carterjohnsons - Tumblr blog

[carterjohnsons]

"Just me, bossman." Carter's hands raised above his head, as if in surrender, to signify that he comes in peace. "Just droppin' by for my check. They all ready?" Pay day might have been his favorite day, and they just about always went the same: spending far too much at the bar, leaving a hefty tip for his waitress (of course), scoring whatever he could get his hands on that night. Rinse and repeat.

who: @carterjohnsons

where: pitstop

life had been uncharacteristically quiet for the first time in months, just the way jude liked it. going about his daily life without the concern of someone else from his past would just drop by. the last one on the list had a large road block of a jail cell stopping him from getting anywhere near jude. the storm had passed, and calm had settled on his mind and body. with greasy stained hands he works on a carburetor of an older modal, a janky one at that. but he liked the challenge, no matter how long it took. as he reaches for his spanner the chime of the door bell rings through the room where the only sound was the tones of the local radio. "just a minute." jude calls over his shoulder, reaching out the rag to wipe down his hands.

[carterjohnsons]

"Sweetheart, you had me at coffee."

She could've been asking to move in, for all he cared, plucking the still steaming cup from her grasp and bringing it to his lips for a sip as the door shut behind them. "That mean you don't wanna talk about that One Direction fella? Why the hell are you even here, then?"

Most of Carter's pop culture updates came from those coffee shop pre-teens, the information he gathered there mostly retained against his will.

"...an hour's a long time, ain't it?" His eyebrows raised suggestively, grin hidden behind his next sip of coffee.

@carterjohnsons

Romina grabbed some coffee on her way to Carter's apartment, having checked with him via text beforehand if he was at home but failing to mention that she was in the neighbourhood until she was knocking on his front door. Her body pressed into the doorframe until she heard footsteps and a turn of his doorknob, silently hoping he was alone because she had forgotten to confirm. "I brought coffee," she smiled and rose them in the air, "- in exchange for you allowing me to crash here for an hour before my meeting down the street. It got rescheduled at the last minute and the coffee shop near your place is full of pre-teens. I would have rather chosen death than listen to them gush over the latest teen heartthrob. My options were limited."

[carterjohnsons]

Disappointment is a tone that Carter knew well; one often associated with a sigh of his name, a shake of a head. Sometimes a pitying gaze that only added fuel to the fire raging within him, the desire to give them something to pity. He'd hit rock bottom before. This was nowhere even close.

"Again, Sam." He echoes with his own sigh and dejected slump of his head, only to glance up at the man with a shit eating grin--seemingly unbothered for someone who might have to sleep out in the hallway, and not for the first time. "I think those assholes keep me waitin' on purpose. Can you believe that?"

CLOSED STARTER for @carterjohnsonswhere: ocean crest apartments

It's later in the evening where most people home are settling in, the hum of the Spring Garden Festival bringing to Aurora Bay this new light feeling. Even Samuel is buzzing with it, his energy renewed, anything that could set him off-kilter thrown to the backburner of his mind. He's returning to his apartment when down the hall he sees the all too familiar sight of one of his neighbors slumped in defeat.

"Again, Carter?" Sam sighs, though he can't say he is surprised. Might as well start off the new month with consistency. "I should make a spare key for you and keep it here, just so you don't have to wait for maintenance to let you back in your place."

[carterjohnsons]

carter: u didn't even give me a chance to answer man carter: i would've gotten it carter: who needs creativity when you've got a face like yours carter: might need to make my way to my local fire station then

angel: you know what they say about making assumptions? angel: you'll only make an ass out of u and me 🤷🏾‍♂️ angel: i like to think if somebody was catfishing as me they'd make a more creative profile angel: depends who you ask

[carterjohnsons]

His head was pounding.

No, not just his head, but the door, too. Carter groaned at the persistence of whoever it was on the other side, reaching blindly for the couch cushion beneath his head to tug it up and over his ear, hoping to muffle the sound that’d roused him from his nap.

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, though considering he hadn’t remembered getting home the night before (assuming, by the stream of sunlight coming in through the windows he could not be anything but aware of now, that it was the next day), this was an unsurprising realization. With consciousness returning to him, the aching in his head became increasingly more apparent, as the knocking on his door only grew more frantic.

Neither exactly added up to make great napping conditions. The pillow fell away from his face in defeat, sleep still clinging to the corner of his eyes as he shuffled his way across the room to his front door. He’d half expected one of the building’s twenty something’s to be on the other side, the way he seemed to be collecting them these days–maybe Bennie and that damned bike chain of hers, or another one of Pearl’s victims trying to escape…

The last person Carter expected to find stood at his doorstep was his wife.

Though, if he were to have expected her, it would’ve been just as she was: as beautiful as the day he met her, if not somehow more. It was the kind of pretty that made you want to duck and run for cover, the kind that could only get you into trouble. The instinct was still there, buried beneath the grogginess that was not the product of a nap, but having been asleep for the last twelve hours. He’d slept through his entire shift.

Jude was going to be pissed.

It took the long stretch of silence that followed for Carter to realize he'd yet to say a damn word. If she'd spoken, the heaviness of his heart beating in his ears had muffled it. Had she said what she was doing here? Her being willing to occupy the same city as him, let alone state, must’ve meant something bad had occurred, something that could only be told in person, and his mind began to race with all the possibilities.

Though they both knew he had no right to ask, the first words to tumble out of his mouth were, “Conrad–” It was the first time he’d uttered the name in nearly two years, the distance felt in every syllable, "is he...is he okay?”

written to: @carterjohnsons

Light filters in through lace curtains hanging in front of her window, it's so gentle. Illuminating the edges of her vanity, or her hair, or her face. She could have been daydreaming in the mirror for as long as she's spent staring back at the image of herself. Fussing. Was she wearing too much mascara, too little blush, too much foundation? Should her hair be or down? Should she change outfits again? It took all of her strength to walk away from the mirror and get in her car driving to see a man she didn't know if she was ready to see again. They'd had their phone call the other day, and the text she sent him this morning still noted as simply sent, but she was going. They had to talk.

Even the walk up to the apartment, her heart was pounding in her chest until she wonders if it's still a heart in there or a winged creature waiting to unfurl. The elevator doors rattle as they open, it's not exactly where she pictured him living. Even the cornered windows seem to face away from the afternoon sun that would be soon to set in the sky. She's telling herself not to turn back around, not to leave- she came here so Carter can be apart of Conrad's life again and this was what it was going to take. It all would start with a conversation.

She knocks against the door, first gently but something she tells herself isn't hesitation. Then waits- nothing. Then again, the next time a little louder unsure if she can even hear her own knocking over the sound of her heart in her ears. She tells herself she's ready, tells herself they can do this.

[carterjohnsons]

Boyd Holbrook + Pedro Pascal (& Maurice Compte) Narcos 1.02 -The Sword of Simón Bolivar

[carterjohnsons]

does anyone know what the first step of unlearning shame is. please say it’s substance abuse

[carterjohnsons]

He could offer the kid a million dollars and he wasn't so sure that he'd get as big of a reaction.

Carter recognized that look in Soggy's eyes, the excitement in the knowledge that the contents of the nearly eaten plastic baggie were his free ticket to a euphoria that couldn't be felt sober. Was that how he looked? Or had the excitement worn off in replacement of something desperate, something uglier, needier?

"A ragin' epidemic, them drug addicted dogs. So generous of us to be doin' our parts, really."

His dreams were shit, when he managed to dream, and who needed peace when you could simply feel nothing at all?

"Alrighty then, Paw Patrol, you got someplace in mind?" A mother of six (Jesus Christ) was already giving them a side-eye that had Carter suspecting they'd actually be facing some sort of proper authority if they stuck around for much longer.

@brraxtcn

" fuck yes, " NEVER THE BEST AT BEING RESERVED when drugs were involved , his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store when the baggie was revealed . the state of its packaging didn't phase him , soggy's definitely had sketchier substances . " anything to help put a halt to the drug usage in canines . " his voice is low though riddled with excitement . " you're like an angel in the shape of a tall , handsome , man. may you only know peace and may all of your dreams come true. let's get fucking weird . " @carterjohnsons

[carterjohnsons]

Carter whistled. "Cookin' barbecue for the girl from Texas on the first date?" His head shook, tilted back for another sip of his beer. "These California boys are somethin' else, I'll tell you."

As cheesy as the apron itself was, it was a relief to learn that it hadn't in actuality belonged to their father (despite Amanda's intention to gift it to him). To know that it wasn't some physical reminder of a tradition Carter had fucked up his right to inherit and pass down for himself let him breathe a little easier, the noose it'd created around his neck, even after its removal, loosening before he could hang himself with it.

The apron, now just an apron, was tossed back onto the kitchen counter, swapped out for an empty plate in his hands. She'd gone all out, as usual; enough food to feed the whole city block, rather than just them two--though in his day, Carter would not have shied away from the challenge.

These days though, the hunger came and went. He could either give the All Nighter a run for their money with their all you can eat pancake special, or realize three days in that he hadn't eaten more than a handful of bar nuts and whatever he'd taken a bump of.

Today, he was somewhere in between, though it was probably more nostalgia than true hunger that loaded down his plate with all the fixins. It looked just as it should, glossy BBQ sauce, molasses thick, Carter's mouth watering at just the sight of it alone...but that smell?

Maybe their dad's tradition would live on.

(Carter told himself that the pang in his stomach was that of hunger, and not jealousy.)

"Do I remember--are you shittin' me? Do I remember Culver? Culver Braun? With the ears that were too big for his fuckin' head 'till he was fourteen goddamn years old?" The disbelief was clear on Carter's face.

The kid had been practically family, with a C name to match and all, and he knew he hadn't been the only one anticipating the day where it'd become official. Everyone in their lives had known of their feelings for one another, despite either of their protests...and though admittedly it'd been years since Carter had thought about the boy (man, now), the satisfaction of being right, however delayed, was evident in his grin.

"Well, shit, kid. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His head shook. "Last I heard of him he...what, joined the fucking Navy?" Maybe it had been longer than he thought since he'd last asked.

Recognizing the misdirect towards the backyard for what it was, Carter followed, but she wasn't getting off the hook that easy. "No...what's crazy is that you two haven't just put us all out of our goddamn misery yet...unless he's in Santorini 'cause y'all are plannin' a big ol' destination weddin'?" His eyebrows wiggled playfully.

@cheyxjohnson

It was the stupidest apron she had ever seen, and he somehow made it even more stupid.

The laughter came easy and she shook her head at him, recalling just where she found it. As much it screamed that it must belong to their father, it surprisingly didn't. "Okay, not gonna lie, I stole that from a guy I went on a date with. He was a huge dick and cooked shit barbecue. He was real proud of that apron, too. I snagged it on my way out of there that night."

There were moments where her anger got the best of her, something Carter knew all too well. It was either steal that apron or punch that guy in the face. Considering she was already arrested once for the latter, she chose the former and safer option.

"I'll give it to dad for father's day. He'll love it." Chey took another swig of her beer before moving to make herself a plate of food. Loading up a variety of meat, she sucked on the side of her thumb to get some barbecue sauce off when he caught her attention with the mention of Greece.

"You're real fuckin' noisy, you know that?" She gave a little smirk before snatching the post card out of his hand. The crystal blue waters and beautiful scenery on the card made her both a little jealous and happy. The fact he even thought of her while in a country so beautiful touched Chey- more than she liked to admit. "It's, uh, from Culver. You remember him?" Chey placed it back on the fridge and admired it there for a moment before looking at Carter.

She mentioned Culver's name as if he was just a casual old friend that Carter may have met once or twice. However, that man was practically family and attached to Chey's hip since they were only kids. Of course he remembered Culver. "We reconnected a while back. I was at this wrap party on this boat, and then lo and behold, he was working on that boat. Crazy, right?" She went back to making her plate and nodded towards the back porch, again as if mentioning Culver was so casual. Chey knew her brother well enough to know the teasing about him would start soon. She was trying to avoid it. "Let's eat out there. Feels nice outside."

[carterjohnsons]

carter: i said or whatever, i was close carter: yeah? what's ur secret then? carter: absolutely not carter: but if u see me around with a bottle of poligrip...mind ur business @pearlwestbrook

pearl: it's cinephile and yeah 1 of those pearl: i'm a riot at parties but it's actually not bc of either of those things pearl: do u have a full set of dentures

[carterjohnsons]

"I suggest some poutin'. Tears. Maybe hittin' your knees, if you're desperate." A lot of work just to ask for a light, but Carter had put on a show for less. "All three probably couldn't hurt."

He grins around his cigarette, nods his head in acknowledgement of the thanks. "M'sure. Found it outside before I came in. Maybe it can be like the sisterhood of the travelin' lighter or some shit." He snorts, flicking ash by his feet, dragging it onto the pavement with the toe of his boot.

"Shit, man, if only there were, like, I don't know, a place you could go to that could get you just as fucked up as you'd like, right behind you." Maybe even more fucked up than he originally planned, if he wanted. There was a plastic baggie currently burning a hole in Carter's front pocket, though he knew that wasn't exactly Will's thing right now. "So, what's this supposed to be, huh? Some kind of exposure therapy?"

@willxmeyers

Will never had to beg, maybe that's why he didn't know how. A charming smile got him in and out of trouble more times than he could count. "I should probably work on that," he joked. "Probably just comes off as insincere anyway."

Taking the lighter, Will nodded a thank you nod before lightning the cigarette that had gotten all scrunched up between his teeth. "You sure? Thanks, man." He put the lighter in his pocket, a lot more cigarettes to come tonight so he'd be needing it. A long exhale of smoke into the night, Will looked around. "I am not nearly as fucked up tonight as I'd like to be."

[carterjohnsons]

There it was.

The sound of her laughter and the subsequent jab is enough to crack something open in his chest. Breathing comes a little easier, though a too big inhale has him choking on smoke like some sort of amateur.

He tries his best to hide it behind his own laughter, a breathless tinge to his words as he snides back, "and what? You're normal?"

Granted, he didn't know her that well, but he wasn't completely immune to her orbit. Could feel it even now, pulling and pulling still. He didn't even think she was trying.

His cigarette is pointed in her direction, flicking ash just shy of her stretched out legs, as if in warning. "Hey, I'm not gettin' fuckin' emo about it." Except he absolutely was, and he couldn't deny it without grinning, giving himself away.

Shaking his head, Carter laid flat back against the pavement, one arm crossed behind his head, eyes towards the sky. "Does it matter?" It did, and after a drag, he answered, "she divorced me."

A beat passes. He turns his head towards her, "haven't seen that boy toy of yours 'round here in awhile." It wasn't a question (but it was).

@pearlwestbrook

It wasn't until he told her he was better at one than the other that Pearl finally burst into laughter. It was just so fucking ridiculous, not just the bullrider shit but the fact that he was comparing it to an apparently failed marriage. One which she was pretty sure she had heard the evidence of once or twice, if the yelling coming from his apartment had been any indication.

"You're so fucking weird," she said, though it wasn't without a smile lingering on her lips. Thing was, she didn't really mean it in a bad way — he was interesting at least, which wasn't something she could say about most people in this boring town. "So obviously you were better at bullriding than being a husband or you wouldn't be getting all emo about it. Did she divorce you or did you divorce her?"

[carterjohnsons]

"Public event, dude. They literally just let anyone in here."

Connor's cheek is tapped affectionately, shit eating grin on Carter's lips as he invites himself to the open space beside him on the fountain's edge. "You wanna light this thing, then?" Not a lantern, which is noticeably absent from his possession, but the joint he produces from behind his ear, held out between pinched fingers in the minimal space separating them, knees knocking together. "Since you don't trust my ass with fire and all."

(Not that Carter had ever given him a reason not to...though it was still a fair concern. While he'd like to believe that arson was not on the list of possible habits of his, there was something about those flaming lanterns that were practically begging for some sort of chaos...)

Eyeing the cup in Connor's hand, an eyebrow rose in his own suspicion, leaning in close to inspect its contents. "S'that some of that butterfly piss lemonade they were sellin'?"

@connorxrose

who: @carterjohnsons

where: spring festival | botanical gardens | sunset

Connor spent more time at the festival in town than he ever had before. Between meeting friends, bringing someone special along, and asking for one too many samples of baked goods, he almost looked like an actual upstanding citizen of this town. Oh how far he has come.

After his shift at the tattoo parlor, he decided to walk into town (walked, because yes, he has still yet to replace the bicycle that was swept away by the storm). He managed to make it over to the botanical gardens just as people were getting ready to lift off the nightly lanterns. The real reason why he walked all the way over was truly a simple one - he wanted one of those flowery teas he got the other day.

Soon as the cold beverage was in his hand, he sat near one of the fountains and decided to look at the lanterns lift off again. It seemed like soon as he looked up to catch the first few rising, someone stepped in front of him blocking him. "Dude," he immediately blurted. Soon as he saw who it was, he couldn't immediately decide if it was better or worse that it was Carter. "Oh, so they just let anyone in here, I see. I hope they didn't give you a lantern. I don't trust your ass with fire." That said a lot coming from him.

[carterjohnsons]

"Lightnin' fuckin' McQueen, man. Hell yeah."

Carter laughed in agreement, hands thrown up in the air, as if the name alone spoke for itself. "That's what I'm fuckin' sayin'! What's it that motherfucker always said? His catchphrase?" His fingers drummed along the countertop as he thought back to the movie he, arguably, was too old to have seen at the time it'd come out, brain racking for a few seconds before it came to him with a snap of his fingers, "kachow! Fuckin' classic, I'm tellin' you."

He winces as he takes his next sip, grimacing but grateful for the heat of the refill, but it's quick to turn into a grin as his prize is upgraded. "Ka-chow." He drumrolls against the table in excitement.

"Can I cash 'em in now?"

@greengideon

Carter's answer is followed by a full-bodied laugh from the man behind the counter.

"Lightning McQueen -- hell yeah," Gideon agrees with deep sincereity as he tops off the other mans coffee cup, having to wipe a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye.

At least the guy was honest, no guilt in his guilty pleasure.

"Man, for that I'm gonna give you free pancakes for a month."

[carterjohnsons]

They did have great sex...but they weren't friends.

Not in the real way people were supposed to be friends. The normal, unconditional way that Carter had forgotten how to participate in, a way that wasn't transactional, whether that payment was drugs or sex or a couch to sleep on when he locked himself out of his apartment for the third time that week.

He had plenty of those friends...but the hollowness of those relationships weren't lost on him. The burden of his presence outweighing whatever reward they sought from it.

Logan was a grown woman, and could make her own decisions--and while he was confident that he'd never done or said anything that would potentially lead her on into thinking whatever went on between them had the potential for more, the curveball that'd been thrown in not only learning she had a daughter, but having run into them together? Being introduced (as mommy's friend) to a five year old not that much older than his own son?

It'd spooked him. He was a coward, he'd admit it. To himself.

"...that soon, huh?" He chuckled, fingers picking at the sweating bottle's label, soaked and peeling from the condensation. "But I mean it, darl--" Catching himself, he smiled pointedly in her direction, "Logan. Been busy at the shop, especially since the storm and all. I was gonna call, s'been too long."

There was no getting out of this one, not without proving her more right than she already thought she was, so Carter slid over into the empty barstool separating them, knee knocking playfully against hers. "Now, if the choice is between talkin' and drinkin'..." Making eye contact with the bartender, he gestured to the empty shot glasses and ordered another round with a twirl of his finger in the air.

"Keep 'em comin'."

@loganxday

Right as Carter opened his mouth, Logan's question was answered and she rolled her eyes though found herself smirking just slightly. Obviously she wasn't going to take it personally, he probably was avoiding her because of his own issues. "Oh Carter, right as the word, darlin', left your mouth, I knew I got my answer," she chuckled. "Why have you been avoiding me? We had great sex so I know that's not it." Seeing her tequila shots arrive in front of her, she took no time in taking them both and licked her lips and leaned back in her seat. Turning her head towards Carter again, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Come on now, we're friends. You can talk to me," she said though smirked. "Or, if you don't want to talk, we can drink," she added, motioning to her empty shot glasses.

[carterjohnsons]

She was looking at his finger like it was a carrot, and she was a very pissed off rabbit.

It was a miracle it remained attached to his hand, which he took his time in pocketing, leaning back against the countertop opposite of her--not purposefully putting distance between the two, but coincidentally just out of reach.

"No shit," a huffed laugh around the lip of the bottle, tipped back for a quick drink, before offering, "mine too." Not anger management, per say, but the court mandated rehabilitation and therapy sessions were a familiar sentencing, one he'd been happy to shed with the move (flee) from the state.

If she thought he was going to be scared off by that, she had another thing coming.

"Probably. Must come with age." As if Lemie were a child still growing up into her own bullshit meter, and not a grown woman herself (whose meter worked just fine, if you asked him). "Well shit. There goes my plans of makin' it big in Hollywood."

His head hung against his chest, hand covering half of his face, though perking up not a moment later. "Actually, wait a damn minute." He snapped his fingers, "I can just be one of 'em nepotism babies!" Carter grinned, eyes bright and wide.

(Did his and Amanda's sibling bond go so far as for him to be cast unjustly in a film of hers? Absolutely not, nor did he have any true desire to act, but if the implication earned even an eye roll from Lemie, his antics would be more than worth it.)

"Kinky." Carter snorted, "but I'm into it. Think you can make do with a butter knife?" He opened one of the drawers (not even the one that housed his utensils), and began to rummage around. "Think I got some chopsticks in here too, if you wanna get real crazy..."

@lemielewis

If she had known upon meeting Carter how obnoxious he was, she would've written a check without a second chance. She might've called her fucking parents for money if she was short. This was truly testing every single bit of work she had been doing on herself. She watched as he wagged his finger in her direction, tempted to grab it and snap it right off. Lemie inhaled and exhaled once more, managing to make her breathing exercises sound angry.

"Have I ever told you that my anger management and therapy were court-mandated?" She said simply, hoping he would recognize the question for the threat it was.

"He probably has a better radar for shitheads than I do," she suggested, eyes narrowed in his direction. This man was not scared enough of her to her liking. "Also, that was a terrible accent. We now know you can never go into acting. I'm still not putting on any kind of show for you."

Lemie pretended to think about his question, humming quietly as he leaned closer to her. "The part that's going on in my head. You can see it, but it involves you, me, and a very sharp knife. That part really gets me going."

[carterjohnsons]

carter: oh shit ur 1 of those cinemaphiles or whatever? carter: extensive movie knowledge and an arm like a cannon...bet ur fun at parties carter: oh wouldn't you like to know? carter: slow that fastball down to 89 mph and i'll let u take a guess

pearl: he's a filmmaker idiot pearl: doesn't have to be stale if i throw it at 90mph, i have an arm like a howitzer pearl: righttttt in ur rodeo clown days. so how many fake teeth do u have