#using a fucking walgreens piece of shit

[ladygoofball]

Adults need to stay out of self indulgent fan spaces. Is this reactionary content for adults? Or do we want them to keep playing the soundtrack of our pains and misery for clicks and laughs.

This is Nobody’s problem Consider it a gesture of good PR when it smacks you in the face.

It should not have to be my problem right now. I am tired.

But riddle me this:

If you saw thought that Keith Harring would have put his entire fucking ass on the line to make sure Aaron Bushnell’s name did not get forgotten?

You’re not alone. I am always being told I am too inexperienced. I need to shovel someone else’s mess for no money. My cats are dying and I don’t have time.

Consider this a healing word:

I have people who are in film school right now? Who can’t fathom a world where the people in front of them can’t fucking conceptualize having the wind knocked out of you with just the power of their words. But a Director comes to fans saying they are tired. The industry is collapsing. I’ll make a whole god damned new one do not TEMPT me with magnum opus status. They do not understand the definition of the word.

That…can’t be right? Is it? You’re all letting the industry standard of VIDEO GAMES whore out your art? Your craft?

For elon fucking MUSK!!

I have had to endure THAT? For weeks. In my self indulgent spaces. Fan run shit and Corporate shit need to be separated. Grooming on the internet moves too quickly. We need to stop allowing grown ass adults to fall into grooming algorithms because Elon FUCKING Musk bought them all. The way that this video game is communicating to us sonatically without REST?!! like we can’t get the POINT?!

It’s always too late.

I have been afraid of going near a good idea for too long but my ideas? KEEP GETTING FLIRTED WITH IN CHAT ROOMS. But everyone is too tired to take my words anywhere.

Nobody gives a damn now BITCH.

Over seven excruciating fucking years i’ve had my ideas flirted with and gone nowhere. That is how groomers speak on the internet now. They never wanted me to know. I can’t say who. I was in film school. They told me I was not smart enough with my degree to redefine the word comic book. I keep having my ideas flirted with and having nothing done about it around VALENTINE’s DAy which was actually supposed to be my birthday. I was born on the 10th of February though.

I cannot put my family’s names out there in a military regime. My money? Is being used to kill kids. Already.

Algorithms are smarter than me? No, i tell THEM how THEY work. With my words.

But NOBODY cares

Tumblr was the first fucking space I had where groomers would make me fucking react to them and keep me on the line for suicide watch. You don’t think I know what crazy sounds like? When your psyche is fractured?

When they want you to have read books you can’t understand out loud and laugh in your face when you try? You need to plug in to the internet

That can’t be your only media diet. It can’t be! I have to change that.

Do you think you are going crazy right now?

That is. An algorithm at work. Bought and paid for, cheap, commercial bullshit. I promise a good idea can sound just as good on a dead platform as it can on a groomers fucking paradise. They won’t publish Jeffery Epstein list.

Nobody will.

Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe that is intentional. I cannot fucking believe that I have to debase myself using TUMBLR to act like a fan in order for people to start getting more literary with demanding combat training and rest from your video games. I need oaths sworn on camera that I can take that team to combat training and get their fucking winds sailing. No one else seems to want to do it anymore, and I really can’t afford to wait another minute. My cats are dying i’m in tracy chapmans fast car. My cat yowls whenever I get activated now, I can’t stop hearing the day care that I worked for but I was told I was not qualified to work in. I need a FUCKIng BREAK from creating for god damned NOBODY.

I have been telling Elliot for 7 years. That it will be okay. I don’t have hopes left, I’m going to lose them because I don’t have a job.

I am tracy chapmans fast car.

I have a list of video games that you would love, if your self indulgent spaces are getting too full of Marketing getting cheap reactions out of someone for LAUGHS. They think they can take screenshots of my words to pass along and make themselves feel better without sharing?

Who the hell do you think I am? I invented overthinking on the internet motherfucker.

They think you forgot the definition of the word. They did that to you on purpose.

Please tell me you are alright. Because this word doesn’t sound right in your head it’s concerning it’s alarming. It’s going faster than I can type.

[jodilin65]

Before Rhonda…

On the way to Rhonda and exhausted as fuck. I doubt I’ll post this today. My sleep was broken up… again. I don't know if it woke me up or if I woke up and then noticed it, but my nose was stuffy. I probably burned too much of the awesome incense cones we got with our Walmart order, so I had to get up and play nose and use my snot spray. It took a full clonazepam to put me back out. Slept for the rest of the night maskless. As I knew I would, I woke up exhausted.

We had to bomb this place because these little black bugs were biting my feet. Not sure what they were. We sat in the driveway for two hours with Tink in her little pink carrier. Just like last time, she was so good. She sat in her carrier the whole time, even though the door was open. She demanded to be patted at times, of course, LOL. She also devoured the piece of a Cheeto I gave her.

We ate, and I lay down for a bit after we aired the place out. I feel warm, tired, and heart racy. Hopefully, in less than three hours, I won't have to worry about schedules and appointments for a while! Just the usual fatigue and possible storm and power disruptions. 

I still can't say for sure whether or not the maca helps. It seems to at times. I know I felt like shit for a while yesterday, as just going to Walgreens took a lot out of me, but I felt better after a while. Still, and as I intend to discuss with Rhonda, I greatly fear chronic fatigue. Something ain't right. I should definitely have more energy more often. I don't think it's my thyroid. It would definitely help to find the right mask so I could sleep with it full time. We ordered a full face with liners and a cradle.

After Rhonda…

I left Rhonda's office feeling better, but not. The frustration came to a head, and I was even teary-eyed when explaining to her how shitty I’ve felt. She agrees I probably do have chronic fatigue and doesn't know if I’ll get better. Tom feels so confident that I'll get better, and he was right when it came to the hardcore anxiety. But the impression I got from her was that she didn't feel very hopeful. I've got so many things working against me. Things that are harder to deal with as an older person. As she reminded me, we can't handle the things we could handle as well when we were younger. I've got my thyroid, my A1C, my sleep apnea, and just being old working against me. Even being fat can cause fatigue. Perhaps everyone's different, but I can say without a doubt that there isn't a single good thing about aging. Yes, we do get smarter and less emotional when the shit hits the fan, but I'd rather be a dumbass basket case who felt great as opposed to how I am now.

When she broached the subject of an endocrinologist, I told her why I had no luck with them, explaining the last one told us to do some crazy stuff and was likely involved in kickbacks, and that the one in California wouldn't believe me when I tried to tell her that levothyroxine could make me anxious if I got in the target range. She said that while they do care about numbers, as that's what they're trained to do, they also believe in listening to their patients. We definitely know our bodies best!

I don't think I'll ever lose weight because I can't get my TSH in the target range without feeling anxious. I'm always going to have at least subclinical hypothyroidism. So I asked her, "How can I continue to lower my A1C without dropping weight?" and she told me what I already know, but my brain fog momentarily made me forget, and that's to lower my carbs. So I really need to get serious about following a diabetic menu plan. She recommends no more than 100 to 125 carbs a day.

I also mentioned that since having my gallbladder removed, it can cause absorption issues, and she said she has heard of that. So that right there is another thing working against me. She wants to test my thyroid after I've been consistent for about 6 weeks with no skips. So I have to really back off the vitamin D that doesn't come from food, and hopefully I can go to the lab around August 1st.

I told her that I've been waking up a lot and asked about the Doxepin I looked up, and she agreed that there aren't any medications out there that don't have side effects. She's going to start me off at the lowest dose. 6 milligrams is what they use for sleep, and 25 is what they use for depression. It's used to treat mood disorders for the most part. It's not an SSRI, but it can cause suicidal thoughts, and it's safe to stop it if there are any side effects. I later read that it's not safe to suddenly stop it, but I'm gonna take her word for it. The thing is, how am I going to know if I have suicidal thoughts when I have that most of the time anyway with how shitty I’ve been feeling???

There was one thing she did say that was encouraging. I hope she really knows what she's talking about because she says it could take up to six months to really feel the benefits of CPAP treatment, and says she doesn't see how I could not get more energy after that amount of time. Well, getting the right mask will certainly help if there is such a thing for me.

I didn't tell her this, but I'm going to give it to the end of the year. I really, really can't keep suffering for the rest of my life. If nothing I do can alleviate the extreme fatigue, I don't think life is worth living at that point. I just can't see myself able to handle living in a fog for another 15 to 20 years. I want to live and not just exist. I'll give the Doxepin, lowering carbs, and the CPAP a little more time, though. The Doxepin is supposed to help people fall asleep and stay asleep. I doubt I'll be able to handle the side effects, whichever ones I get, because I'm very sensitive to medication. But I'm too desperate not to try something. I haven't had too much trouble falling asleep lately because of the exhaustion, but I'm still having trouble staying asleep. Not quite as much as when I was leaving the devices on and near the bed, but it’s still bad enough, and yes, I know it's part of aging. The older we get, the shittier we sleep.

In six weeks, assuming I can stick to the Doxepin that long, we're going to have a virtual follow-up appointment.

Just the other day, I asked Tom when I last had a tetanus shot, and he said it had been a while, but he doesn't remember what year. She was able to tell that it was in 2014, so I'm definitely due for that. She also wants to do a CAC test on me.

It’s just so damn hard to accept the fact that I'm never going to get better and that I'm just not meant to live life anymore, but simply to be alive. It's a sad realization that's been slowly setting in, and like I said, I don't think I can just say, "Oh, well, that's just life and what's meant for me," and just live with it. Almost every day is a struggle. I feel horribly fatigued, even just sitting in a chair. I'm really afraid Tom's wrong this time, and I'm never going to get better. My life is basically over, no matter how long I stay alive. No more vacations if we ever had money, and definitely no moving. There's no way I could handle a move. Those adventures are definitely a thing of the past. I don't like a lot of things about Florida, but hey, at least it's warm most of the year and it's more affordable.

I had a couple of different AI models create an editing tool code for me to use on Blogger. Tom's going to go through it, but I don't think I'll be using Blogger regularly anymore. I may make large monthly posts there, and that's it. I still say they're preparing to phase out the blogs. Why else would you do something so crazy?

Upon waking up today…

Feeling exhausted and totally hopeless. Sleep was a little fragmented because I took Zyrtec and ibuprofen before bed. Also, I didn't get enough REM sleep last night, and the night before, I didn't get enough deep sleep. Not getting enough REM last night may be partly my fault, because I drank wine before bed.

Still, I feel like I have a huge life sentence hanging over my head, and it's a really tough pill to swallow. I just can't accept feeling like this for the rest of my life.

[starsandpianos]

UGH!!!!!

Paid my stupid taxes late and accidentally used a check from a bank account that I closed. Got charged a fee for the bad check, and now the fucking IRS is sending me letters every couple days with a new amount because they decided to charge me 4 cents of interest 2 days after they sent me another later. Got a money order made out to the first amount and now I’m gonna be short four cents……..and I don’t have any checks yet, and when I tried to order checks online I couldn’t because it’s my first time ordering for this account…so I have to go to the bank…..which means I need to make time during the day as soon as possible, even though I have shit to do!!!

I’m just gonna go ahead and send that first money order and then they can send me an updated amount with a new voucher, which will hopefully give me time to get some motherfucking checks. ALSO I still need to go to Walgreens and get stamps because the stamps I got recently must have fallen out of my purse when I took my phone out or something???

All of this wouldn’t even be a factor if Illinois didn’t make it a fucking HORROR SHOW to pay online. Requesting a fucking mytax login and waiting for a piece of mail, just for it to end up saying that a login cant be created for me for some unknown reason. These endless pointless hoops makes for a lot of suffering

[yanderemommabean]

Since u said to comment anything, ur grandmas a fucking bitch

I like this, I prefer the word “Cunt” as well!

Listen I’m usually against attacking people but she’s literally abused and pushed me to my limit. She’ll keep us up all night with blaring songs on repeat. Throw things and yell at us and Sammy, tell us we’re pieces of shit and she wants us to die, then demand we kiss her ass.

She breaks my things, calls the cops over nothing, and tries to tell us that we’re gonna go to jail if we so much as try tp leave the house (to go to my moms, which is much safer)

We can’t stay at my moms for long because of the animals we have here such as the chickens and dogs as well as the new hamster.

Want a run down of what she did today?

-Called me a worthless bitch for not letting her use my phone to pretend to be a nurse calling in a prescription

-Demanded I pretend to be a nurse to call the prescription

-When I went outside to calm down and try to think she called the cops and said I was “a runaway” when I’m fucking 21 and not at all missing

-Threatened to keep Sammy outside and starve him

-Broke some stuff on my brothers wall

-Told my papaw we were abusing her and holding her hostage

-Screamed at me to obey and help her call Walgreens to get her fix of medication

-Threatened to have Sammy killed over it when I said no

And she does this over and over every day every hour and I can’t take it anymore, I don’t care if it embarrasses my family I’m tired of acting like sweeping it under the rug will make it disappear and make it “OK”

So run wild with the comments, you have my blessing

God I want out of here so fucking much.

-Mommabean

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Meant To Be: Part 7

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, smut

Word Count: 4,190

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know what I can’t help but think about?” Colson said as he watched you create an electric guitar cake for Gage’s first birthday. You hummed and carefully pulled away one final piece of extra fondant before standing up straight to admire your work.

“What’s that?” You asked without looking over at him as you compared the piece in front of you to Colson’s guitar to make sure it looked perfect before doing a slight double take when you realized your boyfriend had gotten unusually quiet. “Cols?”

“I fucking missed it.” He nearly whispered as he looked down at the nearly burned out roach in his fingers. “I fucking missed it because I was to fucking stubborn to answer your fucking calls.”

“Babe, you can’t think like that.” You sighed as you shook your head. “You did what you thought was best.”

“And missing the birth of my son was what was best?” He snapped with misguided anger. “Doing that to you…”

“Hey.” You said quickly as you walked over and cupped his jaw in your hands. “Stop. Just stop. Don’t spiral, Colson. You are here with us now. Here for his first birthday. You heard his first word and you caught him when he took his first steps… to you, I might add because Mommy is very, very offended by that.” You smiled when a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, so you continued. “You have been there for milestones, babe. Beautiful milestones accomplished by the life we created. And I know it sucks to not have been there for the birth but I promise you, you would have been terrified. Blood everywhere, and inhuman screams. It was like a Goddamn Alien vs. Predator movie.”

“Did you really just compare the birth of our son to a barely half way decent movie?”

“I mean, would you prefer I went into detail?”

“No.” He said with a shake of his head as he took one last drag of his joint and stepped outside to put it out on the window sill. “Can’t fucking even begin to think about losing him…”

“So comparing it to a barely halfway decent movie it is then.” You said with a nod as you waved the smoke away from you because it was making you nauseous. “OK, help me get this guitar on the cake so I can get started on the records before he gets up from his nap.”

“You know the party is in like two days, right?” He asked as he closed the back door and came over to help.

“You know you better shut the fuck up before I bash this fucking guitar of yours on the tile, right?” You growled as slid your hand under the neck of the fondant guitar. “Bad ass parties for bad ass little boys do not get put together in a single day and my child is not gunna have some busted ass, bullshit party. Not on my fucking watch. Careful Colson, fuck!”

“I’m being fucking careful, damn bitch!” He barked as he moved his hands out of your way at a glacial speed.

“Slow, slow, slow.” You said more to yourself as you laid the bottom of the guitar exactly where you wanted it on the layered chocolate and vanilla cake. You pulled your hands back and sighed in relief as you looked at your masterpiece. “Perfect.”

“Looks good, Mama.” Colson said as he kissed your cheek and stepped around you to get the ringing doorbell. “Can we eat it now?”

“You go near this fucking cake, Colson Baker and I’ll cut your fucking balls off.” You heard him laugh as you grabbed the cake cover and set it over the cake a few seconds before Kels called your name. “Yea, gimme a sec.” You yelled back as you opened the fridge and slid the cake stand into its spot.

“No, I need you now.” With a heavy sigh, you stuck your threatening note on the cover, closed the fridge, and headed out to the foyer with a heavy sigh.

“What’s up?”

“This is Cheryl.” He said as he gestured to the woman standing in front of him as he loosened his grip on the door to let you see who he was talking about. “She’s from DCF.”

“She’s what?” You asked as you grabbed the door above his hand and pulled it open to step up to your boyfriends side.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), I’m here to do a wellness check up on Gage Michael Baker. We received a call concerning…”

“Who called you?” You demanded, not caring in the least about why she was there, only who sent her.

“I’m not at liberty…”

“Who called you?” You interrupted once more a little louder. She sighed and opened her notes on her tablet to look at your file.

“I’m sorry but I am not allowed to divulge that information. But I can tell you that this person called in with a concern that you were abandoning your child for a criminal drug addict.” You scoffed and nodded your head slowly as you looked at the woman in front of you.

“That fucking bitch.” You said with a shake of your head as you recognized your mother’s word choice almost instantly. “My fucking mother. Guess we don’t have a choice but to let you in?”

“No, ma’am… you really don’t.” With a nod, you turned and gestured her in.

“It’s just rooms he’s in, right?” You asked, grateful that you remembered this from when you were a child and your mom tried to pull the same stunt on your dad. “We rent rooms to people upstairs.”

“Yes ma’am. It’s only common areas and his and your rooms and bathrooms in a rental situation.” You let out a sigh of relief that you had been up since the crack of dawn cleaning, to try to find the source of an absolutely putrid smell that turned out to be a half eaten sandwich in Baze’s room that had gone from being a science experiment to holding elections for mayor of moldy sandwich town, and you had cleaned up and hidden almost all the drugs and paraphernalia in the process.

“I’ll go get him up from his nap.” Colson said, hesitantly as he took a step toward the stairs. You nodded your head and steered your case worker toward the living room. Before he could walk away, and while her back was turned, you grabbed Colson’s arm and yanked him back over to you.

“Make sure EVERYONE stays in their rooms and make them open windows, immediately!” He nodded his head in agreement to your hissed demand and took off toward the stairs as you watched the social worker study your living room. She pulled up her check list and started checking things in the room as you started planning the phone call you were going to make to your mother in your head. You knew without a shadow of a doubt in your mind it was going to start with ‘you fucking bitch’.

“Does it smell like weed in here?” Kels hissed in your ear, making you startle and turn toward him.

“It’s decriminalized in California and we can say it’s a renter. Hi baby boy!” You cooed a little louder as you took Gage from his dad’s arms and put him on your hip. “Did you have a good nap?”

“No.” He whined as he laid his head on your shoulder, as much as a morning person as you were.

“Do you want a snack?” You cooed as you headed into the kitchen, trying to ignore the DCF woman who was nodding her head slightly, pleasantly surprised that your house was spotless and very heavily child proofed, unlike most of her other cases. You quickly grabbed the grinder, the small bag of weed, and the pack of papers off the counter and practically threw them into the fridge before grabbing a cheese stick and turning around as Cheryl followed Colson into the kitchen.

“How long have you lived here?” She asked innocently as Colson took Gage from your arms, needing to hold him more than he needed to breathe as the reality that he could be taken from the pair of you caught up with him.

“They’ve been here a seven months but we won’t be answering anymore questions without a lawyer present.” She looked up at him with a nod and a small smile and continued writing her notes.

“Trust me when I say, you two don’t have much to worry about. I just came from a house where the boy answered the door while playing with a poop covered cockroach.” Just the statement alone made your stomach turn and you whipped around and got sick in the sink, where all your baking dishes were drying to be put away.

“Damn it.” You groaned as you tossed the now ruined cheese stick in the other sink while Colson came over to rub your back.

“You OK?”

“You don’t want me to answer that question right now.” You huffed as your entire day started to piece together in your head and panic made your heart start to race. “Just show her upstairs while I clean this shit back up?”

“Yea.” He said with a nod as he hiked up Gage on his hip. “Come on, G-man. Let’s have a snack in Daddy’s room and watch some Paw Patrol.” Gage nodded his head and laid his head on Colson’s shoulder.

“I’ll follow you.” Cheryl said with a small smile as she glanced over at you. “I hope you feel better.” You thanked her with a slight bob of your head and turned under the guise that you were going to do the dishes, but when you heard her heels hit the stairs, you whipped around and lunged for your phone. Your fingers dialed quickly as you turned on the water to cover your request.

“Hey, what’s up?” Sawyer asked.

“Are you at my house?” You hissed as you moved all the dishes into the other sink to wash off your drying sink.

“Nope. I’m out finishing grabbing brunch with JP since you woke us up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Sorry about that.” You said quickly. “I need a favor because I got DCF here and I can’t leave…”

“What?! Why is DCF there?!” She screeched as you grabbed the bleach from under the sink.

“I will talk about it when you get home!” You hissed with a glance over your shoulder, knowing that the social worker was going to have to finish checking your kitchen soon. “I need you to go to CVS or Walgreens or some shit and get me a pregnancy test. And don’t you fucking dare tell a soul, do you hear me?!” Your friend stayed absolutely silent for a moment on the other end and you almost thought you had been disconnected for a moment.

“Are you serious?” She asked, incredulously. “Like for real, for real?”

“For real, for real.” You sighed as you put the bleach back, turned the water as hot as it would go, and started cleaning the bowls and pans again. “Just please… please don’t say anything until I can tell Colson…”

“I won’t.” She promised. “We’ll be home in a bit.”

“Thanks, Sawyer.” You sighed as you stopped cleaning for a moment and washed your hands off. “I owe you big.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” With a quick good bye, you hung up the phone and dropped it on the counter as Cheryl came back down stairs.

“So I will make a note that you don’t wish to speak unless there is a lawyer present.” She said sweetly as you were wrapping up the dishes for the second time. “But that means another investigator will be out to see you. And it just makes the process drag on so much longer than necessary…”

“Just ask them.” You sighed as you wiped your hands off on your jean shorts.

“Who stays with him when you two go on tour?”

“He’ll come with us.” You sighed. “Along with our nanny.”

“You have a nanny?”

“We have a nanny.” You repeated with a nod. “A very close friend that I trust with my life. She stays with him on those rare nights I decide I want to have a couple drinks.”

“I saw his room is soundproof?”

“I have roommates, and a significant other that likes loud music at odd hours.”

“What times does he sleep?”

“He wakes me up around seven, naps from one to two thirty or three, and goes to bed around eight give or take. Sometimes he takes a short nap in the morning, sometimes it’s morning nap and nothing in the afternoon. He’s his own little person and somedays, he runs the nap show and I’m just along for the fucking ride.”

“I absolutely know the feeling.” She said with a smile. “Look, off the record, my son listens to your boyfriends music. I know that there is marijuana in this house because I can smell it, but I won’t fault you for that because it’s just weed. And I can also tell that your son is not in danger in this house just by walking through it. I’ll have to talk to my supervisor but I believe I can say that this case can be screened out…”

“What does that mean?” You asked as she checked the drawers near her to see if they had the same latches the entertainment center did.

“That means that, since the person that called us made a similar report in the past, and there is no founded reason for concern both then and now, we can close the investigation rather quickly. We may need you to come by to speak to you once more, with your lawyer, of course, to answer a few more questions, but you should receive a letter in the next 45 days or so if we don’t come by saying that your case is closed. I’d like to suggest that you hide the large bag of weed on top of the fridge next time, however. Other social workers may not feel generous enough to leave it out of the report.”

“Son of a bitch.” You moaned as you whipped around and looked at the bag that you didn’t know how you missed. “Shit, I swear…”

“Have a good day, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Cheryl said with a smile. You snatched the bag of weed off the fridge and chucked it into the fridge with a growl. You followed her to the front door and said good bye as you stepped to the side so that JP and Sawyer could get past you. You took the bag from her, and gripped the box in your hand and gave her a short kiss on the cheek.

“What the fuck is going on?” She asked as you both watched Cheryl pull out of the driveway.

“My fucking mother called DCF and said I was abandoning Gage for a criminal drug addict.” You huffed as you shut the door and turned the lock. “Weed got tossed in the fridge, don’t touch the birthday cake for tomorrow. I gotta go deal with this before I start the cookies.”

“Good luck.” She said softly as she kicked off her shoes by the door. You hummed and headed up stairs, your stomach turning in knots as you stopped in front of your cracked open bedroom door. You looked in at the two men that held your heart, laughing away as Colson snorted and pretended to be a rhino attacking his son. You smiled and covered your mouth with your free hand as your grip tightened on the box, making the plastic bag crinkle, which caught Colson’s attention.

“She gone?” He asked as he sat down on the bed and looked up at you. “What’d you bring me?”

“I need to talk to you.” You whispered as you glanced in the bag and pulled it back so that he could see the end of the box with a sigh. His hands froze on Gage’s side as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I think so.” You sighed with a small nod. He slowly and very hesitantly got off the bed as if he were gunna spook you if he moved any faster. He couldn’t find the words to say as he rested his forehead against yours and cupped the back of your head in his shaky hand.

“Positive or negative, I’m with you every fucking step of the way.”

“I know.” You breathed with a slight nod of your head.

“You want me to wait out here?”

“Preferably.” You giggled with a small smile.

“Then fucking go.” He laughed as he shoved you toward the bathroom door. You sighed and ripped open the box as you kicked the door closed behind you. You swore under your breath and stared at the test for a moment before yanking off the cap and just sucking it up. “Are you done yet?” Colson yelled the moment you flushed the toilet and you scowled at the back of the door.

“Can you not give me a fucking moment to take a fucking piss?” You yelled out to him as you pulled up your jeans. “You’re as bad as your son!”

“What, this son?” He asked as he pushed the door open with his toe, letting Gage toddle into the bathroom to see what you were doing without him. “I tried to stop him.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You grumbled as you stopped Gage from grabbing the toilet paper and unraveling it like he loved to do. “Stop it. Fuck, child.”

“So what’s it say?”

“It says you have to wait two minutes until the test is ready. Can I really not wash my hands… fine. Come here.” You sighed as you picked up Gage and balanced him on your knee. “Soap.” You said as you grabbed the foam hand soap he loved and squirted some on his and your hands. “Scrubby dub dub.” You cooed as you guided his motions, not noticing the way Colson simply stood in the door way watching his whole world at the sink. “Alright, rinse!”

“No!” Gage cried as he tried to pull his soapy hands back to keep playing, but you grabbed his wrists and held them under the water.

“Sorry, G-man. Gotta get cleaned up. Oh I know, I’m just a horrible Mommy!” You said, getting louder with each word as you wrapped your arms around his chest under his arms and turned to carry him out of the room. You paused and looked up at Colson, who had tears in his eyes as he shook his head.

“I…” You nodded your head, hiked up Gage, and passed him off to his dad so you could pick up the test. With a huffed sigh, you glanced at the word on the front and turned it around toward him with a small smile. “Oh fuck.” He gasped as he fell to his knees in happiness and clutched his son to his chest.

“It’s OK.” You cooed softly as you kneeled down in front of him with the positive test in your hand. “Right? This is OK?”

“Fuck, baby it’s fucking perfect.” He said as he cupped your jaw in his hands and kissed you passionately. “Holy fuck! I’m gunna be a fucking dad again!”

“We’re gunna have a March baby… who’ll have a sweet little Christmas baby brother or sister to push around for the rest of their life.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colson laid beside you in bed, with one arm around your shoulder and his other hand laid as gently as he could on your stomach. He nuzzled his nose against your neck and gave you yet another gentle kiss as you grabbed a small handful of Cheerios and held them up for Gage, who was sitting on the pillow above your head in just his diaper watching Bubble Guppies on TV.

“I want another boy.” He whispered as he looked up at you and dragged his fingertips across your old c-section scar.

“I’ll fucking sell the thing for parts if I get stuck with another Baker boy.”

“Wow!” He laughed as he sat up and looked at you with his eyebrow raised. “That’s our fucking kid, bitch.”

“And I’ve already had a discussion with that kid and it’s gunna be a girl, bitch.” You laughed as you grabbed a piece of cereal from your hand and popped it in your mouth. “Cute little baby girl to make your life absolutely living hell. She’s gunna be a little hell raiser like her mama.”

“Yea, then I’ll be the one fucking returning her.” He laughed before he cringed when Gage whacked his forehead hard. “Damn! Cheerio the kid!”

“OK, if he is going to be any indication of what a second boy is like, I’ll consider keeping another boy.” You teased as you held up more cereal for your son to eat. “You keep hitting Daddy, G-man.”

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Slim called through the closed bedroom door over his gentle knock. “Certified letter or some shit down stairs. They need you to sign for it.”

“Alright, I’m coming.” You handed Colson the rest of the cereal in your hand and sat up with a sigh. You snagged a pair of boxers off the floor on your way to the door and stumbled a bit when you tried to pull them on.

“No, mama!” Gage cried as he scrambled after you.

“Are you getting him?” You called out as you paused at the top of the stairs and pulled Colson’s way to tight boxers up on your thick thighs.

“No, he got away to fast.” You turned and crouched down to catch Gage, who had started crying when you left the room.

“Oh, what is the matter with you?” You cooed as you pulled open the gate and headed down stairs. “Why didn’t you stay with Dada to watch the Guppies? Just wanna be with Mommy? Getting all your love in before your brother or sister come, huh? Yes?” You said as you stopped at the open door.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” The mailman asked as he looked up from his clip board. You nodded your head and he held out a manilla envelope toward you. “You’ve been served.”

“Excuse me?!” You shrieked as you quickly put Gage down and ripped open the envelope. “Hey, wait! Get back here!”

“What’s going on?” Sawyer called out from the kitchen as Colson came out of the room to look over the rail at you.

“She’s trying to sue for fucking custody.” You said as you looked over at her and then up at the father of your children. “Oh, my God. I fucking can’t…”

“Babe?” Colson shouted as he ran toward the stairs.

“I’m gunna fucking kill her.” You barked as you picked up Gage, and headed toward the stairs. “Where’s my fucking keys?”

“Oh, no.” He said as he grabbed your arm and quickly wrapped you in a hug. “Babe, stop. Sawyer! Take Gage! (Y/N), stop!”

“No, Colson. I’m not fucking stopping.” You roared as you let your friend take your screaming son out of your arms. “I’m not fucking stopping until her fucking blood is pooling at my Goddamn feet!”

“OK, that’s not fucking happening.” He said as he battled to hold your arms to your side while doing everything he can to keep you at the bottom of the stairs so you couldn’t get to your purse. “Will you fucking… stop!” You startled and took a step back when he smacked you, not hard enough to hurt in any way, but enough to get your attention and change your train of thought for a moment. “Goddamn it, bitch. Just chill the fuck out for a second.”

“You fucking hit me!”

“And I’ll fucking hit you again if you keep threatening to kill your mother which guarantees that we lose our fucking kids. So please, sit the fuck down for the sake of your fucking kids and let me get a fucking lawyer on the Goddamn phone. SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” He roared when you open your mouth to protest. “Go! I’m not fucking playing, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you.” You growled through your teeth as you spun on your heel and stormed over to the living room. “Give me my baby.”

“Jesus Christ, this fucking bitch!” Colson sighed as he picked up the papers off the floor with a heavy sigh. “Someone find Ashleigh and get me the name of a fucking family lawyer.” He flopped down beside you with a sigh and gently pulled you into his arms as tears fell down your cheeks into Gage’s hair. “I won’t let her take him from us.” He promised softly as he kissed the top of your head and pulled your legs up and across his lap. “I swear on my fucking life. Our babies are not leaving our fucking arms.”

Part 8

[hood-ex]

Your writing is so good and I loved that de-aged Tim fic :) If you’re still taking drabble prompts, could you please do either 114: “Oh my god, that’s a severed hand.” or 139: “The store was having their post-Easter sale so now I have a pantry full of cheap candy.” with Tim and Bruce?

LOL, Ren, you sent me this prompt like 2 years ago and I’m only just now finishing it. So fuckin sorry about that!! But hey, better late than never… right… alskjdla. I suck. Anyways, enjoy! 

Tim gripped the edge of his mask and carefully peeled it off his skin. He blinked away the tightness lingering around his eyes from the dried glue and threw the mask down by his feet where his tunic, gloves, and pants were clumped together. 

He always felt a little ridiculous whenever he had to change out of his costume in the car. Mostly because he kneed himself in the face an ungodly amount of times while taking his pants off. Bruce had it even worse with the Batman suit, hence why they tried to avoid mobile wardrobe changes as much as possible. 

Tonight’s impromptu wardrobe change was all thanks to Damian. The kid had been spewing his demon germs all over the manor since yesterday, and he’d polished off the last of his cough syrup around dinner. Since Alfred was busy making sure Damian didn’t die of his nasty sickness, Tim was the one who had to go fetch Damian some medicine from Walgreens.

The problem was that they weren’t carrying any cash, and obviously, Batman couldn’t be seen using Bruce Wayne’s credit card. Since Tim had the easier costume to get out of, Bruce decided Tim would be the one to go in and buy the medicine.

Tim was in the middle of putting on a white shirt when he heard a sharp gurgle that overpowered the rmm-rmm-rmm of the batmobile’s engine. He placed his hand on his noisy stomach and rubbed gentle circles over the freshly bruised skin.

“Can we stop at a Batburger? Peter’s hungry.”

Bruce, who was bobbing his head along to “Paint It Black,” paused. His cowl was off, and Tim blatantly stared at Bruce’s disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes. The dark bags he was sporting didn’t help the fact that he looked like a raccoon heading to an AA meeting.

Bruce blinked once, twice, and then sighed deeply through his nose. “Who’s Peter?”

“My stomach,” Tim said. “You didn’t hear him talking just now?”

“Hnn.”

“You and Peter would probably get along since you both speak in monosyllables.”

The crease between Bruce’s brow made an appearance. “Why are you personifying your stomach?”

Tim kicked his feet up on the dash. He’d have to clean off his muddy shoe prints before Alfred noticed. “Because I’m not me when I’m hungry.”

Judging by the deep frown on Bruce’s face, it was likely he’d never seen a Snickers commercial before. What a waste of a joke. Tim would have to save that one for the next time he went on patrol with Dick.

“Grab a snack while you’re in there,” Bruce said. He pulled the batmobile over into an isolated area that was a block away from the Walgreens.

“Sweet. You want anything?” Tim asked.

“No.”

Tim hopped out of the car. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in twenty.”

He shut the door and then sprinted down the uneven cracks of the sidewalk, praying he wouldn’t catch his foot in a pothole and go flying. The lack of light certainly didn’t help with that problem. Seriously, did all the street lamps on this block spontaneously bust or what?

By some miracle, he made it to the store unscathed. He walked through the automatic doors, squinting his eyes to protect them from the bright fluorescent lights.

The lady at the register was a middle-aged brunette who looked like she was about to fall asleep on her feet. She regarded Tim with a quick look and threw out a greeting in a tone that didn’t match her expression whatsoever. Tim gave his fellow graveyard shift worker a nod and then made a beeline for the medicine section.

It took him way longer than it should have to meticulously scan each shelf to find the cough syrup, and when he did find the cough syrup, he had a crisis over which flavor to get. They had strawberry, cherry, and grape. What the hell would Damian like the most? All he knew was that Damian was a vegetarian. He didn’t know shit about what kind of fruit the kid liked, and he’d never really seen Damian eat a lot of candy either.

The more Tim stared at the bottles, the more he was aware that Bruce was waiting for him in the car. His hand twitched anxiously between each option until he decided he’d just choose the old fashioned way.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go. My mother told me to pick the very best one and you are it!”

His finger landed on the grape flavor. Tim shrugged at the result and snatched it off the shelf. If Damian didn’t like it, he could just suck it up and pinch his nose while he swallowed it.

With that out of the way, Tim headed to the candy aisle. Even though a bag of chips would have probably been more filling, he wasn’t in the mood for something super salty. He figured he might as well indulge his sweet tooth a little since Alfred would probably have some kind of leftover nutritious sandwiches that he could eat at home.

The candy aisle was full of both regular candy and Halloween themed candy, even though Halloween was still two months away. Tim thought he wanted something chocolatey like a Kit Kat until he saw a bunch of Halloween gummies.

While he was deciding between the two, his stomach growled. Tim frowned and rubbed soothing circles over it.

“Hush, Peter. Your father works long, grueling hours, and he’s trying his best to decide what candy is best for you.”

Peter gurgled again as if in protest. Tim ignored it and debated playing the eeny, meeny, miny, moe game again to choose. Fuck it he thought and swiped the Halloween gummy mystery pack. He could get Kit Kats any day of the week, but Halloween gummies were seasonal. Might as well take advantage of it now. He probably wouldn’t make it out to a store during October since it was always crazier than usual that month.

Decision made, he went to the front and got checked out by the same lethargic looking worker he’d greeted earlier. With the goodies secured in the plastic bag that was clutched in his grip, Tim took off into the night back to where the batmobile was hiding.

Bruce must have seen him coming because the door opened up for him as soon as he was close enough. Tim climbed in, noting that Bruce was now tapping his hands against the wheel to the beat of some Hindi song.

“Did they have it?” Bruce asked. He waited for Tim to buckle himself in before driving off.

“Yup!” Tim said while digging through the bag. He pulled out his candy and waved it in Bruce’s peripheral. “Annnd I got these bad boys. You want one?”

Bruce glanced at the bag and scrunched his nose. “What are they?”

“Let’s see here,” Tim said. He ripped open the bag and worked on opening one of the individually wrapped pieces of candy. “It’s a…” he paused, staring at the white and red piece of candy that came out of the wrapper. “Oh my god.” He held it out in front of his face and smacked on the overhead light to get a better look at it. “It’s a severed hand!”

Tim placed the severed hand on top of Bruce’s shoulder. “Look, it’s comforting you.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t you feel comforted, B?”

“By gelatin and artificial dyes?” Bruce asked with a raised brow. “No.”

Tim grabbed the gummy off its perch and plopped it in his mouth. “Peter finds it comforting.” The taste of the gummy didn’t hit until Tim bit into it. “Oh, gross!” he said while forcing the bland gummy down his throat with a grimace.

“You know,” Bruce said, a rare grin on his face, “I don’t think he does.”

Even though Tim’s mouth tasted like rubbery ass now, he grinned back.

[96harmony96]

Chapter 4 part 2

I threw myself into clubbing like it was going out of style. Cary and I bounced all over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Village, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I danced until my feet felt like they were going to fall off, but I toughed it out until Cary complained about his heeled boots first.

We’d just stumbled out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we ran across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.

“Great place to get off your feet for a while,” he said, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employed. His clothes—black jeans and turtleneck—were more upscale, which intrigued me. And he didn’t have fliers or postcards. What he handed me was a business card made from papyrus paper and printed with a gilded font that caught the light of the electric signage around us. I made a mental note to hang on to it as a great piece of print advertising.

A stream of quickly moving pedestrians flowed around us. Cary squinted down at the lettering, having a few more drinks in him than I had. “Looks swank.”

“Show them that card,” the hawker urged. “You’ll skip the cover.”

“Sweet.” Cary linked arms with me and dragged me along. “Let’s go. You might find a quality guy in a swanky joint.”

My feet were seriously killing me by the time we found the place, but I quit bitching when I saw the charming entrance. The line to get in was long, extending down the street and around the corner. Amy Winehouse’s soulful voice drifted out of the open door, as did well-dressed customers who exited with big smiles.

True to the hawker’s word, the business card was a magic key that granted us immediate and free entrance. A gorgeous hostess led us upstairs to a quieter VIP bar that overlooked the stage and dance floor below. We were shown to a small seating area by the balcony and settled at a table hugged by two half-moon velvet sofas. shepropped a beverage menu in the center and said, “Your drinks are on the house. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wow.” Cary whistled. “We scored.”

“I think that hawker recognized you from an ad.”

“Wouldn’t that rock?” He grinned. “God, it’s a great night. Hanging out with my best girl and crushing on a new hunk in my life.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’ve decided to see where things go with Trey.”

That made me happy. It felt like I’d been waiting forever for him to find someone who’d treat him right. “Has he asked you out yet?”

“No, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to.” He shrugged and smoothed his artfully ripped T-shirt. Paired with black leather pants and spiked wristlets, he looked sexy and wild. “I just think he’s trying to figure out the situation with you first. He wigged when I told him I lived with a woman and that I’d moved across the country to be with you. He’s worried I might be bi-curious and secretly hung up on you. That’s why I wanted you two to meet today, so he could see how you and I are together.”

“I’m sorry, Cary. I’ll try to put him at ease about it.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. It’ll work out if it’s supposed to.”

His assurances didn’t make me feel better. I tried to think if there was a way I could help.

Two guys stopped by our table. “Okay if we join you?” the taller one asked.

I glanced at Cary, and then back at the guys. They looked like brothers and they were very attractive. Both were smiling and confident, their stances loose and easy.

I was about to say, Sure, when a warm hand settled on my bare shoulder and squeezed firmly. “This one’s taken.”

Across from me, Cary gaped as Lauren Jauregui rounded the sofa and extended her hand to him. “Taylor. Lauren Jauregui.”

“Cary Taylor.” He shook Lauren’s hand with a wide smile. “But you knew that. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I could’ve killed him. I seriously thought about it.

“Good to know.” Lauren settled on the seat beside me, her arm draped behind me so that her fingertips could brush casually and possessively up and down my arm. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

Twisting at the waist, I faced her and whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”

she shot me a hard glance. “Whatever it takes.”

“I’m going to dance.” Cary stood with a mischievous grin. “Be back in a bit.”

Ignoring my pleading glance, my best friend blew me a kiss and the guys followed him. I watched them all go, my heart racing. After another minute, ignoring Lauren became ridiculous, as well as impossible.

My gaze slid over her. shewore dress slacks in graphite gray and a black V-neck sweater, the overall effect being one of careless sophistication. I loved the look on her and was attracted to the softness it gave her, even though I knew it was only an illusion. she was a hard woman in a lot of ways.

I took a deep breath, feeling like I needed to make an effort to socialize with her. After all, wasn’t that my big complaint? That she wanted to skip past the getting-to-know-you stage and jump straight into bed?

“You look…” I paused. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. So damn sexy…In the end, I went with the lame, “I like the way you look.”

Her brow arched. “Ah, something you like about me. Is that a general like of the overall package? Or just the clothes? Only the sweater? Or maybe it’s the pants?”

The edge to her tone rubbed me the wrong way. “And if I say it’s just the sweater?”

“I’ll buy a dozen and wear them every damn day.”

“That would be a shame.”

“You don’t like the sweater?” she was pissy, her words coming clipped and fast.

My hands flexed restlessly in my lap. “I love the sweater, but I also like the suits.”

she stared at me a minute, and then nodded. “How was your date with B.O.B.?”

Oh hell. I looked away. It was a lot easier talking about masturbation over the phone. Doing it while squirming under that piercing green stare was mortifying. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

she brushed the backs of her fingers over my cheek and murmured, “You’re blushing.”

I heard the amusement in her voice and swiftly changed topics. “Do you come here often?”

Shit. Where did that clichéd line come from?

Her hand dropped to my lap and caught one of mine, her fingers curling into my palm. “When necessary.”

A quick stab of jealousy made me stiffen. I glared at her, even though I was mad at myself for caring either way. “What does that mean? When you’re on the prowl?”

Lauren’s mouth curved into a genuine smile that hit me hard. “When expensive decisions need to be made. I own this club, Camila.”

Of course shedid. Jeez.

A pretty waitress set two pinkish-colored iced drinks in square tumblers on the table. she looked at Lauren and gave her a flirtatious smile. “Here you go, Miss. Jauregui. Two Stoli Elites and cranberry. Can I get you anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now. Thanks.”

I could totally see that she wanted to get on the pre approved list and I bristled at that; then I was distracted by what we’d been served. It was my beverage of choice when clubbing and what I’d been drinking all night. My nerves tingled. I watched her take a drink, swirl it around in her mouth like a fine wine, and then swallow it. The working of her throat made me hot, but that was nothing compared to what the intensity of her stare did to me.

“Not bad,” she murmured. “Tell me if we made it right.”

she kissed me. she moved on fast, but I saw it coming and didn’t turn away. Her mouth was cold and flavored with alcohol-laced cranberry. Delicious. All the chaotic emotion and energy that had been writhing around inside me abruptly became too much to contain. I shoved a hand in her glorious hair and clenched it tight, holding her still as I sucked on her tongue. Her groan was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard, making the flesh between my legs tighten viciously.

Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I wrenched away, gasping.

Lauren followed, nuzzling the side of my face, her lips brushing over my ear. she was breathing hard, too, and the sound of the ice in her tumbler clinking against the glass skittered across my inflamed senses.

“I need to be inside you, Camila,” she whispered roughly. “I’m aching for you.”

My gaze fell to my drink on the table, my thoughts swirling around in my head, a clusterfuck of impressions and recollections and confusion. “How did you know?”

Her tongue traced the shell of my ear and I shivered. It felt like every cell in my body was straining toward her. Resisting her took an impossible amount of energy, draining me and making me feel tired.

“Know what?” she asked.

“What I like to drink? What Cary’s name is?”

she inhaled deeply, and then pulled away. Setting her drink down, she shifted on the sofa and drew a knee up onto the cushion between us so that she faced me directly. Her arm once again draped over the sofa back, her fingertips drawing circles on the curve of my shoulder. “You visited another of my clubs earlier. Your credit card popped and your drinks were recorded. And Cary Taylor is listed on the rental agreement for your apartment.”

The room spun. No way…My cell phone. My credit card. My fucking apartment. I couldn’t breathe. Between my mother and Lauren, I felt claustrophobic.

“Camila. Jesus. You’re white as a ghost.” sheshoved a glass into my hand. “Drink.”

It was the Stoli and cranberry. I pounded it, draining the tumbler. My stomach churned for a moment, then settled. “You own the building I live in?” I gasped.

“Oddly enough, yes.” she moved to sit on the table, facing me, her legs on either side of mine. she took my glass and set it aside; then warmed my chilled hands with her.

“Are you crazy, Lauren?”

Her mouth thinned. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. My mom stalks me, too, and she sees a shrink. Do you have a shrink?”

“Not presently, but you’re driving me crazy enough to make that a possibility.”

“So this behavior isn’t normal for you?” My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing past my eardrums. “Or is it?”

she shoved a hand through her hair, restoring order to the strands I’d mussed when we’d kissed. “I accessed information you voluntarily made available to me.”

“Not to you! Not for what you used it for! That has to violate some kind of privacy law.” I stared at her, more confused than ever. “Why would you do that?”

shehad the grace to look disgruntled at least. “So I can figure you out, damn it.”

“Why don’t you just ask me, Lauren? Is that so fucking hard for people to do nowadays?”

“It is with you.” she grabbed her drink off the table and tossed back most of it. “I can’t get you alone for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“Because the only thing you want to talk about is what you have to do to get laid!”

“Christ, Camila,” she hissed, squeezing my hand. “Keep your voice down!”

I studied her, taking in every line and plane of her face. Unfortunately, cataloging the details didn’t lessen my awe even a tiny bit. I was beginning to suspect I’d never get over being dazzled by his looks.

And I wasn’t alone; I’d seen how other women reacted around her. And she was crazy rich, which made even old, bald, and paunchy guys attractive. It was no wonder she was used to snapping her fingers and scoring an orgasm.

Her gaze darted over my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?” Her jaw tightened. “And I’m warning you, if you say anything about orifices, preapprovals, or seminal emissions, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

That almost made me smile. “I want to understand a few things, because I think it’s possible I’m not giving you enough credit.”

“I’d like to understand a few things myself,” she muttered.

“I’m guessing the ‘I want to fuck you’ approach has a high success rate for you.”

Lauren’s face smoothed into unreadable impassivity. “I’m not touching that one, Camila.”

“Okay. You want to figure out what it’s going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you’re here in this club right now? Because of me? And don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

Her gaze was clear and steady. “I’m here for you, yes. I arranged it.”

Suddenly the threads the street hawker had been wearing made sense. We’d been hustled by someone on Cross Industries payroll. “Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?”

Her mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “There’s always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks.”

“You’re right. So why do it? Why not wait until Monday lunch?”

“Because you’re out trolling. I can’t do anything about B.O.B., but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Camila, I’m right here.”

“I’m not trolling. I’m burning off tension after a stressful day.”

“You’re not the only one.” she fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. “So you drink and dance when you’re tense. I work on the problem that’s making me tense in the first place.”

Her voice had softened, and it stirred an alarming yearning. “Is that what I am? A problem?”

“Absolutely.” But there was a hint of a smile around her lips.

I knew that was a lot of the appeal for her. Lauren Jauregui wouldn’t be where she was, at such a young age, if she took “no” gracefully. “What’s your definition of dating?”

A frown marred the space between her brows. “Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we’re not actively fucking.”

“Don’t you enjoy the company of women?”

The frown turned into a scowl. “Sure, as long as there aren’t any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I’ve found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutually exclusive sexual relationships and friendships.”

There were those pesky “exaggerated expectations” again. Clearly, those were a sticking point with her. “So, you do have female friends?”

“Of course.” Her legs tightened around mine, capturing me. “Where are you going with this?”

“You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work…everything.”

“I’ve got good reasons for doing that.”

“I’m sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts.” It was difficult concentrating when I was so close to Lauren. “I told you I don’t want to date and I don’t. My job is priority number one and my personal life—as a single woman—is a close second. I don’t want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there’s really not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady.”

“I’m right there with you.”

“But I like sex.”

“Good. Have it with me.” Her smile was an erotic invitation.

I shoved her shoulder. “I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn’t have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me.”

“Why?”

I could tell she wasn't being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for her, Lauren was taking it seriously. “Call it one of my quirks, and I’m not saying that lightly. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued.”

“Can’t you look at it as you using me for sex?”

“Not with you.” she was too forceful, too demanding.

A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in her eyes as I bared my weakness for her.

“Besides,” I went on quickly, “that’s semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You said that really quickly considering I’m telling you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together.”

“I’m not comfortable with it and I don’t claim to understand, but I’m hearing you—it’s an issue. Tell me how to get around it.”

My breath left me in a rush. I hadn’t expected that. shewas a woman who wanted no complications with her sex and I was a woman who found sex complicated, but shewasn’t giving up. Yet.

“We need to be friendly, Lauren. Not best buds or confidants, but two people who know more about each other than their anatomy. To me, that means we have to spend time together when we’re not actively fucking. And I’m afraid we’ll have to spend time not actively fucking in places where we’re forced to restrain ourselves.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Yes. And see, that’s what I mean. I wasn’t giving you credit for that. You should’ve done it in a less creepy manner”—I covered her lips with my fingers when she tried to cut me off—“but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn’t helpful.”

she snipped my fingers with her teeth, making me yelp and yank my hand away.

“Hey. What was that for?”

she lifted my abused hand to her mouth and kissed the hurt, her tongue darting out to soothe. And incite.

In self-defense, I tugged my hand back to my lap. I still wasn’t completely confident that we’d worked things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. All right?”

“That covers it.” Lauren smiled and my decision to be with her solidified for me. Her smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted her so badly it was physically painful.

Her hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs. Squeezing gently, she tugged me just a little bit closer. The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and her gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. Her tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.

Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.

I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.

[hookedonapirate]

As Luck Would Have It

Summary: What Emma wouldn’t give to make one of her many fantasies starring her favorite customer come to life (one that either takes place at work and involves a good, hard fuck on the break room table or against the stockroom shelves (hey, what can she say, she gets bored) or one that takes place in her bed). She wouldn't be too picky about the location, just as long as she had a chance to be with him.

It’s just too bad none of her fantasies will ever come true though. And it’s not because there’s zero chance he would ever be interested in her because, well, she works at Walgreens and he’s way too good for her. 

No, it’s too bad because he’s totally and completely gay.

A/N: This is something short and fun that I wrote for @onceuponaprincessworld. I talked to you about writing this before, well I finally got around to writing the thing. I hope it at least puts a smile on your face. Happy Friday! 

Thank you @resident-of-storybrooke for looking it over!

Rated: a very Mature Teen for salty language and mature topics

For someone who hasn’t had sex in faaaaaaar too long (much longer than she cares to admit) Emma knows way too damn much about condoms. Like more than any one human being should. There are flavored condoms, ribbed condoms, dual-action condoms, pleasure shaped, lubricated, colored, french ticklers and even edible condoms. Who the hell even comes up with this shit? There are twisted condoms, her pleasure sensations, intense, warming, and pleasure packs. There are latex and ultra-thin and bare skin and ultra-smooth. The list goes on and on. 

  Way too much. 

 Emma never even uses them, or at least she hasn't in years, but she works at Walgreens. She’s a Designated Hitter, so she does a little bit of everything there, and when she’s not working in the pharmacy or behind the checkout counter, she’s working in the feminine hygiene/baby/contraceptive aisle which means she orders the products, stocks them, prices them, hangs up sales tags and does it all over again the next week. 

 At first, she would get all squeamish whenever she was working with condoms. Every time a male customer passed by or stopped to take a gander at the condoms, she would move down the aisle, pretending to work on something else. Now, she sells them like she’s selling candy to a child. When the male customers are browsing through the selection, she asks what kind they’re looking for and happily suggests one, grabs it off the shelf and hands it to him.

 Tonight she’s working behind the front counter on a Friday night, selling lots of alcohol and snacks and wishing she was on the other side of the counter, buying wine and chocolate so she can go home and veg out on the sofa of her lonely apartment watching her favorite rom coms. Instead, she’s here at work, forced to engage in monotonous small talk with strangers while doing her best to ignore the thieves who wander in and out of the store because she’s not allowed to say anything to them, even when she sees them taking packs of hand soaps or household items off the shelves and stuffing them into their bags so they can sell them on Facebook. 

 She has to put up with these antics until midnight before she closes the doors and prays she doesn’t find a drunk, homeless person on the restroom floor again while cleaning. Yep, that’s happened twice since she’s been here. And she’s only been working here for eight months! Which is one of the many reasons why she’s going to school to get a decent job. The pay isn’t too bad, and the insurance is great, but she sure as hell doesn’t see herself selling condoms and waking up hobos in the restroom when she’s eighty years old. Because if that’s what she has to look forward to when she’s eighty then, Lord, just end it now and get it over with.

 The only thing she can look forward to while working at Walgreens, however, is Mr. sex on legs—a Greek god with a pair of the most alluring blue eyes she’s ever seen. She’s never had a particular thing for men in uniforms, men with dimples, men with accents or men in general, really, but Killian fuck-me Jones is hotter than a scolding cup of coffee in his uniform, has the most adorable dimples on his cheeks and has a sinfully decadent British accent that makes her panties melt.

 What Emma wouldn’t give to make one of her many fantasies starring her favorite customer come to life (one that either takes place at work and involves a good, hard fuck on the break room table or against the stockroom shelves (hey, what can she say, she gets bored) or one that takes place in her bed). She wouldn't be too picky about the location, just as long as she had a chance to be with him.

 It’s just too bad none of her fantasies will ever come true though. And it’s not because there’s zero chance he would ever be interested in her because, well, she works at Walgreens and he’s way too good for her.

 No, it’s too bad because he’s totally and completely gay.

  Of course he is. After getting her heart stomped on years ago by he who shall not be named, she hasn’t been with anyone, not even for a one-night stand. And the one time she actually has eyes for someone, the one time she meets someone she’s even remotely interested in, he’s gay! It's like the devil is mocking her. 

 It’s just her luck.

 Officer Jones frequents this location with his partner on a daily basis. They work together and she’s pretty sure they’re not only partners on the streets but also partners in the sheets. 

 At first, she thought they were only joking around, like the one time when Killian was trying to pay for his purchases but was short on change, and David handed him a dollar bill and said, “Here’s a dollar, sweet cheeks. Keep the change.” He slipped a dollar bill into Killian’s pocket, kissed him on the cheek, winked at Emma and said, “I’m his Sugar Daddy,” He walked out the door, leaving Killian blushing adorably as he handed her the cash for his morning blueberry muffin and energy drink. 

 He rolled his eyes and his deep, rich laugh warmed her heart. That's right, even his laugh is fucking perfect. 

 “I can’t take him anywhere.”

 “I see that.” Emma giggled with him as she took the cash from Killian’s strong-looking hands, which certainly did not play a vital role in her fantasies. Which also does not bear any sign of a wedding band, she had noticed at the time (and several times before that). She’d brushed off Killian’s interaction with the other cop at the time, thinking there was actually a real connection between them and not one between the two men. The signs were all there, she just read them all wrong.

 But now they’re both standing at the front counter in their street clothes, buying two jumbo packs of condoms, claiming it’s because the Trojans are on sale if you buy two. But she has a feeling that’s not the only reason why they’re buying in bulk, because if she had a lover like Killian, then she too would be having sex with him all the freaking time. In fact, she wouldn’t let the man leave the damn house. So yeah, she can understand why David would want that fine piece of British ass all the fucking time. And no, she’s not insanely jealous of a dude. Definitely not! 

 ~*~

 “Buying condoms isn’t gonna get me laid, Dave.”

 “Well no, but then you won’t have an excuse to back out when a gorgeous woman hits on you. And who knows, maybe you’ll finally gather the courage to ask the checkout girl out.”

 “Don’t call her that,” Killian chides, scolding his friend briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “She has a name.”

 David holds up his hands in defense. “Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense. I just meant you’ve been obsessing over Emma for six months and it’s time you make her more than your checkout girl, don’t you think?”

 “What does that have to do with buying condoms? You think buying condoms will automatically get me into bed with her? Even if it did, Emma’s too good to be someone's onetime fling.”

 “I’m just saying, buying condoms is the first step. The next step is to ask her out. What happens from there is up to the two of you.”

 Killian chuckles as he pulls into the Walgreens parking lot. “Thank you for the inciteful advice on how to pick up women, but I’m not some horny sixteen-year-old boy, and this isn’t my first rodeo.”

 “I know that, but you haven’t dated anyone in five years. You fell off the horse, and I’m afraid if I don’t give you a boost, you’re never gonna get on that horse again.”

 Killian rolls his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt once he parks the car. “I’m perfectly capable of getting back on the horse without your help.”   

 David cocks his head at Killian and shrugs, unconvinced. “Then prove it.”

 “I will.” Killian accepts David’s challenge and hurries out of the car, determined to prove his partner wrong. He doesn’t need help getting Emma. He just has to be himself, right? If only it were that simple because as soon as he steps inside Walgreens and gets one look at the beautiful blonde behind the counter and those sparkling green eyes, his mind becomes an empty void of darkness and his brain turns to mush. 

 He quickly makes his way through one of the aisles to avoid her. Now he remembers why he hasn’t asked her out already. He’s never been this nervous around a woman, but Emma… she can turn him into a complete nervous mess just by casting a glance his way. 

 He can feel her stare burning into his back as he stops and turns in the middle of the aisle to make it look like he’s nonchalantly browsing the razors rather than coming here to ask her out but failing miserably to gather the courage to do so the second he saw her lovely, smiling face. She’s so fucking adorable, he can’t even turn his head to look at her without grinning like a fool. 

  God, he’s in love.

 He remembers the first time he saw her. He came to the pharmacy to get pain medication after he broke his arm during a softball game with his colleagues. He stepped up to the counter and saw her long golden hair, dazzling emerald eyes and the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen in his life. Since then, he never starts his day without stopping in and getting his daily energy drink and muffin. Even if she’s not working at the front counter, just seeing her and saying hi is all he needs to get through the day.

  Fuck, he’ll never be able to ask her out.

 Killian lets out a frustrated sigh as he looks at the razors again.

 David was right. Damn bastard.

 Speaking of his partner, Killian hears David’s arrogant whistle; he’s obviously gloating as he enters the store and sees that Killian had hidden in one of the aisles instead of going up to Emma and asking her out. The aisle with the razors is in front of the checkout counter, giving Killian a clear view of Emma, so he can hear David when he approaches Emma and asks her in a loud and rather obnoxious voice, “Hey, Emma, where are your condoms?”

  Bloody fucking hell.

 Killian curses under his breath as Emma leaves the counter to show David where the desired merchandise is. He can smell Emma’s intoxicating perfume when she passes him. David follows behind her with a shit-eating grin on his face.

 “Hey, Killian, Emma is kind enough to show us where the condoms are.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

 Grumbling under his breath, Killian begrudgingly follows David. He’s going to kill his best friend.

 The three of them reach the condoms, and Killian is contemplating murder when David asks, “What do you recommend?”

 Okay, now David is just trying to mess with him. David doesn’t need help picking out condoms, and he certainly didn’t need to be directed here in the first place. He and his girlfriend are sexually active and they always use protection.

 “Um… besides the obvious, what are you looking to achieve with condoms?” she asks, glancing between Killian and David. “Something to get the job done or to add to the sensation?”

  Oh, God. 

 Killian buries his face in his hands to hide his burning cheeks; he could die from mortification right about now.

 When he drags his hands from his face, David still has a stupid grin on his face.

 “These are buy-one-get-one-free with your Balance Rewards card, so you might as well get two,” Emma suggests, handing David two boxes of the condoms she’s referring to, which are jumbo-sized. Of course they are. Because Killian doesn’t need anything to add on to the humiliation he already feels burning his cheeks. Certainly not. Then again, it’s not like things can get more embarrassing than they already are.

 “Great, I think I will. Killian, you like ribbed too, right?” David asks casually as he tries to hand one to Killian.

 Correction. It can get ten times more embarrassing.

 Killian’s face is on fucking fire and he wants the floor to open up and consume him because it beats being humiliated by his best friend, who he’s doing his best not to punch in the face.

 He snatches the box from David’s hand and storms away to avoid seeing the look on Emma’s face right now. She’s probably laughing at him with her eyes, either that or she’s glaring at him, thinking he’s a total douchebag or maybe she assumes he’s in a committed relationship. Or maybe she’s indifferent and couldn't care less. Neither thoughts are good ones as far as he’s concerned. He wants her to care enough to wonder why he’s getting them, but he’s too embarrassed and flustered to think that’s a feasible possibility.

 Killian grabs a six-pack of beer as he thinks about how he will murder David. But if he did, he’d spend the rest of his life in a lonely prison cell and he’d never get to see Emma’s pretty face ever again. So he supposes he won’t kill his best friend. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t get to see Emma’s face every day during his morning commute. She’s a good enough reason to not want to go to prison.

 He and David place the items on the counter as Emma returns to her spot behind the register and rings them up. Killian reaches for his back pocket to retrieve his wallet, but David puts out his hand to stop him. 

 “Don’t worry about it, I got it,” David offers. “I’m the sugar Daddy, remember?”

 Killian forces out a strained chuckle and doesn’t argue as he slips his wallet back into his pocket. After the shit David just pulled, he owes Killian. Big time.

 Emma calls out the total, and Killian finally gathers the courage to look at her face. She’s offering him a warm smile, a small amount of blush painting her cheeks.

 She doesn’t hate him. That’s a good sign at least.

 She starts to put the boxes of condoms in a bag, but David stops her.

 “That’s okay. We don’t need a bag.” He grabs one of the boxes and hands it to Killian before picking up the other one for himself.

 Killian manages a small smile at Emma and leaves the store without his dignity or his pride. He doesn’t kill his best friend, but he does make a promise to himself; he’s never taking David with him anywhere ever again. He may just have to find a different partner.

 ~*~

 Emma yawns and slowly nurses her coffee. She hates closing and then opening the very next morning. She’s told her boss several times to stop scheduling her like this, but he never listens.  

 She hears the automatic doors slide open and has to force herself to remove her lips from her coffee lid so she can lift her head and greet the customer who’s just walked in.

 She’s not prepared for sex on legs today or those smoldering blue eyes, or how ridiculously attractive he looks in just a t-shirt and snug-fitting jeans, but she’s not complaining when he walks up to the counter without even purchasing anything.

 “I was hoping you’d be here…” he says with a timid smile as he scratches behind his ear and draws a shaky breath. “Although I’m a little surprised you’re back at work so soon.”

 Emma shrugs. “I know. They should give me a cot in the back because it feels like I’m always here anyway, so why not sleep here too?”

 Killian flashes a small smile, and she can’t help but notice that the air between them is more tense than usual. He seems nervous and she’s not sure why. 

 “So, how can I help you today?” She narrows her eyes at him. “You didn’t use all those condoms already, did you?”

 He chuckles, his cheeks turning crimson. “God no, actually, I wanted to…” he pauses and scratches behind his ear again, taking in a long, wobbly breath. “I wanted to… will you have coffee with me tomorrow… or whenever you have a morning off?”

 Emma hopes the shock she feels isn’t evident on her face, but she finds her mouth opening on its own accord. “Sure,” she blurts out, “but… well…” She stumbles for words. She’s not opposed to hanging out with Killian as a friend, but she’s not exactly sure how same-sex relationships work. Do gay men get jealous when their male partners hang out with female friends? “Would David be okay with that?” 

 Emma’s surprised when Killian laughs at her question. “Why wouldn’t he be okay with it? He’s the one who’s been trying to get me to ask you out for months. Not that he’s the reason why... ” He buries his face in his hands. “Bloody hell, I’m severely fucking this up,” he mumbles into his palms. Dragging his hands away, he reveals those stormy blue eyes again, and he looks completely wrecked and apologetic. 

 She’s utterly confused. “David suggested this?” Wait. Is Killian bisexual and David was trying to find his partner a woman to scratch an itch of Killian’s? Are they swingers or—what the fuck is going on? 

 “No, he just encouraged me because I’ve been too fucking nervous to ask you out. You’re...” He plants his hands on his hips and closes his eyes briefly, taking another long breath. “I like you, Emma. I’ve liked you for a while, and I would very much like to take you out on a date, that is, if I didn’t completely screw this up already.”

 “Wait, I’m confused. So David’s okay with this?”

 He furrows his brows in confusion. “Love, I don’t need his permission to ask you out,” he chuckles. “I’m a grown man.”

 Emma frowns in frustration. It’s too damn early for mind games right now. “Yeah, you’re a grown man who’s in a relationship with another grown man,” she says louder than she had meant to. Her words draw the attention of other customers passing by and she receives some odd looks.

 “Wait a bloody minute. You think David and I are…” Killian pauses to burst into laughter.

 Emma wrinkles her brows. “Wait, you’re not?”

 Killian shakes his head, laughter still booming from his chest. “No, I can assure you, I’m very much into women. David and I are best friends and partners when we’re on the job, but we’re not gay.”

 “Oh.” Now Emma’s so thoroughly and utterly confused, her head is spinning. She hasn’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with something so confusing and her head’s starting to pound. “But what about the condoms?”

 Killian presses his hands against the counter, drops his head, shaking it furiously, like he’s silently cursing. “I’m going to kill David.” He lifts his head, his expression etched with apology. “The condoms weren’t for us. David was buying them for himself and his girlfriend. He was only taking advantage of the sale and wanted me to have the other box because he thought if I carried condoms on me then I wouldn’t have an excuse to not ask you out.”

 Oh. Now it makes sense. Kinda sorta. “Okay, so let me get this straight,” Emma sucks in a long breath, “you and David aren’t lovers, and you’re currently single and asking me out on an actual date?”

 “Now we’re on the same page,” he says, his eyes lighting up as a smile curves his lips.

 Emma sighs in relief. But now remains the other question weighing on her mind. “But why me?”

 He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean, I work at Walgreens.”

 “I fail to see the problem, love.”

 “But you’re…” she waves her hands, gesturing at him and his glorious form, “you’re you, and I’m… well,” she shrugs, “I’m me.” 

 “I know.” He smirks, and it makes her heart do a little flip. “That’s why I’m asking you out. Because you’re you, not because of where you work at.”

 Emma’s heart flutters at his statement and she smiles. They’re silent again, but this time it's a comfortable silence as they stare into each other’s eyes. She knows the moment is about to be ruined though because a customer approaches the counter, impatiently waiting to be rung up as Killian backs away from the counter. Emma really doesn’t want this conversation to end, but she knows it has to, at least for now.

 “So, is that a yes or a no?” Killian asks, his lips slanted into a grin when Emma starts ringing up the customer without giving him an answer.

 She looks up from her task of scanning the items and flashes him a frail smile. She knows what her answer is, but she doesn’t want him to leave yet. “Can you wait outside for a few minutes?”

 Killian nods without hesitation. “Sure, love.”

 Emma sighs in relief and finishes ringing up the customer. When she’s done, she quickly picks up the store phone to page another cashier so she can take her fifteen-minute break. Once Emma is relieved by her coworker, she hurries out of the store and searches for Killian, her heart slamming in her chest. She sees him, leaning against the building with his hands in his pockets. Emma marches up to him and takes his hand, leading him to the side of the building, where they'll be less visible. 

 "Where are we going, love?" he asks.

 She doesn't answer, but she's pretty sure the determination in her step says it all. She presses him against the wall when they reach the side of the building, and without any sort of warning, she grabs a fistful of his shirt and crushes his lips with hers.

 Killian responds with a groan as he cards his hands through her hair. His lips are even softer and more luscious than she’d imagined. And God he’s a good kisser; she’d nailed that part in her fantasies. They get caught up in a delicious, mind-numbing kiss that has her heart racing and her breathing shattered. She can't believe she's kissing Killian fuck-me Jones, sex on legs , the man who's been the star of her dreams for six months. 

 How did she ever think this guy was gay? Because judging by the way he kisses her and teases her bottom lip with his teeth, the way his tongue greedily explores her mouth to find her own tongue, the way he wraps some strands of hair around his fingers and grabs her hip with his other hand to tug her toward him, pressing her against him, judging by the hard bulge in his pants that causes the heat to spread to her core, he’s definitely not gay.

 When they break for air, they’re both panting as he gently leans his forehead against hers. He caresses her cheek, his eyes flickering with hope as she licks her lips. “Should I take that as a yes?”

 “No.”

 His face clouds with disappointment, and his expression makes her heart hurt.

 “You asked me to go out for coffee with you tomorrow, but I’m thinking; what if we went out for dinner tonight after I get out of work instead?”

 A slow grin spreads across his lips. “I wouldn’t say no.”

 Emma smiles vibrantly and blushes. “Good, then it’s a date.”

 He pulls away, taking a shaky breath of relief. “And just so we’re still on the same page, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting anything more than dinner since David bought me those condoms last night. As I said, that was David’s twisted attempt at trying to get me to ask you out.”

 Emma laughs. “I’m not worried. Either way, there’s no rush to use them up. Condoms have a shelf life of five years.” She flashes him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I know way too much about condoms.”

 Killian chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay, love. I told you I don’t care about your occupation… or that you thought I was gay.”

 Emma swats him playfully on the shoulder. “In my defense, David did call himself your sugar Daddy.”

 Killian blushes. 

  God, he’s so fucking adorable when he blushes.  

 “You’re right, he did. He likes to joke around like that… and embarrass the hell out of me.” 

 Emma laughs. "I've noticed."

 He takes out his phone to punch in her number and address and agrees to pick her up later tonight. Then they go back to making out until she has to get back to work. They bid each other farewell, and she practically floats through the automatic doors with a smile blooming across her face, her lips red and swollen. 

 She’s so glad Killian’s not gay. 

 They end up making use of the condoms David bought him, but it sure as hell didn’t take five years to use them all. More like two weeks. If that.

[alechardy-imaginesnword]

Errands

Slept through your alarm, curling further and further in your blankets. Turning the alarm off, you went back to bed. Today was Saturday. You were supposed to go running but, fuck it.

Just as you were falling asleep, you heard pounding on your front door. You stood up— not bothering to put pants on— and walked to your front door.

“There better be a body or two because you interrupted my- -“ you began as you opened it. Your lips were soon attacked with kisses from your boyfriend, Alec Hardy.

“Good Morning, Darling” he says as he parted. He leaned against the doorframe.

“Morning, come inside will you” you grabbed his hand and pulled him in. He chuckled as he followed you to the kitchen. You grabbed an apple, hoisting yourself onto the kitchen counter.

“What do you want to do today?” He asked standing in front of you, hands on his hips.

“Well, i do have some errands... grocery shopping, i need to go to the office supply shop, boring stuff. Elliots going to do my lawn today, with his big mowers, and i need to get to the pharmacy” You say as you bite off a piece of apple. “You?”

“Few errands, need more condoms, food for the house, my prescription.” Alec replies putting his hands on your hips, kissing you again.

Timeskip~

You pulled up to the strip where the grocery store and the Walgreens is. He jumped out of the car and got the door for you. Grabbing your hand as he closed the door and walking to Walgreens.

You stood with him while he picked his condoms, and he stood with you when you were getting your tampons and pads. Finally, you were standing in line at the pharmacy.

He stood with his hands on the cart, you were between his arms, and had your back pressed against his front. His head rest on your shoulder giving you periodic kisses on your neck. You turned around in his arms and faced him. Pressing your lips against his.

“Stop acting so innocent” you whisper. He gave a smirk.

“What makes you think I’m acting?” He asked.

“I know that if we were home, and i was standing at the kitchen counter, you’d take me then and there.” You say.

“Smart girl” he says, as you turn back around in his arms.

“I have a prescription for Oliver Stone?” The pharmacist called. You walked over and grabbed you prescription. “I have another for Alec Hardy” her lips curled into a smile.

Alec thanked her and walked away. Following you to the checkout line.

“Hey love, look!” You turned. “They have the new goldfish flavour here!!! He exclaimed. You rolled your eyes, and kept walking. You stopped to grab a bag of twislers but, when you stood up you heard Alec throw a bag of goldfish. You rolled you eyes and kept walking.

Time skip~

You opened the door to your house. Allowing Alec to walk in. Once you finished putting all the groceries away, you followed the sound of Alecs tb show to your bedroom. You threw yourself next to him.

“What’s it, luv?” He asked, getting closer to you, wrapping his own body around yours.

“Nothing, Babe” you sighed, as you lay.

“Can i undress you?” He asked.

“Sure” you answer. He undressed you quickly. What you didn’t know, was that he was already nude.

“Can i fuck you?” He asked nibbling on your ear. You nodded. He covered you both with the blanket and entered you from behind. Biting you lip so hard it bled. You moaned softly as he moved slowly. Whispering sweet nothings in you ear and grasping onto you.

Suddenly, you heard you front door burst open and Miller walking right to you bedroom. Alec stopped, your eyes both wide open.

“Dammit Miller!!” He shouted as Miller covered her eyes and walked away from the room. He pulled out from you, and stalked off to the bathroom. Mumbling something about finishing himself. While you put clothes on.

“Hey, Ellie” you say.

“Hi Oliver, where’d Alec go?” She asked holding a bunch of files.

“Ah, he’s finishing up what he started. You scared us both. Ya know?” You say. “Tea?” She nodded. You put the kettle on.

“OLIVER!!!!” You heard Alec yell from your bedroom. You turned on your heel and ran to the bedroom.

“Yeah, love?”

“Where in the bloody hell is my stupid blue shirt?! And my blue tie? My bloody blue clothes are disappearing!!” He said frustrated. You pointed to the closet. You thought he looked so cute, he had nothing but boxers on. He’s very skinny, lean, and stalky.

“Or the laundry” you say and leave the room to continue conversation with Miller. A few minutes later, Alec came stomping out of the bedroom in his trousers on, the bed tightened around him. Still muttering about this blue shirt.

“Find a damn shirt, or none at all, and come out here!”Miller said frustrated. He threw his hands up, and sat down. As you set his tea down he pulled you into his lap.

“Cover me” he mumbled in your ear.

“Oh, eat shit you arse! Your nothing i haven’t seen before.” Miller replies making you laugh.

[straight-outta-hobbiton]

A Few Notes About American Legal Documents (Specifically For Proving Citizenship/Legal Residency and Traveling)

I work with a lot of legal documents associated with citizenship and legal residency. With the rise of legal residents and citizens unlucky enough to actually look like their ethnicity, I thought it might help to give a basic rundown of legal documents that could help in a sticky situation. It’s mostly simple stuff, but there might be something of value to your personal situation or the situation of someone you know, so, y’know.

VALID BIRTH CERTIFICATES:

Your birth certificate needs a raised seal on it, with as little damage as possible. I see a lot of folded/fucked up BCs from people in less than ideal living situations, and I understand that there are times when the only thing you can do to protect yourself is keep your shit with you all the time (abusive/controlling parents, foster care, intermittent homelessness, etc), but if the print is illegible, the seal torn or damaged, or the BC is in pieces, YOU NEED TO GET A NEW ONE. Most state ID places won’t accept it if there’s too much damage— it fucks with the security features, and most government worker grunts aren’t going to chance their jobs on faith in your puppy dog eyes.

If you need a new BC and you don’t have a way to get to the county clerk’s office (you need to go to the county you were born in, which is a hassle for some people)— vitalchek.com is a website where you can securely order your documents and have them delivered to whatever address you feel is best. It takes a little while sometimes, though, so it isn’t a perfect solution to more immediate issues.

If possible, see if you can get yourself a wallet-sized BC. I typically see older folk carrying them, but I’m pretty sure some states still offer the option. I highly recommend this for anyone who might be targeted by the current administration— again, it doesn’t solve every problem, but for right now, all American-born Latine and other non-whites can only benefit from having as much paperwork as they can. At the very least, it might slow some officers down.

IF YOU HAVE A PUERTO RICAN BIRTH CERTIFICATE, MAKE SURE IT’S THE MOST RECENTLY UPDATED VERSION. Plain PR birth certificates have been stolen from legal agencies on multiple occasions in the past to be used in the forgery of false documents for other Latin immigrants of a less-than savory nature, and it happened again in the wake of Hurricane Maria. The only BC most government agencies accept at this point have English translations next to the Spanish, and they won’t take anything older/untranslated.

PASSPORTS/PASSPORT CARDS/GLOBAL ENTRY CARDS/NEXUS CARDS:

Google the nearest place you can go to get your passport. I went to a post office and they took my picture, but not every place offers the option— you might have to go to Walgreens or some equivalent first to get your picture taken and bring it with you to the office. 

They’ll need your birth certificate when you go get your passport. They will take it from you and ship it out to whatever undisclosed location it needs to go to in order for them to print your paperwork. You’ll get it when your passport is sent to you.

It costs around $145 dollars including service fees to get your American passport, which is an unfortunate reality.

Passports take up to eight weeks to get to your house, so it isn’t a solution to immediate problems. That being said, GET IT DONE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Passport cards exist, and they’re pocket-sized. If you’re eligible to get one (meaning you were born here or were naturalized), DO IT. GET A PASSPORT CARD AND KEEP IT WITH YOU. It’s just as good as a regular passport and far easier to keep with you if the worst happens and you need to get out. They’re also a cheaper than the average passport at a total of $65 (including service fees).

Passports/passport cards work as federal ID as well as international. In some states, children under a certain age might be unable to get state identification (in my state you have to be at least fourteen). If you have American-born/naturalized children that could be targeted and they’re under a certain age, get them their passports, get them their cards. Our government has proven they have no issue with snatching kids, but it’s a little harder to justify when the kid has legal US identification.

Global Entry Cards are accepted at every land and sea port in the US. They’re available to US citizens, legal US residents, and Mexican nationals, as well as citizens of Argentina, Colombia, Germany, India, Panama, South Korea, Switzerland, Taiwan, and the UK. This I would recommend for people who already have passports/other legal documentation within the realms of the above listed countries but are uncomfortable with the idea of carrying a passport with them. It costs about $100.

Global Entry fingerprints you, no exceptions.

Global Entry does not help you enter countries not listed above.

Nexus Cards are the Canadian equivalent of Global Entry. It allows passage between Canada and America at any land crossing as well as airports. If you have one of these already and they’ve already fingerprinted you, you can get a GEC with minimal hassle, with the added bonus of being able to cross the Canadian border freely.

Nexus Cards require interviews, and once you’ve been approved they take your fingerprints and a retinal scan. Considering we’re living in the beginnings of a Big Brother dystopia, this might make some people uncomfortable, but again, it’s a cheap option for people who might not want to carry passports. Plus, it has the added benefit of being attached to Canada, and the potential disaster of arresting a possible legal Canadian resident might be enough to stall some of the more reasonable officers. It costs about $50.

LEGAL RESIDENTS AND VISA CARRIERS, GENERAL THINGS:

If you’ve gotten your Permanent Resident card you need to make sure you get a new social security card, one without the ‘NOT VALID FOR EMPLOYMENT’ or ‘VALID FOR WORK ONLY WITH DHS AUTHORIZATION’ on the front. These cards aren’t valid to use alongside your new green card, and they can get you into trouble if the person checking your paperwork is in the wrong sort of mood.

MAKE SURE ALL YOUR PAPERWORK MATCHES. I realize that American paperwork sometimes can’t handle non-white naming traditions and that makes it difficult for you to keep your shit together. Ideally, though, whatever it says on your immigration papers should be exactly what’s printed on all your other documents— your credit cards, mail, whatever. If your naturalization paperwork lists both your mother and father’s names, you need to either make sure you have that shit on everything and if it isn’t, you’ve got a decision to make. Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but they will use any excuse to detain a ‘suspicious’ person, and dropping your second middle name on your driver’s license so it doesn’t match your visa is exactly the sort of thing they’ll pick at. My grandparents had to make this decision a few years ago— for convenience’s sake, they changed everything to match the anglicized forms of their names. I realize for a lot of people it isn’t an ideal solution, but for now, we’ve got to work with what we’ve got.

If you’re here as a Dependent Spouse (H-4) I don’t have to tell you that you’ll need your partner with you to do a lot of legal stuff. That being said, when you need to get stuff handled, please make sure your spouse has ALL of their paperwork proving they’re here legally. Even if the focus is on you, if their shit’s not in order, you won’t be able to get anything done. It is an inconvenient facet of the nature of your visa, but you’ve got to work with it until you can change your status to something less limited.

If you’re here on a Student Visa, the SAVE won’t update your status until your classes start. Keep that in mind when handling paperwork reliant on your status as a legal immigrant.

If your Permanent Resident Card has no expiration date on it, if it’s a laminated paper card, or if it’s just plain damaged— REPLACE IT. They don’t accept the old cards now thanks to a huge boom in forgeries, so particularly if you have an older relative who hasn’t been naturalized, you need to make sure that shit is up to date.

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES:

(Marriage certificates are less important in the grand scheme of legal residency, but any little bit helps, and if you’re an immigrant married to a citizen, it’s another little piece that proves you just might have a legitimate reason or two to be here.)

Nobody is going to take the pretty version of the MC. The one you get from your place of worship is NOT the official certificate. It needs to be from the probate//surrogate’s/orphan’s court, not just signed in accordance with the official document.

It MUST have a seal on it. Not every state does the raised seal, so you have to double-check with your local, but it will have something that makes it a recognizable, official document.

If you got married in a country that doesn’t have English as the official language, you NEED a translation. In my state, you have to go to an official state translator and get— you guessed it— an official seal.

When you get married, that receipt slip they give you is not the official certificate. The official certificate is supposed to be mailed to you (the first one’s usually complimentary) after about a month. If you didn’t get it or you lost it, GO AND GET A NEW ONE. Little things like that can make or break you in the eyes of a government official.

If you have older relatives who are immigrants, CHECK TO MAKE SURE THEIR PAPERWORK IS UP TO DATE. I know it’s common for older folk to let their IDs expire because they’re in in a care facility or simply unable to leave their homes. I know that shit gets lost in the shuffle of life and most of the time those documents just sit in a box and do nothing, but this shit is important. Make sure they have their stuff and make sure their documents are all up to federal standard— relatively undamaged, legible, and with the right seals.

I know this isn’t stuff we want to talk about, but it’s important. If you are a person of one of the groups targeted by this administration, you cannot make mistakes. You have to make sure there is no reason besides gross incompetence on the part of the ICE officers for them to detain you— as we all know, they will take advantage of any excuse they can find to fuck you and the people you love over.

Don’t let them.

[your-tires-are-too-cold]

I have literally no clue how to do this, but director’s commentary on your ‘One expensive can of easy cheese’ fic?

hell yeah!!

all comments will be in bold

______

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, race only knows how to sit on counters lets be real, he can't sit in a chair to save his life a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine KINKYY. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese. okay so its mac and cheese cause if you read spies mac and cheese is Literally the Only thing albert knows how to cook, other than coffee, and he's Really Fuckin Good At It (he's the mikey of mac and cheese okay this is my hc)

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food is it though, r a c e r?. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house i was gonna make it rock paper scissors, i do not know hot to play mariokart, but it sounds more heated than rock paper scissors. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder race be quiet you literally love alberts mac and cheese its a known fact.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do) he did. So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere albert sounds real kinky in this, why did i make this so kinky, wait when did i even write this.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place. CAUSE YOU LOVE HIM THATS WHY

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat who the fuck uses the word spat huh saph??, he was able to dislodge the duct tape d i s l o d g e thats some karen bs right there.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?” yeah albert let him help jeez he's the one who actually knows how to cook

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick note to self, all licks should always be thoughtful. “Hmmmmmmm. No.” dumbass. if only you knew what was coming.

“But-!” He wriggled w r i g g l e d around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!” damn albie why so mean? o wait i wrote this wait...

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta okay but i did a good job making race salty i gotta give myself that. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good hELL YEAH IT IS. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell. okay real talk tho, no one eats good mac and cheese in college, its the instant microwave shit cause were all broke so thats a lie race

“Can you at least untie me then?” ;)

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time. albert this is gettin Real Kinky..

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie HAH YES I KNEW I PULLED SOMETHING WEIRD, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?” i gotta tell ya life without ya has been hard. hard? has been bad. bad? has been r o u g h. k i N kY

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists. LIKE HECK HE WAS CAUSE ALBERTS ACE AND HE DONT WANT THAT REPUTATION!!!

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.” hehe u go race

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink yeah albie has a twine kink, he licks it, no this is a joke, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.” W A L G R E E NS. this whole fit was an excuse to write another part of the walgreens au

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.” BUT YOU LIKE IT

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face. okay maybe albert wasn't ace in this particular fic...

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” yeah definitely not scratch that. i write a lot of fics. Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!” GO AWAYYYY. IM A MAN OF GOD. mikey and my sister have subjected me to too many tik toks im sorry

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? albert does. but its actually a plot point just to get you to walgreens and if anyone puts easy cheese in mac and cheese i will fite you. He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store he did, actually, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking he was not. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all. you can buy easy cheese at a lot of places tho...i don't actually know if you can buy easy cheese at a walgreens

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese. walgreens remains a mystery indeed. my only experience was the one that my best friend and i would go to at lunch during senior year. also have you ever noticed that most walgreenses are on corners? cause their slogan is at the corner of happy and healthy??

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life a true chef, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs. oh my god the most questionable villain I've ever written.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one indeed he could. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy M AN C AN D Y that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese. oh just you wait racetrack 

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” my best friend and i spent much time looking at the mac and cheese in walgreens He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it athletics before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when- B R E T T 

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled whirled? saph please get a better vocabulary around to see Mr. Man Candy hA himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs oh my god Wait i wrote this cause one time when i was in a walgreens i Did see a hot dude working the pharmacy and decided to write a fic about it!! i remember texting mikey about this hjfhgjhg, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. and mikey came up with that name And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.” brett is an obnoxious millennial in case you can't tell

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!” apparently he's a millennial who's also a republican...?

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things subway pizza rat, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese. easy cheese has no health benefits. and if you'd stopped annoying your boyfriend maybe you wouldn't be there

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?” yeah its nyc people love to have Opinions. and so do millennials

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” man brett has his work cut out for him. New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!” this is so weird why did i come up with this idea. what possessed me. 

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” someones salty Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.” but it won't stop brett...

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist. i have literally no explanation for this train wreck of a fic

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick ha percy jackson heroes of olympus anyone??. “Buy some fucking vegetables!” you can't buy vegetables in a walgreens brett

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life Thats for sure. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key god why you can't even get on the roof of dorm buildings i know, I've tried, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt by Who??. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame in a walgreens don't forget. how did you forget that saph.  

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables as he should be. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert. no one d i a l s anyone saph. its the 21st century. i have like maybe 8 phone numbers memorized, half of them belong to my family the other half to people i knew in middle school.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?” for Once al isn't the one who gets injured in a walgreens. bet you didnt see That coming

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.” hehe bet al used to date him

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.” ofc al goes to urgent care. and everyone there knows him by a first name basis

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed. this was definitely one of the times i asked mikey about oddly specific concussion symptoms and then proceeded to forget everything he told me and do my own stuff

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor he should still buy it. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.” get it? cause race has to pay urgent care for his consultation? and they're also Very Very late to thanksgiving. cause al insists on finishing his mac. jack is not impressed. he eats all races pie.

anyway thats that hope you enjoyed

[alleiradayne]

An Update

It’s been a millennia since I wrote anything. I know I don’t owe anyone any writing (technically, I do, but that’s a different story, no pun intended). But I wanted to keep my followers in the know.

I have been up to my eyeballs in the dumbest fucking shit lately and I’m not even talking about COVID-19. My work sucks. The only good thing about it is that my team, the immediate people I work with on the regular, are awesome. But I need to get out soon. The actual work itself is fucking soul-sucking and I hate it. I get very little downtime, which is a major contributor to why I haven’t written much lately. Not because I don’t have the free time at work like I used to, but because I don’t have the mental, emotional, creative, or physical energy to commit to writing when I get home.

My daughter is 16 months old. That’s all I need to say about her (she’s wonderful, but a handful).

I’ve been reading way more lately in an effort to relieve stress.

God damn Minecraft.

I had sinus surgery in December and while the recovery was short, the surgery did not achieve the intended results. I still have major allergy symptoms without being allergic to anything. I was sick with sinus infections for the better part of two months and was only finally feeling sort of back to normal before right before I went to Vegas. Now I’m dealing with severe seasonal allergies after the snow melted here.

But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. What has really irritated me lately is this pile of bullshit:

Google as the monolith it is shouldn’t fucking exist. It’s too convenient to get embedded in all their services such that, when one of them breaks, you’re cut off from all of their services. This story is long and convoluted. I’ll do my best to keep it succinct (I’ve already failed, I know).

Back in January, my primary Google account was compromised. After piecing together the crazy puzzle of what happened, I determined that someone obtained my Google account password, logged into the Google Store with it, and made two fraudulent purchases using two different payment methods (PayPal and my credit card, both of which were saved to my Google Pay profile under this primary email account) equaling a very large sum of money (like $4k).

My credit card company, bless their corrupt little souls, texted me immediately about the VERY expensive charge for the second order and I freaked out. I didn’t get any emails confirming these orders because the fuckers that hacked my Google account (I suspect Google had a data breach because they skipped all two-factor authentication I had enabled and I never received any notification of my account being accessed like I normally do) put a filter on my Gmail inbox to mark all Google Store emails as Opened (or Read) and to immediately toss them into the trash. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.

I immediately resolved these fraudulent charges with disputes. They never even hit my credit card (which was canceled and I was issued a new one) or my bank account (PayPal). Google, however, sucks at this shit. The first purchase was made at 4:30 AM. I never saw it until later that night. Once an hour has passed after a purchase has been made from Google’s store, they cannot cancel it. How fucking ridiculous is that?

So Google Support said to just refuse the FedEx packages. I rerouted them to a FedEx drop location because I didn’t want anyone to steal them off my front step (because that’s what I suspected the scam was all along, why else have them delivered them to my fucking house?) The first package arrived, I went to the drop location which was a Walgreen's, and I told the cashier that I needed to refuse the package and have FedEx return it to the sender. I said this several times to the person helping me. But then she had me sign the FedEx scanner and when I went to leave, she pushed the box to me and said, “You don’t want it?”

It gets worse.

While I felt dumb for signing for the package, when the second package came in the next day, I also signed their scanner but it was to actually refuse the package. I don’t know why that’s how it worked, but it did. 

Package 1: Accepted. Package 2: Refused.

This is important.

During this time, my Google Pay profile under my primary Google account was placed on a temporary freeze. But on February 10th, once everything had been returned (FedEx managed to get the first package returned, I have the tracking numbers, it made it), my Pay profile had been reactivated.

Which was really great because my Play Music and HBO subscriptions had lapsed. So I immediately renewed them.

Problem solved, right?

Wrong.

I tried buying a movie before I flew to Vegas and got a very similar error that I’d seen previously when my account had originally been frozen at the end of January due to the fraudulent charges.

Through several Support chats and getting the run around, I come to find that my Pay profile has been permanently closed because I violated the Google Pay Terms of Service. And that Google’s policy is to not discuss the details of the issue with anyone. And I cannot close that Pay profile and create a new one under that same Google account because it’ll just get flagged and closed again.

While pissed, I resolved to fix it after Vegas because I didn’t have the capacity to handle it while prepping for that trip.

I get back and the problem still exists. A part of me hoped it would just go away. So over the last week I went back and forth with Google Pay support on what the fuck is going on with my pay account. Several times they repeated the same thing to me: account is closed due to violation of ToS, can’t discuss it with you per our policy. Great.

During that time, I noticed that I had like, $200 worth of Google Store credit on my account because of the packages I had unintentionally accepted (I had previously signed up for Google One so I could offload some storage to their cloud, and as a part of that Google One sub, they offer a percent of Google Store purchases as Google Store credit). So I wanted to see if I could actually use it. I kinda figured they’d take the $200 back seeing as that the charge never processed. When I tried to buy something, I finally got an error that said my Pay profile had been closed for violating the ToS.

The Narrator: Can you put that in a folder and label it “Shit I Already Know”?

I filed a complaint with the Attorney General of Minnesota because Google was not allowing me to do anything to resolve the issue. Every email response I sent was met with a similar response of “we’ve reviewed your account and we’ve determined it must remain closed”. I went Full Karen™ on Google Pay support and threatened them with legal action if they did not tell me what the fuck I did to violate their ToS. That was last Thursday.

After a few more emails over the weekend (only like, two), I suddenly received  a response at 6am today stating that my Google Pay profile had been reactivated.

I resubscribed to HBO and Play Music without issue. (I did, however, create another mess with Google Family sharing, but that’s a different story, although very much related to and caused by this one, and I won’t get into it here).

When I checked my Pay profile, the $200 in Google Store credit had been removed. I think they finally checked the tracking numbers on those two orders that I sent back and realized I had actually sent them back instead of defrauding them by making a purchasing, rejecting the charge, keeping the package, and pocketing the $200 in-store credit like they probably assumed.

I also think Google might have a big data breach mess on their hands right now. Change your passwords regularly folks!

TLDR: I’m tired. :)

[laniakeabooks]

Free to Fall by Lauren Miller, A Rant Review by Laniakea

Hello. How are you?

It’s been a long ass time. Why? My dumbass decided to take summer courses. You know those super condensed ones? The ones that make you want to rip your eyeballs out? Yeah... I took three at once. What was I thinking, right? I couldn’t tell you. I regret it. 

BUT. I still managed to read. And in July I read this gem of a book dubbed Free to Fall, written by Lauren Miller. And oooooooooh boy do I have shit to say about this... shit. So, brace yourselves, because this is a long and angry one.  

So, this is how this review is going to go:

       The major issues I had with this book and its narrative (when I say major issues, I mean MAJOR ISSUES… like, dare I say, problematic aspects of this book).

       Because it’s me, the deplorable excuse for science/neuroscience that Lauren Miller apparently didn’t find the need to take five minutes to google-check the concepts she was using.

       The little things that just kind of twisted the knife of annoyance

You may be saying: “Wait a second, she isn’t going to be talking about anything that the book did right.” And to that I say: “The things that the book did right? Nothing, IN MY OPINION. The thing that Lauren Miller did right, though, was write in a style that jives with my personal tastes. She didn’t beat around the bush to say something, she just said it outright. WHICH I LIKE, because, I don’t have time or the patience to suss out all of those little details and symbolisms just to get to the point that (for example) it’s a beautiful day.” There. Positive point. Hey, I didn’t rate it one star because it had a lot of positives.

So, let’s get started, shall we? (Shout-out to Corrine and Rob because damn, they’ve had a tough year.)

Issue #1: This is the biggest issue I had with this book. It has nothing to do with the plot or the characters or anything like that, but it’s what bothers me the most. What is it, you may ask? Well, it’s the simple fact that everyone in this book (and I have to assume Lauren Miller too) refers to the mentally ill as “crazy”. If you don’t understand my issue with this, let me explain. Calling someone who is mentally ill “crazy” is equivalent to calling a black person a “nigger” or calling a gay person a “faggot”. The word crazy is used as a slur to put someone beneath you, to make them less believable or trustworthy… to dehumanize them. It’s derogatory and offensive. It’s time that we stop using that word when talking about mental illness. It’s 2019 (2014 in the book’s case). Unacceptable.

So, when do we see the mentally ill referred to as crazy in Free to Fall? Throughout the entire book pretty much. It’s just said over and over and over again. But the worst instance? Here it is as a direct quote from page 127 (Oh, and mind you, the character saying this is a psychologist teaching a cognitive psychology class. Let that sink in.):

“You’ve all been given limited access to the Department of Public Health’s medical records database,” Rudd said as he returned to the front of the room.

(*record scratch* Wait a second, high school students having access to medical files? Absolutely not. Would never happen. You usually can’t even get your hands on medical records unless you’re the patient’s doctor. So that’s a technical issue with this book… one of many. Again, five minutes on Google, Lauren. Okay, back to the whole “crazy” thing.)

“Your login has been coded to the research topic you selected, allowing you to review the med records for patients who suffered from the mental illness you’re studying.” He picked up his tablet off his desk and tapped the DPH icon. The app launched on the screen at the front of the room. “Now, I know what some of you are thinking,” he deadpanned as he logged himself in. “You’re hoping this means you’ll be able to prove once and for all that your frenemy in a certified nut job. But, alas, your access is limited to dead crazies, and this particular database is anonymous anyway, which means the only identifying information you’ll have are gender, ethnic origin, and birth and death dates.”

That’s right. Lauren Miller had this character say, “dead crazies”. Dead. Crazies. The note I wrote in the margin right beside this passage? Word for word: FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. Not sure if I’m directing this at Lauren Miller, Rudd or both, but I stand by it. In reality though, I don’t think there are any words to describe how disgusted and offended (and it’s VERY hard to offend me) I am by those two words. At this point, page 137 out of page 469, I decided this book would get a 1 star and a damning review.

“Oh, you’re being so petty.” Yeah bitch, I sure fucking am.

“It’s just a word.” No bitch, it fucking ain’t.

“You shouldn’t read books that say things like that.” Well bitch, I didn’t know books written in 2014 would use derogatory words like crazy. And I’d rather it be me who reads it and warns people about it than have someone who is vulnerable read it and take it seriously.

I am a huge advocate for mental illness and destigmatizing it. It’s time we stop using this disgusting derogatory word when talking about mental illness. And a good place to start is right here in the media.

Issue #2: Rory and North are preparing to roofie someone. That’s right. Roofie. As in drug them against their will. Assault them. Violate them. And to make it worse, they’re planning to administer it intravenously, because the whole assault thing wasn’t despicable enough. BUT DON’T WORRY YOU GUYS! North says he’ll get some legal drugs from a pharmacist because that makes it okay.

He objects for 0.5 seconds… but it doesn’t last. Here’s how the conversation goes:

“The only question is, how do we take Liam out of commission for a couple of hours?” North asked.

“We roofie him” I say without hesitation. “It’ll incapacitate him without killing him, and it’ll screw with his memories.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just grab the bottle of date-rape pills I have in my medicine cabinet.”

“Not pills,” I corrected. “Has to be injectable. There’s no way we can guarantee that he’ll drink whatever we put it in.”

North gave me an incredulous look. “You’re actually serious?”

“What? It’s what the society uses. And it’ll do exactly what we need it to do.

North tugged at this Mohawk. “I know we don’t have time to get into this right now, but, holy crap, Rory, this shit is seriously messed up.”

“You’re right. Not the time. We have to go buy roofies.”

“Where, at Walgreens? I’m sure we’ll find them right next to the Advil.”

I crossed my arms, irritated by the sarcasm. “You’re a guy with a Mohawk and tattoos. Don’t you know people?”

“People with Rohypnol?”

“So, you don’t know anyone who can get it?”

He started to shake his head but seemed to think of something. “One of my clients is a pharmacist in Greenfield. I could probably get a prescription sleeping serum from him. Something potent but legal. I can message him from my apartment.”

North said it, this is so messed up… but is surpasses the “messed up” title and deserves the “fucked up” title. By the way, they never talk about it again. Getting “legal” drugs does not make the act of drugging someone okay. Ever. And on top of that Rory wants someone that will mess with Liam’s memories? I guess assaulting him and revoking his control over his own body wasn’t evil enough for Rory, she had to fuck with the essence of who he is.    

Moving on to the… “science”. Listen, I get it, this is fiction. It doesn’t have to be 100% in line with reality. But do you know what isn’t fiction? Neuroscience. Science that has already been researched and accepted. Why does this matter so much to me? I hate misinformation. It leads to fear and people doing stupid shit. Also, I am an aspiring neuroscientist myself and would like for people to understand how the brain works on a physiological (and psychological) level. That way there will be less of that “vaccines cause autism” and “sunscreen causes ADHD” crap, because they don’t, by the way.

Lauren Miller latches onto the term “synaptic pruning”. This is a real thing. During your first few months of life, unused/rarely used neurons will die (don’t worry, this is perfectly normal and an essential step in neurodevelopment). How does Lauren Miller incorporate this into her story?

“Now we knew that the inner voice was nothing more than a glitch in the brain’s circuitry, something to do with ‘synaptic pruning’ and the development of the frontal lobe.” (p.13)

My response went something like this: NoOOoooOOOOoOo! It’s only page 13 and I’m being subjected to poorly researched scienceeeeeeEEEeEEEeeee.

It would have taken five minutes on Google to look up: Which areas of the brain have to do with hearing voices? Answer: temporal and frontal lobes. Done. Next: why do people hear voices? Answer: potentially neuronal death in said brain regions (not synaptic pruning, very different concepts). Why? We don’t know yet. Anyway, the voice they are talking about here is “The Doubt” which is basically intuition so that would most likely relate to the hippocampus (and other memory-storing regions) and the prefrontal cortex. But then again, “The Doubt” is supposed to be altruism… but it’s written as intuition, so I’m just confused.

Next in bad (neuro)science, Lauren Miller claims that enzymes for memories (this relates back to the whole roofie scene where Rory wants to mess with Liam’s memories too). Basically, neurotransmitters are responsible for memories, namely glutamate and dopamine. I’ll be talking about glutamate here because dopamine forms the “do that again because it made us feel good” kind of memory, and glutamate forms the kind of memory Lauren Miller is referring to. You need to glutamate for LTP (basically a memory) which, in short, is strengthening the connection between two neurons. If you’ve ever heard the term “Neurons that fire together wire together.”, that’s exactly what I’m talking about here. So, no, enzymes do not form memories. (P.S. LTP is really interesting... if you’re interested in brains, so check it out!)

Onto “SynOx” (synthetic oxytocin) which is really, from what I understand, simulates oxytocin but activating oxytocin receptors on neurons (Lauren Miller doesn’t go into this much detail on how SynOx works, but I’m just trying to understand by talking through it so bear with me). First of all, Lauren Miller describes oxytocin as the “love drug” which isn’t exactly true… it’s more of a bonding “drug”. Love is a little but more complicated than oxytocin release. Not that big of a deal, but I thought I’d point it out.

Unfortunately, SynOx has a major role in the plot… and it doesn’t… work. Basically, the big bad corporation is relying on SynOx to make consumers trust their products unconditionally by injecting people with SynOx nanobots under the guise of a flu shot. That way the nanobots can get into their brains and they can be forced to trust everything Lux suggests. Essential mass mind control. Theoretically that could actually work… BUT the nanobots would never be able to cross the blood-brain barrier to actually get into the brain, and therefor wouldn’t be there to allow Gnosis to control people. Did that make sense? Basically, SynOx is the soldier, the brain is enemy headquarters. But enemy headquarters is so highly reinforced that the soldier can’t get in to do its job, so it’s left out in the cold with no power. Maybe I just confused you, but what I’m saying is that this SynOx would never work as a mind control device unless it is injected directly into the brain (or even spinal cord)… through the skull and everything. That being said, the evil plot would have failed form the get-go.

And yes, I do hate being this rational sometimes because suspension of disbelief is very difficult and makes it very hard for me to enjoy some works of fiction.      

Now the little things.

In the synopsis: “Rory Vaugh: a brainy sixteen-year-old…”. She’s also a “hepta” which means she shows aptitude in all seven liberal arts at Theden and makes her the smartest kid at school. Well, she sure doesn’t act it.

She can’t tell the difference between Arabic and Hebrew writing. I mean… are you serious? Have you seen them? They look nothing alike.

Doesn’t see the value of experiments in ethics such as the Trolley Problem. I mean, one of the liberal arts is philosophy and she’s supposed to be naturally gifted at it… but I guess not.

Proudly states she took human anatomy in grade nine (and considers herself an expert from that one class in middle school)… but doesn’t know how ABO relates to blood. I guess she forgot the mention she failed the class.

Also seems to consider herself an expert in genetics but never thinks to ask herself as to why she and her father share zero genetic traits.

She can’t figure out a simple riddle (You know that one about the letter e? Yeah that one)

It takes her forever to figure out who her biological father is (should be glaringly obvious from a certain physical description and all the other evidence Rory gathers)

Doesn’t know what a USB is or what it does (Oh, I’ll get to that in a minute)

There’s so much more… but the review would have to be a whole book if I were to list them all. Basically, if you’re going to call your character a genius, MAKE SURE THEY ACT LIKE ONE.

It seems that Lauren Miller forgot Rory’s blood type (little detail, I know), but instead of going back to look at what she wrote, she just gives her a new blood type. Rory goes from being A+ at p .226 to being AB+ at p. 237/238. That’s just lazy.

When Rory finds out the man that raised her and loved her doesn’t share her genetics, all of a sudden, he’s no longer her dad. Imagine being a vulnerable teenager who is being raised and loved by someone who may not be biologically related to you and reading that a character you may look up to goes through the same thing and says that that makes that parent’s love irrelevant. They aren’t related to you, so they’re not your dad/mum. How sad. 

Now, the USB thing. This book is set in the mid-2030s and they don’t use USBs anymore. Basically, they’re obsolete technology. And that’s fine! There will come a day when this is a reality. Here’s the thing, though: Rory the “genius” doesn’t know what it is or what it does. You expect me to believe that? When I see a floppy disk (which I have never used), I know what it is and how it works. Even a telegraph! I’ve only ever seen pictures of telegraphs, but I know what they are and what they do.

Page 229. North says (in response to Rory talking about research and science):

“Whose research are we talking about here?” He scoffed. “’Science’ with a capital S? The same geniuses who said the Earth was the center of the universe?”

Um… the church actually said that. And then they murdered anyone who dared to say otherwise. Wrong “geniuses”, genius. (Also, scientists rethink their beliefs all the time, and are more than willing to accept discoveries that overwrite their previous beliefs as long as there is evidence. Just saying.)

Rory goes from relying solely on Lux to make her decision to criticizing everyone who does the exact same thing within a few pages. Hypocrisy, not my favourite.

Hershey is described as a naturally beautiful woman who wears makeup to highlight that beauty… but the tone of the narration suggests that that’s a bad thing? Gross.

When they are preparing for the final boss fight, Rory wants North to write an algorithm that will reverse Lux’s algorithm. North says that it would take weeks for a professional programmer to write an algorithm like that… than proceeds to do it overnight. And manages to get some roofies to assault Liam.

North gifts Rory with a necklace that contains a tracking device and a camera… and she thinks that’s romantic and sweet because hE cArEs. I… have no words for how creepy (and honestly bordering on abusive) that is.

So, in conclusion, I feel that Lauren Miller wrote an offensive mess that didn’t know what the hell it was talking about, topped with despicable (and flat) characters that think drugging someone against their will is okay as long as the drug you use is legal.

The end! 😊

Oh yeah, 1 out of 5 stars!

[goddamnitkastle]

Far From The Shallow Now

Happy #KastleChristmas!

My gift is for @kastlequill, who gave me free reign to do pretty much whatever I wanted (just had to be sfw) so that was deeply appreciated, thank you. So yeah it ended up becoming my long awaited return to writing fic for this ship! Yay!

I am really proud that I was able to make this happen cause life currently sucks for me at the moment and having any motivation/will to live is so fucking hard for me right now! Nevertheless deadlines are great! And so is this fandom!

So this was inspired by 2018′s A Star Is Born, particularly the scene in which Jackson (Bradley Cooper) whisks Ally (Lady Gaga) away from a cop bar after she punches a guy in the face (it was awesome) who was being a dick to Jackson. From there, he takes her to a CVS/Duane Reade/Walgreens/whatever to get frozen peas for her hand and they bond/begin to fall in love in the parking lot.

My immediate thought after seeing this was that I needed to write a Kastle version of it and now here we are. It is not the scene verbatim or an AU but rather a twist on it done in canon-ish (it’s suppose to take place post DDS3), true to Kastle fashion. 

Alright I think I blabbed for long enough.

Enjoy!

She doesn’t remember leaving the bar. She doesn’t remember Frank’s hand on the small of her back as they quickly got into his van. She doesn’t even remember her fist connecting to the asshole’s jaw when he tried to strong arm her.

But then it hits her. Frank is pulling into a parking lot when Karen’s hand flares up in pain. She looks down, her knuckles bright red and fingers swollen.

“Come on, Rocky.”

“Jesus Christ.”

The pain is angry and seething as they walk into the Duane Reade.

“Frank this is ridiculous, I have a first aid kit at home.”

“Doesn’t matter. If we don’t get the swelling down now you could fuck up your hand pretty bad.”

“Look I’m...”

The pain shoots through her arm and Karen lets out a pained ah.

“You were saying?”

Karen closes her mouth as they approach the freezer section. He grabs a bag of peas and turns to her.

“This is gonna sting.”

He gently places the bag on her hand. It does sting but the relief is worth it. He lifts it away, his eyes honed in on her fingers.

“Okay put your hands side by side for me, yeah?” He instructs as he reaches for her other hand. His fingertips are calloused but gentle, almost featherlight against her wrist bones. Karen bites her lip to suppress the gasp that formed at his touch.

“Now move your good hand.”

She does and her knuckles crack.

“Been typing all day huh?”

“Yeah. There’s been a lot of paperwork for our new office space.” Karen chuckles.

“I know you were telling me before that piece of shit... don’t matter, now try with the other...”

And no surprise Karen barely can.

“Okay yeah keep the peas on it. Don’t want you to lose your way with words. I’ll go get some gauze.”

She smiles as he stomps down the aisle, intent on finding the gauze when he looks over at the potato chip selection. He grabs a bag of Cheetos without hesitation.

“Cheetos?”

“What? You were saying back at the bar how you haven’t eaten all day.”

She shakes her head and follows him.

The cashier barely registers their slightly haphazard appearances. Her holding a bag of of peas on her hand and him with his wild, outgrown hair and beard.

(He’s been saying for weeks now how he needs to get a cut. Karen has been secretly hoping he’ll never get around to it.)

They check out and head back to the van. He opens the sliding door for her and motions for her to sit. He tosses the Cheetos in the front seat and starts taking the gauze out of the packaging. A few moments of silence pass as Frank wraps her hand.

“There that should do it.”

Karen’s bandaged hand falls into her lap as Frank takes a seat beside her.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The streets are abnormally quiet, with the occasional car and passerby. Only then does Karen realize how late it is.

“How long?”

She knew it wouldn’t be long before he asked.

“How long what?”

“That been going on for? Assholes getting in your face.”

“Um, pretty much from the start, when I was at the Bulletin. It was never that bad until Fisk got out of jail but I guess he still...”

“Has it out for you.” Frank finishes as he scratches his beard.

“Yeah.”

“And this was cause you got in his face? Right? You said, uh...”

“Yeah it was while you were gone. I was trying to get him to attack me but it backfired. It was reckless and stupid and...”

“It was. You scared the shit out of me when you told me.”

“Frank I don’t...”

“Why would you do that? Just throw yourself into the line of fire like that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? He’s gone... for now. And you’re here.”

She knows he wants to press on but he restrains himself. For now anyway.

“That was a decent punch by the way.”

She turns her head to him, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, clearly.” She emphasizes with her injured hand.

“Hey you got him that’s what counts.”

They’re both laughing. It doesn’t last long though and it’s quiet again.

“Why didn’t you call Karen? When that was all going down?”

“Frank...”

“I would’ve came. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Look you said you needed to get away and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined...”

“Frank Castle needs a chance to live. Not the Punisher.”

Frank scoffs and gets up.

“Frank Castle won’t survive if people he cares about get needlessly killed.”

“I know but it wasn’t your fight.”

He turns to her, visibly upset.

“The hell it is. I told you about what went down between me and Fisk when I was in Rikers. I have just as much stake in this as you and Nelson and Murdock...”

He draws out the Murdock and Karen has to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“Frank I told you I didn’t want to talk about this...”

“Too fucking bad we are.”

His cutoff startles her and he knows it did. He raises his hand but retreats it immediately. He takes a breath, mutters a string of words; unintelligible and soft. Karen cradles her hand, the peas have gone lukewarm. A car horn blares in the distance, breaking the awkward pause.

“Karen I... I promised you that I was never gonna let anything happen to you...”

“You’re not always gonna be there Frank...”

“Maybe I want to be.”

He clenches his jaw and Karen knows she looks dumbstruck to him.

“Look when I left... it wasn’t cause of Russo or Rawlins or all that shit. I left... cause I’ve been scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of me. Of this, us. There’s something here Karen. And don’t go saying that there ain’t something cause I’m not gonna fucking hear it okay? You spoke of an after and I didn’t want to hear it then but...”

He’s close now, her knees slightly brushing against his. He looks down, half in shadow and half illuminated by harsh fluorescents.

“But?”

“Let’s just go into this together? Dive in, yeah? I’m not good with words but you were there... you believed in me when no one else did. I want to be the same for you.”

He gets on his knees, his hands gripping the floor of the van.

“Frank, I’m afraid that whatever we do beyond... this... I ruin things. I try and I try but I just...”

“Hey. Hey.” He places his hands on top in her thighs.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She feels it again. The pull she felt when they were in the elevator. She couldn’t control herself then and she concludes right then and there that she never could with him.

Their foreheads meet and it’s the closest feeling to home that Karen has had in a long time.

“I was never one for the shallow end of the pool. I always went for the deep end.”

“You’re a swimmer?”

“Not competitively. Just during the summers at my grandparents’ house in upstate New York.”

He smiles and she smiles and there’s this click, like the universe has finally snapped itself back into its proper place.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks after a while. They’re still sitting in the van. He’s been running his fingers down her open palm, cradling the makeshift ice pack he made for her in his lap.

“Yeah?”

“I think we’re gonna be fine. But I’m warning you now, I’m not the best at keeping secrets.”

Before he can spill another one she silences him with a kiss.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Ain’t Sayin’ She’s a Gold Digger: Part 2

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Negan x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: Sugar baby relationship, swearing

Word Count: 3,343

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well don’t you clean up nice.” Jeffrey said as you stepped out of your apartment building in a black silk Saint Laurent top, red denim shorts, and red to black gradient Louboutin’s with an old, worn suitcase in your each of your hands that were stuffed full of clothes.

“So I think I fucked up.” You huffed as you set the bags down on the stoop and pushed a new pair of sunglasses up on top of your head.

“Oh?” He asked with a small smirk as he leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you do?”

“Well… this is only bags number one and two.”

“Oh shit.” He laughed as Dana opened the door and carried out bags three and four out with her. “OK, James will get the rest, girls.”

“There’s only one more.” You huffed as you handed the bags at your feet to his driver. “And it’s one with the dresses… oh!” You gasped and lunged toward suitcase number two, which was probably as old as you were, as it ripped down the zipper and spilled half of your carefully planned and neatly folded outfits onto the stairs. “Damn it.”

“Sweetheart.” Jeff said as he lurched forward and helped you and Dana pick up your things. “Why didn’t you get new bags?”

“I just… I thought about it.” You sighed as you brushed off a dress on the bottom of the pile and set it on the seat of the car so it was out of the way. “But I had already went from a little less than a month of clothes to way over, and it was just getting so expensive, I just figured that my old suitcases would work, and I just had to buy these Louboutin’s because they have just been my wet dream…”

“Alright, well now we have to go and get you suitcases before we leave.” He said with a shake of his head as he searched your eyes. “What else did you skimp out on?”

“I made it through purchasing clothes, and the salon so she was up to my standards.” Dana said as she handed you the last bit of clothing with an evil smile. “But I know her make up’s old, and she probably got it from Walgreens.”

“Dana, shut your face.”

“I see what you mean about this one being a run for my money.” Jeff laughed as he handed his driver all of your folded clothes to put in the trunk with your bags. “Are you trying to be difficult?”

“Oh, I’m not trying…”

“She will always be difficult.” Dana said as she kissed your cheek. “Now go! I have things I want to do…”

“Make sure you shut the blinds this time if you’re gunna go dance naked in the living room some more.”

“Go to hell.” She laughed as she headed up the stairs. “Keep in touch, and you take care of my best girl.”

“Come on, sweetheart. We got some stops to make and I gotta postpone a jet.”

——

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, sweetheart.” Jeff said softly as you sat down next to him on the U-shaped couch on the Regent cruise line’s private jet.

“I feel bad I’m the reason we’re all late.”

“And I think we are right on time.” You smiled at him softly and sighed through your nose as you crossed your legs and put your hand on top of his on your knee. “So tell me about you.”

“It’s… well, it’s a long, long story.”

“Well we have a seven hour flight ahead of us.” You smirked and looked over at him as you turned on the leather toward him a bit more.

“What if I wanna be difficult?”

“Oh, I like difficult.” He chuckled as he glanced up and took two champagne glasses from the stewardess with a small nod.

“OK, well champagne is going to make being difficult, really difficult.” You laughed as you tapped your glass against his. “And I am an double orphan, that was adopted by a single mom who died of cancer, and then raised in group homes and with foster families, so I know how to be difficult.”

“You were an orphan?”

“I was an orphan.” You repeated before taking a big sip of your drink. “Well technically I still am. I was left at a police station when I was a year and a half old by my mom. And I was placed with a foster family while they tried to track her down, but they never did. She’s the lady who taught me how to play piano, my second mom, mama Beth. For the whole first month I was living with her, I didn’t say a word or make a sound, I just stared at her baby grand piano because I’d never seen one before. And eventually, she just picked my ass up, plopped me down on the chair, and taught me everything I know.”

“How long were you with her?” He asked before taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Almost ten years.” You said with the slightest hint of tears in your eyes. “Until she passed away. After that, I went to a few different group homes and other foster families that I hated until I aged out. Went to Juilliard on a scholarship and then became a bartender after that. And now I’m here.”

“And now your here.” He parroted back as he set his drink down in the cup holder on the table in front of you to buckle his seatbelt. “I was a little more fortunate in life.”

“What, not all people own cruise lines and hotels and fly in private jets?” You teased as you fastened your own seatbelt.

“Surprisingly, no.” He laughed as his eyes lit up even more. “Usually people own much bigger companies.”

“Oh, well you are slacking!” You giggled as you let him take your hand and lace his fingers with yours. “You need to step up your game, Jeffrey. Do I need to be the one to make… like a vision board or some shit to you can manifest the new dream?”

“No, we don’t need that.” He said as he slowly brushed his thumb against yours. “You know, you really are a breath of fresh air.”

“I’m not doing anything special.” You nearly whispered as you laid your head down on his shoulder for only a second, before you popped it right back up again. “Oh, there’s a big TV?!”

“There’s a bed in the back, too.” Your head whipped over toward him and your jaw dropped in shock.

“Shut up.”

“I use this plane for VIP guests that go on our more expensive cruises overseas, or VIPs that visit our hotels and want a more personal experience with our company. I’ve tried to do everything I can to make everyone’s vacation as memorable as can be.”

“Is it just VIPs that use this… oh!” You squeaked as you squeezed his hand a little tighter as the plane picked up speed and shot across the runway.

“It goes quick.” He whispered in your ear as he put his other hand on your knee. “First time flying?” You nodded your head and took a deep breath, before forcing a smile on your face.

“OK, it’s not that bad.”

“You get used to it.” He chuckled. “And usually it is only VIPs that use this. It’s a pretty penny to fuel and staff this thing…”

“Would you should consider doing a raffle every year?” You asked before you finished your champagne as the plane leveled out at your flying altitude. He looked at you questioningly at the interruption and you shrugged and set your glass down in the cup holder beside his. “Sorry. You just said that you want to make people’s experiences memorable. As someone that grew up without, who has never been on a vacation before in my life, let alone going overseas, this is a pretty amazing experience. One that I will always remember. Now imagine giving that same feeling to a couple of love sick newlyweds going on their honeymoon, or the kids of a single mother who worked three jobs after she divorced her husband to give her kids something joyful in their dark life like my friend’s mom did in middle school.” You shrugged and gave him a tight lipped smile. “I don’t know, it’s just a thought.”

“It’s actually a very good thought.” He said with a smile as he took his hand off your knee to reach up and push a piece of hair back behind your ear. He searched your eyes for a moment and shook his head. “Fuck, Dana was right about you. You really are something special.”

“Honestly, I’m just being me. I told you, I don’t know how to be your typical Baby. So you’re gonna get me just the way I am.”

“And that’s what I need right now.” He reassured as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “I need something real. Something that isn’t putting on a mask to be what they think I want. I may hate her, but I miss my wife because she was the only person who treated me like a person and not a bank account. And I can already tell that you’re the same kinda person.”

“I mean, I won’t lie to you…” You admitted as you leaned into his touch. “The money is nice. But it’s certainly not everything. Even in the short amount of time we’ve spent together, I can tell you’re a great guy. And I’m glad I can be the one to get to know you. So I guess we can both be grateful that I met Dana.”

“How did you meet Dana anyways?”

“Well I can be grateful I got kicked out of Juilliard for that. I lost my place to live and didn’t have any money. She happened to be on a run past Juilliard as I was tossing trash bags of my shit out of the dorm, and I knocked her ass over with a bag of shoes.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He laughed as he nodded at his stewardess and sat up a little bit to snack on the extravagant charcuterie board that was set on the table in front of you.

“She obviously forgave me.” You laughed as you nodded your head at the stewardess when she held up the bottle of champagne. “And she gave me a couch to sleep on until I could get a job and get my shit together. And the rest is history.”

“Well here’s to history.” Jeff said with a smile as he held up his full glass. “And to making friends.”

“And to perfectly timed moments in time.” You added as you tapped your glass against his.

“I can definitely drink to that, sweetheart.”

——

“Ummm… how old is that phone?” Jeff asked with a laugh as he watched you take photos of London out the town car window with an iPhone 6 that had a giant crack across the screen but still worked just fine.

“As old as you are.” You teased with a glance over your shoulder before looking back out the window at the landmarks wizzing by on your way to one of Jeff’s hotels for the night before the cruise. “So about as old as the dinosaurs.” He laughed behind you as he sat forward in his spot. 

“Find an Apple store…”

“No.” You said quickly as you shook your head and turned back toward him. “No, that’s alright.”

“Just find us an Apple store.” Jeff repeated with a shake of his head as he looked back down at his phone and the dozen or so emails he had gotten when you were in the air.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You huffed as you turned away from him for a moment.

“No, you trying to take good photos on an old broken phone on your first international trip ever is ridiculous.” You looked over at his smirk and narrowed your eyes as he glanced over at you out of the corner of his eyes. “You are ridiculous, sweetheart.”

“Why?” His smirk turned into a full smile as he turned off his screen and turned toward you casually.

“I like to take care of people.” He started as he rested his arm on the back of the seat and picked up a strand of your hair to twirl around his finger. “It’s the way I was raised. When I was young, my mom used to make me work with her at a thrift store her woman’s club ran couple times a week. It was the biggest pain in the ass in my opinion because I would have much rather been out playing with my friends. But one day, one of those friends lost their house to a fire. And they needed help. And so the stuff I had been organizing just the day before became everything to my friend. It was maybe a half dozen t-shirts and maybe as many pairs of shorts, but that was all he had. And it made me wanna do more. But as a kid there was only so much I could do. So from that day forward, I did everything I could to help people in ways they couldn’t do themselves.”

“So that’s why you went into hospitality?”

“Part of the reason. The other part was the money. And when I met and married Hillarie, I had someone I could take care of, so my philanthropy kinda fell to the way side… but after she left, I just…”

“You’re just missing something.” You interjected with a smile as you pat his thigh gently. “I get it. This kinda makes a lot more sense now, you and me… Oh, Tiffany!” You said as you pointed out the window behind him at the building you had just drove past. “That place always has the cutest things. I can never stop myself from browsing… Sorry, that was rude…”

“You can just stop here.” Jeff said as he gestured to an open parking spot. “I do think a nice Tiffany necklace would look great with this outfit of yours before we find you a decent international phone for the month we’re here.”

“OK, let the record show that I’m not a fan of being spoiled like this.” You said as you got out of the car behind him with a giant smile. “But at the same time, the broke girl that spends way to much money on fashion magazines is dying.”

“Listen to that second voice.” He laughed as he put his hand on the small of your back and pulled the door to the designer department store named Selfridges open for you. “Spend the money.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This ship is absolutely breath taking.” You sighed as you walked with Jeffrey so he could double check all of the work that was put into the ship before its maiden voyage. “Every single detail is… it’s just beyond words.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jeff said with a smile as he brushed his thumb across your back. “I wanted to make sure, even though it looks very similar to one of the line’s other ships, that it would still be an unrivaled experience for the guests.”

“Well I think you got it spot on.” You leaned into his side and looked up at him with a playful smile. “You know you’re gunna have to play bocce with me.”

“I will play bocce with you.” He agrees as he lead you into a lounge you hadn’t seen yet because you had been distracted by the culinary arts kitchen and picking one of the classes to take so Jeff knew it was a worth wile experience to have. “But you have to play for me first.”

“Oh, my God.” You gasped as you walked over to the gorgeous grand piano in the middle of the room. “This is a Steinway.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?” He asked as he opened the keys cover for you and gestured to the bench.

“You have no idea. We had one of these at Juilliard for showcases, but I never…” You shook your head as you gingerly danced your fingers across a few keys and slowly sat down on the bench. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“So you want me to play bocce with you or what?” He asked as he nodded at one of the bartenders who were preparing the bar for when the boarding process began in a less than an hour. With a smile, you nodded your head, turned your attention to the black and white keys, and started playing ‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy. 

Just like you had the very first time you played a note, you were instantly lost in the sound. It took you away to another place, where everything was much simpler and black and white. It was like a cloud lifted you off the bench and took you a million miles away, cradling you and lightening the dark parts of your orphaned soul that had been marred by the system that failed so many children before and after you, and a society that mostly fended for themselves. The piano spoke in ways you knew you would ever be able to, expressing itself much more fluently than you even believed possible.

As he leaned on the bar and sipped on his scotch, Jeff felt something he had never felt with a Sugar Baby before. A desire that he had assumed had all but disappeared when he caught Hillarie with another man. Part of him wanted to snuff it out as fear overwhelmed him, but the other part, the much bigger part, wanted you more than he had even wanted Hillarie. You had a fire in you that he could already feel warmed the darkest reaches of his soul, and a mischievousness to you that made him want to get in a little trouble just for the fun of it. He loved how easy it was to talk to you, and how you checked all of your inhibitions at the door, which made him wish he was able to do the same thing.

‘No one would want to be with some… old man like you.’ Even six years later, Hillarie’s words still cut like a knife straight through the heart, reminding him exactly why dating Sugar Baby’s was the best thing for him. It had been the same script that played through his head whenever he had moments like this. Moments where he thought he’d be able to move on in life and find someone that could stand spending any length of time with him for any reason other than his money. Which is the exact reason why using his money to pay for company that otherwise wouldn’t want to be with him anyways was the only way to go at his age. He startled the slightest bit when the bartenders beside him clapped when you finished your song, the sound pushing his thoughts away for the time being, and he joined them as well as you turned on the bench and blushed.

“Oh, stop.” You laughed as you slipped your shoes back on and stood up. “That’s an easy one.”

“Well, I’m so glad I thought long ago that it would be a good idea to put a piano in the suite we’re in too.” Jeff said as he set his glass down and stuck out his hand for yours.

“Can we just go see it?” You asked with a smile as you let go of his hand to lace your arm with his. “For like one song length of time. And then maybe go down to the pool to people watch for a while before dinner?” He smiled and nodded his head as he led you to the elevators to go up to the fourteenth deck.

“That sounds like an absolutely fucking perfect idea, sweetheart.”

Part 3

[oronooo]

Your music is getting me through a particular difficult design day (I'm a graphic Design Director for the Automotive Industry) and sometimes I hit a few spots throughout the day that will require external inspiration to get me over the next hurdle. Music is usually my go to since my job requires me to create visual art. Listening to my favorite artists allows me to work and get inspiration at the same time. What are some of your favorite go-to's when you need a spark of inspiration?

your job sounds really cool, even though i don’t know anything about it lol. i’m sure it requires a lot of brain power, so kudos to you man.

great question. my answer’s going to be a bit long, i think… it has a few layers to it. so let’s break it down.

first off, i’m lucky enough to be in a position where i’m not required to be always creative. well, that’s actually a bad way of putting it… it’s more that i’m never put under pressure to be constantly churning stuff out. and i’ve personally never been about that life either; i’ve always preferred to take time with whatever it is that i’m creating, and on top of that, being told to “be creative” really, pisses me off. that’s why i hated art/music class growing up (it was only in high school that i appreciated art class, thanks to my art teacher ms. burns), and it’s the root of my apprehensions toward pursuing art academically. lately i’ve been trying to get in the habit of making stuff more often so that i can get better at it, but for the longest time i’ve been particularly impulsive when it comes to anything creative.

so there’s rarely a time when i feel like i need to seek out inspiration in order to create something, immediately. when i get an idea, i’ll make a note of it on my phone straight away. if i’m really in the zone, and the creative juice are-a-flowin, i’ll quickly get to work, but most of the time i’ll just leave it at that and come back to it a few hours/days/months/years later.

i’m sure you’re well-aware but having a creative impulse doesn’t always equal creating something good. and i’m also sure all of you artistes out there that declare yourselves as “perfectionists”–as my good friend once said, code word for “lazy assholes”–feel that your creations need to be of exceptional quality at all times. you could use an advice or two, so here’s a pro-tip: personally, i’ve found that being in a mindful state, where the insides of my brain resemble a fresh, blank canvas… that’s when i feel most creative. i pay an equal amount of attention to each thought that passes through my head so that i can easily piece all of them together in an effort to creative a cohesive, “fucking-sickening-yes-gawd-dis-shit-lit-fam” piece of work. said thoughts are inspired by anything that my body allows me to feel and to take in–a tasty cheeseburger from in-n-out, the most beautiful walgreens that i’ve ever seen, a perfect pop song. everything becomes an inspiration.

oh and smoke fucking heaps of weed ya dumb cunt

p.s. yesterday i listened to steve martin’s “a wild and crazy guy.” it’s crazy good, you should check it out