapters 7 and 8 has been longer than chapters 6 and 7 as well. There’s a reason for all of that and I’d like to explain it to you!

FFVI Webcomic came back with full force in May 2020 after some extensive hiatuses. One of the biggest reasons for that strong return was the COVID pandemic. Everyone had to stay at home and a lot of people were short on jobs. With that, there was plenty of time to entirely dedicate myself to the comic. With a steady schedule, more and more patron supporters came along and the comic could continue successfully. Our Patreon has grown a lot over these last three years! However, as the time passed and life returned to normal, new goals and new expectations were beginning to show up in my life once again.

As these three years passed, new opportunities were emerging and I’ve been finding less and less time to work on the comic. Even with a tight agenda, I was always doing my best to have FFVI Webcomic have constant updates because this comic and its readers are really important to me. However, I need to be aware that FFVI Webcomic is a VERY big and VERY ambitious project. We’re talking about 10 years of project and at least 10 more years to be concluded, if we’re lucky lol xD And, as much as I love this comic, I can’t sacrifice other aspects of my life to be able to fulfill the comic’s goal.

So with all of that explained, it is with great sadness that I’m announcing that FFVI Webcomic will now be updated with one page per month instead of the usual one page per week.

I know, I know… This was not an easy choice to make and my heart even feels heavy as I’m writing this…This was not a sudden choice either, I’ve been considering the idea for a while and had to make an ultimate decision.

I’m IMMENSELY grateful for all the support, comments and positive feedback that you guys give to this comic! If I could use all that hearty energy to fuel my livelihood I would be rich and wouldn’t have any more financial worries xD FFVI Webcomic is my dream project and if I could make it full time, I would, but we live in a capitalist system and that means you gotta make money to pay up your bills.

Does that mean that FFVI Webcomic will continue with one page per month until it reaches its end? Well, not necessarily. Is that same old thing: The more support the comic receives, the more pages are possible to make. We can still increase the release of new pages but, as its current state, making one page per week as it used to be is unfeasible.

Rest assured that FFVI Webcomic will continue, regardless of how small or big the financial support is! You guys have no idea how many scenes like the Phantom Train, Battle for Narshe, Floating Continent, “Searching for friends”, etc are already done in my head! And as long as Square Enix doesn’t give us a FFVI remake, I’ll be making this comic lol 😂 There’s still plans for that physical book as well! And I’m even considering turning FFVI Webcomic into a collaborative project in the future, instead of being a one person team 👀

With that, I thank you all for your understanding and continuous support throughout these years! This is not the end of FFVI Webcomic. It’s just a different path that this project is taking!

#update #important

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

Text

Allura clutches the receiver in her hand, looking at it desperately. Her grip is so tight her knuckles are bloodless.

Things are not looking good.

“We’re not even close,” she says miserably.

Pidge peers over her shoulder, taking in the number, and – hey.

“It’s not that bad,” she argues. “We’re halfway there!”

“We’ve only got one act left,” Hunk reminds her quietly. Any and all hope shrivels up and dies in Pidge’s chest.

“Oh. Right.”

It’s so stupid. The whole thing, all of it. The Coalition – it had been doing so well. They’d been getting signatures left and right, planet after planet promising their aid. But at some point, somewhere between Keith leaving and the start of the Coalition Show, they’d hit a sort of… plateau. Suddenly, they stopped expanding. They were still getting distress calls, still making treaties and agreements, but for the type of missions they were planning, the level of reinforcement they needed… it was nowhere near enough. They were even having some planets turn them away – send them a distress signal, accept their help, then refuse to join the Coalition. And it was their right to refuse, sure. Voltron would never force anyone to join them. But it definitely felt like they were getting used, and for the life of them they couldn’t figure out why.

Answers came by way of what was basically an intergalactic e-mail. Apparently, thousands of different planets and governments had gotten to talking, and had come to the ever so wonderful conclusion that they wouldn’t join the Coalition unless they saw ‘more support’. Allura – and the rest of them – had been a great mix of horrified, angry, and confused. What the hell did they mean, ‘more support’? More civilian support? More vocal support? More financial support?

The consensus had been a mix of all three. The planets on the fence had decided that if Voltron could prove that they had overwhelming, vocal support from civilians and other governments alike, then the unsure planets would join, and wholehearted support in the fight against Zarkon’s Empire.

The proof of support in question?

A sum of donations, from anyone in support of the cause, of at least three billion goddamn GAC. Three motherfucking billion. Nine fucking zeros.

They’d been mostly out of ideas. How the fresh fuck were they supposed to procure that kind of money? Begging could only get so far – they’d completely forgone any kind of dignity – and they didn’t want to financially cripple any planets already on the Coalition. That wasn’t fair, or even really possible.

It had been Coran who had come up with the idea. (Although he looked uncomfortable any time someone congratulated him for it. As if he thought he didn’t deserve the credit. It was strange, and usually something Pidge would investigate, but she didn’t have anything close to the time to investigate it, so she dropped it.) What if they were to host a special version of the Coalition Show, like those fundraisers on Earth? A larger scale than any of the others, featuring acts not just from Voltron themselves, but many of their allies. A live show, broadcasted to every civilian and anyone else, really, willing to watch, on any planet that could receive the signal, whether their planet was in the Coalition or not.

Billions of potential viewers. Enough that if each one gave even one GAC, they’d meet their goal several times over. They’d poured weeks of energy into organising this, preparing and training and coming up with original ideas.

And here they are now, falling short. One act left in the show, one and a half billion GAC left to go. They’ll never make it.

No wonder Allura looks so upset.

“I think… I have an idea,” Lance says, lip between his teeth and eyes trained on the number displaying their giant failure.

Shiro shakes his head. “We appreciate it, Lance, really, but there’s no way you could come up with an idea this late in the game. It’s… well, we’re going to have to take what we can get. Just finish your act as planned, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow, okay?”

As much as Pidge hates it, she has to agree. No one could raise over one and a half billion fucking GAC in a four-minute act. She knows Lance comes up with a million plans a minute, and a lot of them have saved their asses at the last minute, but this? This is too much. A quick glance around the room tells her that she’s not the only one who feels this way. If she had to pick one word to describe the look on everyone’s face, she’d pick defeated.

If anything, though, everyone’s hopelessness only seems to further Lance’s determination.

“No,” he says, eyes hard. “I need you guys to trust me. Really. I have ten minutes until my act starts. I’m gonna – I’ve gotta make a couple quick changes. Trust me.”

Lance doesn’t wait for approval before striding out of the room.

“Lance –” Shiro starts, half standing to go after him, but Allura’s hand on his arm stops him.

“Don’t bother,” she says tiredly. “There’s nothing he can do, but there’s no point in crushing him now. It will do nothing to help him.”

Shiro sighs, hunching over. “Yeah, good point. It’s just – if he really thinks he can fix it, it’s going to hurt him that much more when he can’t.”

“There’s nothing more we can do now,” Hunk says, speaking up for the first time since he pointed out the problem to Pidge in the first place. “Let’s just go sit down and watch Lance. We’ll pretend everything’s fine, we might even enjoy it. He’s a good dancer, anyway.”

“And he does bring in the largest chunk of our viewers,” Allura points out. “We won’t reach our goal, but he’ll certainly bring us closer.”

That’s true. It’s a silver lining, at least.

“Maybe Lance’s big plan is to switch to pole dancing. That’ll get his viewers to break out their wallets,” she jokes. It falls a little flat, but at least it makes everyone crack a half-smile. Lance’s devoted fans are… something, all right. Pidge has read the comments on some of Lance’s videos, and they are genuinely the horniest thing she’s ever seen. If Lance wasn’t who he was as a person – that is, someone who thrives in the limelight – she’d be shocked that he’d ever leave the castle, let alone tease and flirt with his fans at every opportunity.

She once saw a picture of a fan who’d gotten Lance’s face tattooed on their person. Lance’s face. On their body. For permanent. (Personally, Pidge thinks that is insane behaviour. Whatever floats their boat, though. Lance seemed to get a kick out of it. He’d retweeted it on Space Twitter. It had gone pretty insanely viral.)

As they take their seats in the front row, getting as comfortable as they can for Lance’s performance, Pidge notices something off.

“Hey, where are Lance’s silks?”

Hunk notices something next, squinting at the corners of the stage. “And why are the microphone speakers on?”

“What on Earth is this kid’s plan?” Shiro mutters.

Allura shrugs, eyes still glued onto the receiver, watching the numbers start to pick up in anticipation of Lance’s performance.

Still too slowly, though.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says quietly.

...Right.

They sit in silence for the next few minutes, any jovial mood built up completely dashed to pieces. Lance will get them closer, sure, but they’ll never get the support of those planets.

Two minutes to Lance’s performance, Coran rushes over, elbowing his way through various rabid fans to get to his seat. He looks strangely excited, even for him. He knows they’ve failed. Why is he so ecstatic?

“Why such sad expressions?” he asks, as soon as he’s seated.

“Why aren’t you sad?” Pidge questions. “We bombed, man. There’s nothing Lance can do to make up –” she peeks over Allura’s shoulder for the number – “one point three billion dollars. Not in the four minutes he has.”

Coran smiles at her, eyes twinkling. “I think you’d be surprised.”

“Hey, everyone.” Lance’s voice stops any further conversation, the very sound of it sending the audience absolutely feral. People are outright screaming their heads off, and Pidge is sure she hears a marriage proposal or two shouted in the mix.

“It’s good to see you guys too,” Lance chuckles, tuning his guitar.

Wait a minute. Tuning his guitar?

“Why isn’t Lance dancing?” Pidge yells over the insane amount of cheering. Hunk only shrugs.

“No clue,” he shouts back.

“I’ve got a little change of plans for y’all, if you want to listen up,” he says, and the speed at which the audience goes completely, pin-drop silent is astounding.

“Now, I know you guys came here to see me dance, and I can still dance if you think this will be terrible,” he says, and the audience laughs, shaking their heads and yelling encouragements. Lance has got them intrigued – there’s not a chance they’ll turn him away now. Hell, Pidge can’t wait to see what he’ll do next.

Allura gasps.

“What?”

“The – the numbers,” she stammers, “they’re skyrocketing. And he hasn’t even started yet!”

Pidge peers over her shoulder, and her jaw drops. They’ve already cleared half a billion donations. Half a fucking billion. They’re two-thirds to they’re goal, now, and Lance has only been on the stage for thirty seconds.

Pidge feels dangerous stirrings of hope erupt in her chest, along with a snake of guilt.

Will Lance really do the impossible, raise them a billion and a half dollars by himself?

…And did each member of the team really dismiss any possibility that he could?

“You see,” Lance continues, tearing Pidge’s eyes away from the receiver, “I got my heart broken a little while ago. And as much as I love to dance, I need to get this feeling off my chest before it eats me alive, so I wrote a little song. That okay with y’all?”

The audience goes fucking apeshit. Not only is the idea of Lance singing and playing for them admittedly pretty exciting, but the idea that Lance – Loverboy Lance – had his heart broken? By whom? Who is the mysterious person who didn’t want Lance?

It’s an ingenious marketing strategy, Pidge will give him that. She wonders if it’s true, if he really did write a song about heartbreak.

She glances at Allura, who is staring resolutely at the receiver, and then exchanges a look with Hunk. This might work, yeah, but yeesh.

It’s going to be a little uncomfortable, that’s for damn certain.

“So this is Loneliest,” Lance announces. “I hope y’all like it.”

An echoing note sounds through the speakers, and then he strums his guitar.

You’ll be the saddest part of me

A part of me, that will never be, mine

It’s obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

His voice is crackly, upset. His brow is creased, and one hand grips the guitar tightly when it’s not moving on the frets.

He really does look sad.

The audience is holding its breath.

Allura still hasn’t looked up.

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It's torturous

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

Lance’s voice is slow and sad, accompanied by soft drums in the background and his own guitar chords before every line. The audience – seemingly without realising, as if they can’t help it – has begun to sway to the beat. Pidge is surprised to find herself swaying as well, along with everyone else.

There's a few lines that I have wrote

In case of death, that's what I want, that's what I want

So don't be sad when I'll be gone

There's just one thing I hope you know, I loved you so

The mention of Lance’s potential death causes a visceral reaction. Everyone suddenly realises that it’s not a famous singer, up there with a guitar, but a paladin, who has his life on the line every day, and may very well be killed at any moment.

By now, with Lance’s emotion very real and obvious in front of her, Pidge is sure Lance was telling the truth, in the beginning. These words are truly coming from a place of pain, of heartbreak. He’s written this in advance. But, like, again, from a marketing standpoint: Lance has knocked it out of the fucking park. The words remind everyone what this show is for, what they’re trying to achieve, and, well –

The counter spikes.

“He’s doing it,” Allura breathes. Her face is a strange mix of pinched and relieved, which Pidge can understand. When this does work – and Pidge is sure now that it will – it will all be because of Lance and the heartbreak that he has likely experienced because Allura does not return his feelings. That’s… a rough place to be in, that’s for sure.

The next part builds, each syllable hitting a new note and a new beat, climbing and climbing and building tension that has the audience at the edge of their seats. Lance’s vice is heavy with pain, enough that faint hints of his accent affect the shape of the words.

'Cause I don't even care about the time I've got left here

The only thing I know now is that I wanna spend it

With you, with you nobody else here

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The beat drops, and Lance’s voice goes fucking raw.

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It's torturous

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

There’s not a soul still sitting down, now, everyone standing up with Lance, some people even singing along. More than half of the faces that Pidge can see are wet with tears.

“He’s done it!” Allura shouts. “We’ve reached three billion!”

“Is it still going?” Hunk asks, yelling to be heard over the noise of the audience and the heavy bass of the music.

“Yes!”

The numbers are climbing so rapidly they’re blurring. Lance must have half the fucking people in the universe, watching and relating and weeping, each feeling the same heartbreak that any person can feel. Lance’s voice is steady and strong, and his hands are firm on his guitar, never missing a beat, but there’s – something, about his voice, that aches.

Allura has set the receiver down, no longer worried about the numbers, but she still doesn’t look at the stage.

I'm sorry but I gotta go

That’s what he said to me, as he let me go, he left me alone

Wait a second. He?

Allura’s head whips up to look at Lance, jaw dropped, and Lance isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are squeezed closed, and his expression looks agonised. Pidge watches, shaken, as a tear drips down his face.

And I just keep on thinking how you made me feel better

And all the crazy little things that we did together

In the end, in the end, it doesn't matter

If tonight is gonna be the loneliest

Suddenly Pidge is thrown back to the months before they found Shiro again. She thinks of Keith struggling to lead, to stay part of a team, but the way the crease between his eyebrows smoothed when Lance spoke. How Lance would sometimes duck into the observation deck in the dead of night, eyes red, and Keith would follow, and when she went to check on them in the morning she saw them tangled together, expressions peaceful. She thinks of the insane training simulations they made together, how Pidge and Allura and Hunk would tap out halfway through because those sims were never made for the team, not really, but instead for the red and black paladins and the leaders of Voltron and the rivals, neck and neck, hand in hand, who were each other’s match in every possible way. She thinks of every quiet smile traded between them that she assumed was friendly and reassuring, of every shoulder clap that lingered too long, of every teasing look.

She reaches this conclusion at the same time as the rest of the team, who stare at each other with wide eyes.

This song is not about Allura at all. Lance’s heartbreak, his brokenness, is because of someone else entirely. His desperate loneliness – palpable, from the stage – cries out for one person and one person only, and he’s nowhere near.

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The lyrics feel so much different, now. Now the situation is far from unrequited feelings. Now Pidge knows that Lance has been, by circumstance, wrenched away from the love of his goddamn life, from his comfort, from Keith, and he never knows when or if he’ll see him again. Pidge feels her own chin begin to tremble, because there’s no awkwardness, now, no pity. Now Pidge is watching one of her best friends flay his heart out on stage, aching, and is reminded of her own pain – she misses Keith, too. Now the song is that much closer to her heart, and it hurts.

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It's torturous

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

Lance's voice curdles with emotion, hunched over the mic and the guitar, before he takes a breath, and the fingers shred the frets. There are no lyrics for a moment, nothing as Lance plays and plays and plays and pours his pain into the music, fingers moving so rapidly on the strings they blur, notes cresting high and crashing down, evoking the desperate and terrifying feeling of never knowing if you’re going to be whole again.

Then he takes a deep breath, slows down, and sings again in almost a whisper.

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The drums kick back in, and Lance lifts his chin, opening his eyes, and looking straight into the audience. There’s no mistaking the pain in the brown irises, the misery.

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It's torturous

The drums fade out, and Lance takes his hand off his guitar, wrapping them carefully around the mic. His voice goes quiet and sad again, like in the beginning of the song.

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The last note rings out in the stunned silence of the audience, shaking to its quiet death as Lance takes a step away from the mic. He takes a deep bow, song finished, and the audience goes wild. Lance walks off stage to screams so loud they’re deafening, to applause and stomping and sobbing.

Pidge is suddenly very grateful for front row seats, as she doesn’t have to wade through a mass of people to take off after him, the rest of the team at her heels. She finds him in the same room backstage where they gathered before his performance. He’s got his face buried in Coran’s neck – he must have left before them – shoulders shaking. Coran holds him just as tightly. The room is silent, Lance is silent, but Pidge can wager a guess as to what’s going on.

“Lance?” she asks quietly.

He whips around at her voice, quickly wiping his face, but there’s nothing he can do about the red rimming his eyes.

“Hey, Pidge.” His voice shakes, hoarse. Any strength he had on stage has left him. “Did we do it? Did we make it?”

“You did it,” Hunk whispers. “We beat our goal by miles. We’ll – we might never need funding again.”

Lance tries to smile, but it shakes, his chin trembling. “That’s great! Glad we managed.” He blinks rapidly, swiping the tears from his face as they drop without his permission. “I, uh, left something running, so I’m gonna go –”

“Lance –”

“I’m fine, I just need to –”

“Lance, you should maybe talk –”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lance snaps. The venom in his voice makes everyone rear back, a little.

“S – sorry, I don’t mean to yell. It’s just – I’m fine. I gotta – bye.”

He runs out of the room, and there’s nothing Pidge can do but watch him go.

She can’t help feeling that even though they far suppressed their goal – she’s not sure it was worth it.

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tsisqua · 1 year

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Hi friends, as many of you know, I’m an immunocompromised person. I have a form of Primary Immunodeficiency called CVID. It’s rare and impacts 1 in 25,000. It means that my immune system does not protect me, on it’s own, very well. I have been on treatment for it since diagnosis, with only one gap period that was sizeable before now. My medical treatment should be administered every three weeks into the port that was surgically placed in my chest.

My insurance company, however, has been issuing me denials since the new year began. I have missed several treatments. As a result, I am very sick now. There are a few things I need but honestly don’t have the energy to go to the pharmacy. I’m making decent money, for a disabled person, but since I moved and am still paying on my old lease, things are tight. If anyone would like to buy something from my health wishlist, here it is: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/213VJFOE5I14J?ref_=wl_share

Please only buy if you are financially able to. I know we’re all going through it. Feel free to share. I’m happy to answer questions if it’s helpful.

Thank you.

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meteor752 · 9 months

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This is Halloween

We’re just a few days away from the new life series, and judging by the status of a server I’m on and Trafficblr as a whole, none of us are quite ready

But I do what I gotta do, and the spoopy season is upon us, so here we are

I said I would be making Halloween costumes for the kids a few days ago, and I’ve slaves away all night and day preparing this presentation

No but fr, I had fun. Hope you like em

Liana as Mumbo Jumbo

We’re starting out strong boys. Liana considers Mumbo her biggest financial rival, so their relationship is very, well, rivalesk. At least on her end. Mumbo’s still confused. She probably spent the entire Halloween night imitating him the best she could in a half mocking manner, and both her dads found it hilarious

Wes as a cat burglar

Because what is Halloween without someone in a tight latex cat suit? Wes was 100% forced into this, and as much as he’s a little uncomfortable, he also finds it kinda fun. Jassy def tried to make him wear heels as well, but his balance is shit. He also managed to talk his way out of the tail, since he already has one.

Gertrude as a mobster

Well, she is a king, might as well expand on the brand. Absolutely slaying too, I need to put her in more suits. She probably spent the entire Halloween night sitting mysteriously in some corner, “smoking” her fake cigar.

Johnny as an angel

Cute ironic costume. This was actually suggested by someone in my dm’s, so I thank thee for the idea. The little wings were probably hand crafted from chicken feathers that my lad spent months on, and he’s very proud of them. He’s using the wreath crown to hide his horns as well, they ruin the angelic look. The lyre was borrowed from Novo as well, and he absolutely does not know how to play.

Jassy as a ghost

Can you just put a sheet on your head and call it a day? Yes. But is that any fun? Fuck no. Chains will be rattling all night, and she’ll be throwing them around left and right. The white makeup is probably crappy af too and will start to come off after like, half an hour, but she still looks pretty fucking cool. Will try to scare as many people as she can.

Jekiv as the real monster

A lot of Cleo designs incorporate the classic stitches across the skin, and Jekiv does have that as well on some places where his skin has just come off. But dressing as “Frankenstein’s monster” would be too easy. No, let’s go for the true villain of that story, Viktor Frankenstein himself. It’s a bit fitting too tho, since Jek is a necromancer. He’s just a lot nicer to his creations, amongst other things

Novo as little red riding hood

His gf is a wolf, and the reasoning for his costume ends there. Very disappointed that Gert didn’t want to go in a couples costume, but oh well. The red hood is strangely comforting to him as well, what with his mom and all. He’s girlbossing

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frozenjokes · 8 months

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Signing In: Impulse - 1

***

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for Impulse, especially since his stand tended to be more out of the way. He and Skizz had been so excited to rent the little thing out all those years ago, when the prospect of growth and wealth was still a reachable fantasy.

“Everyone starts somewhere, and hey, maybe we’re starting a tad late, but we’ve got our little forge and a roof over our heads, so I’d say we’re doing pretty well for ourselves!” Skizz had said, eyeing the other, more favorable booth locations hungrily. “Yeah, we’ll get there.”

“Sure, if we get really good at this really fast,” Impulse huffed, giving Skizz’s shoulder a healthy shove. “Remind me why I let you talk me into a trade profession so late in life? Most of these people have been doing this since they were kids.”

“Of course!” Skizz never got tired of reminding him, responding with the same energy as he had the first time Impulse voiced his doubts, “It’s because you’re miserable! Well, were miserable, because your new life starts today!”

“I thought it started when I quit my old job? Or when you first showed me how to work the forge? Or when I got started on the paperwork for this stand? Or-”

“Many new beginnings! Exciting, isn’t it?” Skizz sighed contentedly, resting his hands behind his head, “Oh yeah, this is gonna be great.”

And it’s not that it wasn’t great, even all these years later. It was fine . It was more than fine! Impulse loved working in the forge with Skizz, even if Skizz wasn’t particularly talented at the trade and Impulse didn’t have enough experience to feel competent at the job. He enjoyed feeling challenged as well as some of the creative freedom he had now, especially opposed to the monotony of the ocean where he fished the same seas for hours in the overbearing sun. Even still, sometimes he missed the security of the repetition. Impulse had a good idea of how much he’d catch, how much he’d make at the end of the day, and if money got tight, he could just put in more hours! Maybe that’s why he had gotten so depressed in the first place; nothing to look forward to but the same seas every hour of every day, doing the same mindless work.

Now, money was always tight. Always. Impulse had never had the luxury of a life without financial burdens, and typically, he wasn’t too bent out of shape about it. He hadn’t ever known anything else, and under normal circumstances, his social class didn’t cause too much earth-shattering stress.

But Skizz was sick. He always seemed to be sick lately, the instances where he was in perfect health getting to be few and far between. Skizz was sick, and medicine was too expensive.

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, and Impulse found himself staring enviously at the other stalls, stewing in his own stress. He wasn’t as witty or charismatic as the typical shopkeep, his attempts at open charm usually falling flat and making him feel far worse. Was he more of a failure if he didn’t try at all? Skizz made it look so easy, drawing people in with a bright smile and friendly demeanor, as well as that odd half-suit he insisted made him look cool and strong . If you asked Impulse, he’d say it was silly to tear the sleeves off a suit and arguably unprofessional, but whatever Skizz was doing, it seemed to work, so Impulse didn’t tease him too much. Maybe he should be wearing a silly outfit to work. Maybe it would draw more people in. Skizz would probably get a kick out of that, but Impulse wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough in his own body to make anything like that work. Impulse drummed his nails against the counter, wishing Skizz was here now.

“Hello there! Are you open?”

Impulse startled out of his daze, jumping to his feet, “Yes, yes we’re open,” he deflated, silently cursing his own awkwardness before sliding back onto his stool. He’d scare off potential customers by spacing out like that, even more so by jumping up whenever someone approached. However, the man didn’t seem to mind, leaning eagerly over the counter to get a better look at the various swords for sale. He was dressed nicer than Impulse was used to seeing in this part of town, with bright, clever eyes, typical of a young man with little life experience. No wonder he was here instead of another stall; he surely had enough coin to afford a higher quality weapon.

Shit, Impulse should be talking, shouldn’t he. Be friendly and all that.

“Are you well?” he tried, putting on his best customer service smile. Skizz always said he had a good smile for this type of thing. Nice face. Relaxed, if not a little strained. Disarming, like a sad, single dad. Impulse wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that last comparison, but Skizz was adamant it was a good thing. ‘Good for business! Ha!’

“Oh, never better!” the man said, leaning further over the counter, “You’ve got some nice stuff here! Very nice, very nice.” He sounded exceedingly fake.

Impulse quirked an eyebrow. “Right, well if you’ve got your eye on anything in particular, I can bring it up for you to hold and see how it feels. If it’s easier, you can come on back instead for a better look. I’d rather you not break the table.”

The man laughed, leaning forward on his hands before jumping back to his feet, “Not the table! Yes, yes, I’d love to get a closer look. See, I’ve just arrived here a couple days ago and I’m looking for a new beginning,” he kept talking as Impulse gestured for him to come back, “Now, this isn’t to say I don’t know my way around a sword, I do, but I’ve gotten bored with life back home, and I’m looking for a place with a little more action, you know?” He poked at one of the blades, jumping a little when he discovered it was sharp.

Impulse chuckled, “Usually people that ‘know their way around a sword’ know that end’s pointy.”

“Well a good swordsman doublechecks! Can I pick this one up?”

“Go for it.” Impulse watched with great amusement as the man attempted to lift his chosen weapon with one hand, an almost affronted look crossing his face when he discovered it was heavy. He glanced back, not unlike a cat caught in the act of doing something it shouldn’t, before doubling down, apparently deciding he could salvage his pride. Impulse had to stop himself from laughing when the man managed to pull the sword from the display, his arm shaking with the effort of holding it one-handed.

“Usually, you’d use both hands. I’m sure you’ve seen lots of show fights, but those guys are actors as well as swordsmen. You’re going to want something lighter if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I- Well of course! Back home the swords are lighter, that’s all, I just got a bit confused.”

“Uh huh. What’s your name, stranger? Where’re you from?”

“My name? Why, I’m Scar! Scar Goodtimes! I don’t have many scars to show for the name, but with any luck, that’ll change real soon! And you?” Scar held out his hand, struggled for a moment with the sword, then put it hurriedly back on the display before reoffering his hand. Impulse shook it. Clearly this guy was an idiot, but if he had money to offer, who cared?

“You can call me Impulse. So you’re an entertainer then?”

“Not quite! The name is confusing, I know, but unrelated to any profession. Though, I wish it was! I love traveling and I especially love meeting new folks such as yourself!”

“Really? What do you do then?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve got myself a little boat to live in and I’ll occasionally take up cargo shipping for some extra cash, boat people around, the like. Though, I’m looking for something a little different now, and I’m planning to settle here for a while.”

“Interesting,” Impulse mused, eyeing Scar’s nice clothes. That money didn’t come from freelance work, not unless you had a nice reputation, and this kid couldn’t even hold a sword. Scar’s eyes narrowed just slightly, something appraising, with an intelligence that felt unnervingly unlike the person he’d just met. Did he know Impulse didn’t believe him? Impulse suddenly felt vulnerable, like the other man could see right through him. He backed up, just a step, but a step that didn’t go unnoticed. Scar cocked his head, almost innocently. Impulse tried not to frown. What was he looking for? A list of every crime Impulse had committed in the past year shot to the forefront of his mind. Not massive stuff mind you, but enough to make him sweat. Impulse hoped with all his will he didn’t have any counterfeit coins lying around. Was Scar here to scout him out? Catch him in the act?

“Are you a cop?” Impulse blurted, immediately mortified with himself. Scar blinked rapidly before doubling over in a massive laughing fit. Impulse put his hands over his face. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry. Unless you are a cop, in which case, cool, great, I love the law.” Scar only laughed harder, Impulse feeling incredibly awkward as he waited for the other man to compose himself. Scar wheezed as he straightened up, eyes shining.

“I am deeply offended, hurt even, you have- I can’t believe it! Cop. I am not a cop!” Scar yelled in mock outrage, although his giggling dampened the effect. Impulse shrunk away as he spotted a couple wandering eyes drawn to the noise.

“aHah yes! Cops! We love cops. And the law. Yes,” Impulse struggled to save face, but Scar either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“Impulse!” he bellowed, “I’ll say, that is probably the second or third worst thing anyone has ever called me. Why, I should just march right on out of here and back to my boat! Lick my wounds and cry about it! Cop. I can’t believe that.” Impulse shrunk back into his stand, hoping no one would see him. At this point, Scar leaving would probably be best for business, (and not getting arrested) but the man didn’t look like he actually planned on going anywhere.

“Do I even want to ask?” Impulse tried, and Scar lit up.

“Doctor! The worst by far!” Scar threw up his hands, though the facade of his frustration was dampened a little by the smile across his face. ‘Goodtimes’ seemed to suit Scar; he was certainly a performer.

“Doctor. Really.” Impulse didn’t bother to hide his skepticism, crossing his arms, “Wouldn’t be my first guess.”

“Well you don’t have to sound so surprised!” Scar huffed, tutting to himself then continuing in a tangentially related rant. Impulse rubbed the bridge of his nose. No winning with this guy then. Scar was an animated storyteller, waving his arms in sweeping gestures and forcing Impulse to scramble just to keep him from knocking all his wares off the shelves. It was hard to tell if Scar was just clueless, or if he enjoyed watching Impulse fumble around.

“Alright, alright, out with you,” Impulse had to reach to grab Scar’s arms, shoving them to his sides and away from his displays before pushing him out from behind the counter. Scar was not to be discouraged, continuing with the sort of confidence only people who got kicked out of stands often could have.

“-and you wouldn’t believe this lady, I’d say all nice-like ‘sorry, I can’t help you with your dumbass kid,’ and she starts going on and on about how I’ll never be a real doctor and I’m like LADY that’s the GOAL-”

“So you worked in medicine before this? Seems like a good gig, must’ve paid well,” Impulse cut in, struggling between amusement and the desire to preserve any sort of professionalism he had for any potential customers passing by.

To Impulse’s great relief, Scar brought the volume down, resting his elbows on the counter with his head in his hands, “Guess you could say that.” That calculating look returned to Scar’s eyes, searching. For what, Impulse wasn’t quite sure. He turned around, if not to avoid Scar’s eye, then to right some of the smaller displays Scar had knocked askew.

“I’m getting the impression you weren’t too fond of the work.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well for someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice so much, you don’t seem all too eager to talk about it. What, are you squeamish?” Impulse risked the tease, turning around to see Scar’s amused expression turn to mock-offense.

“Say what you want about my ego, but I am not squeamish.”

“No?”

“No! And that’s gotten me into trouble before, let me tell ya. I didn’t realize blood and gore and things bothered people at all for the longest time, I mean, I grew up around that shit, and my dad certainly wasn’t concerned! Now he’s a doctor, a real stiff kinda man, kinda sucks the life out of everything.”

“So not a ‘Goodtime…s’”

Scar brightened, laughing, “Yeah! Exactly! Anyway, so I was with this girl, right? Lovely person, really, she was great, but oh boy you would not believe how pale she got when I was explaining about this crazy livestock accident- I’ll spare you the details, but I did not spare her anything, and whew, I’ve never had anyone grab my hands so tight. She said- well- she said my name, she said I was a freak! I was like thirteen! I am a changed man, Impulse, changed I tell you. I didn’t see her for a whole month after that, and the whole time I thought she was the freak! Y’know I told my dad, I told him, and you know what he said?”

“Hey, are you going to buy something?”

“ Women . That’s what he said. Women. He didn’t even look at me! I look down at my own tits like okay, this doesn’t answer any of my questions, but hey! Me and her are still friends now, at least, before I left. I’ll visit for sure, for sure.”

“Scar.”

“Yes, Impulse!”

“You are lovely. You are.”

“Yes!”

“But if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m going to need to free up the stand for other customers. I’ve got to put food on the table tonight.”

“Oh yes, yes, a personality this big takes up a lot of space! I understand!” Scar rummaged around in his pockets, then flicked two silver coins onto the counter, “For your time then, yeah?"

“You don’t have t-”

“Goodbye!” Scar trailed the ‘e’ as he swiveled around, skipping in the opposite direction. Impulse couldn’t help but gape after him, any previous words lost on his lips. He looked at the time and cringed, unsure if it was good or bad that so much had passed. At least he wasn’t bored. Well then. He’d have quite the story for Skizz after packing up for the night, that was for sure. Maybe that alone made the loss of time worth it. Impulse resituated on his stool, looking out over the market.

Maybe he’d see Scar again sometime soon.

#hermitcraft #pirates smp #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #skizzleman #boatemghostsau

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nemukurastudio · 5 months

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Where are you, devs?

Hello you guys! It’s been awhile huh? I want to say that during the absence, there was progress with the game but, no, there isn’t much actually. Day 4 is still in the works, about 75% done since the script is finished but it has yet to be coded + the BGs need to replaced since they’re placeholders right now.

Truthfully, me and Kame have not only been busy with university but also just naturally taking out time, being human and lazy. Kame is especially busy because her course is time consuming. And again, we’re both near graduates. We would both love it dearly if we could work on the game just like last year when our schedules weren’t tight but I suppose that’s what being a graduating student is like.

We’re very thankful to the people who have been financially supporting us via Kofi membership for the past months despite the lack of progress in the game. I want to say for certain what we aren’t planning to end development of the game, it’s just that we’re slower than we planned and expected and I hope you can forgive us for that.

I won’t make any promises on when updates will come around, but I personally am trying to get back into things so that the game’s development can continue. I hope you all remain patient with us on this possibly long journey and we once again thank you for being supportive of two silly developers.

#yours truly vn #devlog

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arlathvhenan · 8 months

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Emergency Art Commissions!!!

Hey everyone. I'm in a bit of a tight spot financially. Without getting too heavily into details, my fiance and I likely won't have enough to pay our rent this month. We're both employed, but took some heavy losses over the past few months that's decimated our savings. We were homeless until pretty much this month. We ended up having to move pretty much across the state, quit the jobs we had and and find brand new ones.

Like I said we’re both working now but no we’re near close to breaking even yet. still trying to catch up with our debt.

I hate begging for money so I'm offering commissions instead. Don't currently have a pricing page. Prices will be negotiated based on the type of commission asked for.

Here’s some examples of my work:

You can find further examples on my Instagram

DM me if you have any questions

#rent help #art commisions #commission

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shitter · 9 months

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Hope everything is going well for you! How are you?

Things were pretty shitty for a while at work (massive data synchronization issue at a pediatric cancer research institute that has taken over 3 weeks to fix, requiring me to work multiple 12-14 hour days along the way), but I think the worst is over, and we appear to be in the clear. They’re letting me take some ~complimentary~ time off since I’ve been putting in so many extra hours at work, which is pretty cool, although I think some people might be upset that I’m fucking off so quickly after the fact. I don’t care though because I’m pretty burnt out from the whole ordeal, and god knows I need a vacation.

I moved to a new place with my partner back in April, and we’re really liking it here. It’s a basement unit, so we don’t get much light, but the place itself is really cool and has a wet bar. We’re both still in Chicago, and it’s crazy how much living in a place you like can change your perspective on a city.

Financially speaking, money is still a little tight (the amount of money I’m making at my job doesn’t go NEARLY as far in 2023 Chicago as it did in 2018-2021 Portland). I haven’t had much energy to put into creative endeavors lately, mainly because I’ve been so focused on retaining some sense of financial security while supporting two people. My partner starts her new job soon, so hopefully that additional income will balance things out.

I’ve been seeing a new therapist for the past year or so, and he’s really good! I feel like I have made some major strides in all of the areas I wanted to improve in, but there is still much work to be done. I’ve been doing a lot better with controlling my anger, but there are still some more nuanced problems I need to work through.

Anyway I appreciate the ask! Always good to know that there are still people on this site that give a shit about me. Anyway thanks for listening and sorry for being this guy:

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cowboyjen68 · 1 year

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Hi Jen 💜 I was wondering if you had any advice on how to start living for yourself instead of for other people. I’m realizing this is something I’ve struggled with for most of my life, and I’m not sure how to figure out what I like and what makes me happy, because for so long my standard has been “what do other people want from me? What do other people think is impressive?” I spend my high school and college years trying to measure up to my best friend, and now, after a rough breakup, I find myself trying to compete with my ex. Even though we’re not in contact and I don’t follow her online anymore, I still have this persistent feeling of her judgment in my mind whenever I do (or don’t do) anything. I feel the need to compare myself and my progress to her life even though I’m realizing that I don’t actually want to do the things she’s doing. But I feel like just being me isn’t enough, you know? Sorry, I feel like this may be kind of vague and rambling, haha.

I think a lot of us feel this to some extent or another. I needed to, first and foremost, learn to say “no” when I don’t want to do something. It really starts with being honest with myself. Am I saying “yes” because something is appealing to me or even because I know I can offer help and that will make me feel good OR am I saying “yes” to avoid being seen as rude or mean?

Often I found myself either saying “yes” or passively agreeing to something because I thought it was the response expected of me and to say “no” would allow another person to suffer. Most of the time we all are willing to do something to alleviate the pain or fear of others but I had to learn to weigh the consequences to my own health and life. (financial, emotional, physical etc.)

Once I was coming out of a 17 year relationship I realized I had based much of the trajectory of my life on what I thought she needed/wanted and what was expected of me as a parent and a partner to another woman. I had to drastically rethink my life because after about a year apart I was still doing the same things and every move I made seemed dependent on what she would think, how she would react or what societal expectations. I had never wanted to be a mom and I certainly did not want to be a mom in the way I thought others wanted me to be a mom.

I literally sat down one day and penned out my parenting style as opposed to what I was doing. In one column it was “I would do it this way” and in another was “I do it this way” and after each was a “because” column. SO I would “tell my kid they can’t have the candy and explain it is too much money” BECAUSE “I want them to know the truth and money is tight” And then I would reflect on how I had been handling things “I would tell them NO to the candy” and be upset because I was stressed I could not afford it BECAUSE “My wife would tell me it was mean to tell kids we don’t have enough money since it makes them feel like we are poor”.

It did not take too much of this exercise to realize many of my reactions were, more often than not, a proactive reaction to how I knew OR thought another person would react to my decision. Predicting a reaction is one thing that we need to be able to get along with others and live in a social world. Restructuring our entire way of handling every situation to appease others is not healthy if it is a constant restraint we have to be aware of just to live day to day. When we have to expend the mental energy to make sure each action and decision will not cause us conflict with those in our lives we need to rethink the people we are “answering to” Are these the people we need around us if we find ourselves going against every instinct we have to just function?

I discovered that my constant effort to define my actions by the parameters others were setting on me was exhausting. We all have to make some concessions to be part of groups but when we give up our natural way of handling situations to control the judgment of others we can forget that we are capable of handling things our own way. AND, in the end, we can’t control the actions of others anyway.

This is all sort of the preamble to the idea that we base our success on what others see as success. Good parents are “seen” a certain way. Good employees “act” a certain way. Success is money, things, vacations, long term relationships and on and on. Our social structure is set up to reward these things that are “the dream life” but whose dream? You need to figure out what truly gives you happiness. Is it money? Tropical vacations? Or is it a job you have that you love but aren’t “supposed” to do because it isn’t fancy or glorified by the media? Some people that work at gas stations make a living wage, get benefits and love the daily interactions with regulars they have formed relationships with yet they are constantly told they need to “move up” or that what they do is not important or fulfilling. Is it less work and more time with your friends? Is it evenings at home with your dog?

You are enough. And what you enjoy is enough. If you can pay your bills, take care of yourself and live within the means you have decided to earn, that is success. Adding fulfillment and happiness to that is icing on the cake. When we are with a partner or friends we often do things we don’t necessarily enjoy but being with them makes it worth it. When we are on our own time we can decide for ourselves and that freedom can feel pretty nice.

#single life #success #fulfillment #life goals #living for ourselves

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