samstclair

[samstclair]

Joel Miller's Survivor

Joel Miller X Reader

Anonymous Request

"Hey Sam! Hope you're still alive. You've been like ghost, and I'm getting worried about my request not being fulfilled, AND your health, of course or whatever! Yeah so can you get to it already? Joel X reader, simple. Can you make Y/N be like traveling with them or some shit? I don't know. But do your thing when you've crawled out of your hole!"

Word Count: long bro

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

As you lied in your bed, rotting (you have not gotten up in the three hours you've been awake [so now it's almost 12 in the afternoon]), feeling like absolute dog shit for:

1. your empty tummy, 

2. not having showered in a week despite you paying your water bills, 

3. your internet running at the speed of a geriatric snail so no more fan-cam edits, ALSO despite paying your internet bills, 

3. just feeling like an overall ball of grease and oil that could, if necessary, fill a car's gas tank, 

4. not having gotten up in those three hours, 

and 5., perhaps most importantly, the world ending :(

you gazed out your window into the morning (afternoon, actually), light that peered through. It was scenic really, little puffs of dust, some asbestos tinkled in, gliding softly in the air. It hit you - this is not fun or fresh. This sucks dick, actually. 

You rose, stretching, a big big biiiiigggggg stretch, cracking every conceivable bone in your body, trying to avoid looking in the mirror that could potentially reveal your physically-troubled state. You didn't even have to look to know the condition your hair was in - actually let's not talk about the hair. You'll spiral. If we can't see it, it's not real :D

"Fleabag said it best. Hair IS everything," you thought to yourself, thinking about avoiding the mirror. "Oh my god I could SOOOOO binge Fleabag right now -"

But you knew that wasn't an available way to veg out. As mentioned before, your power, water, and internet were out. You supposed it came with the world ending and all. 

"Grrrjsdjaksdfnbdsjdskjjfs," your tummy said. You cradled it like a mother holding her child. 

"Mama needs to eat soon...", you thought wearily.

You rose and peered out the window - and it was the same old shit. Those cracked-out girlies were still on the prowl, being the biggest cockblocks you've ever encountered in your life for some good food. 

"But girl, we gotta eat! We have to soon," your brain said. "You can't keep this shit up! REAL calories and shit actually do matter!"

"But bitch how? Those fat asses on the street are gonna try to toss up with you again!" the other side of your brain said. 

"So what? You're gonna keep living off three-month old Halloween candy?? Those Twix's are tasting more like the processed chocolate that they are every DAY! Stop playing around and gaslighting yourself into thinking they're good, girl!" the other side argued back. "THINK about it. You bought those to sneak in to watching Dune in theaters. And not even the second Dune, the first. They're literally vintage." 

"What's stomach gotta say?" the other side shot back, quite angrily. 

"Grhjdkajdjsjdfoifdiosiojf," your stomach replied. You knew what that meant a little all too well - your stomach couldn't take it anymore. She wasn't even sentient enough to respond.

"FUCK!" you bursted aloud! So loud that the cracked-out girlies out on the street got startled and did a little jump! 

You absolutely HATED being hungry. If this experience had taught you anything, it's the appreciation of a good ass fucking meal. You were, after all, a self-proclaimed 'fat ass bitch'. So how were you gonna live up to that now? 

You began to reminisce about your favorite dishes, even though you knew it wasn't gonna be a good idea for your mental health. 

Bandeja paisa...

Pickles...

McDonald's cheeseburger with Big Mac sauce...plz McDonald's worker, don't forget the sauce........

Publix sub...

Mango chunks with tajin...

Provolone cheese and salami...

Korean corndogs...

A fat ass burrito...

Little Caesars breadsticks...

Auntie Anne's organic cinnamon rolls...

Vodka pasta...

Coconut chickpea curry...

...a bowl of assorted fruit but none of that honeydew cantaloupe bullshit...

"FUCK!" you yelled again. They also jumped! again. "How the FUCK did I go from drinking tiki cocktails on the beach to the WALKING FUCKING DEAD?!?!?!?!??!!!!! I DON'T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING RICK HERE PROVIDING FOR ME!!!"

You slammed yourself back on the bed, ready to cry - both from the acceptance that this was your new reality and slamming yourself a little too hard that you felt a spring bust up into your thoracic spine. You hated yourself for talking shit about that cantaloupe and honeydew. Yeah they're ass and should NOT have a place in a fruit bowl but that was real fucking food. Real SUSTENANCE!!! And what did you do? You fed it to the fucking seagulls on the beach and used it to pelt those fuck ass middle schoolers who wouldn't stop quoting Adin Ross, when you could have enjoyed it yourself. Had it been now, you would've Iron Clawed those birds and children for those two dookie ass fruits just for a taste of something REAL. Not moldy chocolate from a Costco bag that you snuck into Lynch's Dune. (Yeah girl, I'm not talking the Timothee one. I'm taking the Kyle MacLachlan one. I said they were vintage!)

How did we get here?

Well, we'll revisit this question later, cause right now you have come to one FINAL decision - food. You. Need. Food. 

"Fuck it bro," you told yourself, tears welling in your eyes as you climbed out of your bed and made your way downstairs to the exit. "If there's no fine-ass cowboy police officer with a big ass nose to do it for me, I guess mama gotta do it herself." 

You slipped on your old-reliable Crocs (the Lightening McQueen editions so you could go fast), then opened your back sliding glass door as to avoid the crackhead girlies on the street out front, the sun nearly blinding you solar-eclipse style. You felt like a hostage released from a hole after months of being, well, held hostage. 

"Is this what Saddam felt like?," you thought.

A wave of complete euphoria went over you as you heard the birds chirp, the wind fly by, the smell of green grass with a little hint of deteriorating carcasses - it felt GOOD to be outside. Though you have had some bouts of homebody phases, you were never not missing the great outdoors. Besides the mosquitoes and the balls-hot sun, and the occasional dead bodies. But, you reminded yourself, we have to make the BEST of these types of situations. 

You closed the glass door, quietly, cause those electric-chair looking victims had the most insane hearing, (making, admittedly, quite jealous since you're sure you lost a percentage of your own hearing prematurely after the introduction of AirPods.)

You then walked across your now overgrown garden, which under any other circumstances, could have passed off as a big whimsical fairy garden with the grass now being several feet tall, little ladybugs and shit nestled between. But now, shit made you feel like you were in a jungle back in 'Nam, circa 1970, pushing the foliage out of your face as you got across, bracing yourself for running into a spider web or a gnat smacking you in the face. 

Once you saw the backyard gate, you opened it quietly and peered out onto the street - it was quiet, ODDLY quiet, with not one of those cockblockers in sight. You knew better, however, looks can be deceiving. We all thought those Polly Pocket outfits looked pretty good, but the gastrologist telling your parents that their elementary-school child has a rubber dress lodged in one of their intestines actually isn't pretty good. 

You crept out, tiptoeing like a cartoon character or Drake sneaking past Travis Scott to whisper his verses on MELTDOWN, making sure to stay EXTRA vigilant of your surroundings. You needed to master the art of NOT disassociating, which basically meant undoing all your previous masterings of the craft. It was extremely difficult, but it was needed - slipping up LITERALLY means death here. On some for realizies shit. On some getting eaten out by and not in the good way shit. (That was disgusting I apologize - Sam)

As you crept down the street, passing down the backdrop to your average end-of-the-world surroundings with moldy houses and charred cars, you tried to remember the way to the Target. You were shit at directions and there was no Apple Maps to help you now. You just had to rely on your primal instincts of location - which, suffice to say, were usually not that good. But, when food's involved, you could track like a Neanderthal holding a spear hunting a fat ass mammoth with a posse of your fellow Neanderthal girls, you know, like, primal. 

You turned the corner, sure of where you were going and worried about your luck thus far. No zombie in sight oh shit never mind there's one across the other side of the street. 

It kept twitching in its tweaked state, continuously running into a fence since it was blind with that ugly ass toe fungus all up in its face. 

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit," you told yourself. Asshole clenching, toes squeezing downward, you calmed yourself down. It was the blind one so girl you're good! Just creep by quietly, ain't nothing to it! 

You took in a deep breath - tap in tap in tap in girl! Just walk on past! 

"Okay, okay," you told yourself. "Girl CHILL! Let's go okay, one, two, three - oh fuck I'm fucking shitting myself -" 

But then, it hit you - you literally had no reason to be scared. You literally lived in New York. You took those subways, you knew how to handle characters like that. 

Like a light switch normally does, you switched. You felt all that fear drain out of you, like the shit you took earlier - quick and easy (it was diarrhea, so, not really a good analogy metaphorically). You walked on down, even giving a friendly wave at the fungus girl. They're people too! You remembered to tell yourself, you CANNOT judge someone by their appearance! They're just going through it, I mean, after all, we've all been in that depressive episode/state before. Why hate when you can relate? Exactly!  In all honesty, your hair right now probably isn't making you look well-adjusted. We all have our bad days <3 Just don't look at them too long and you're good! 

As you passed by, it occurred to you - you have not been out in a MINUTE. All that hubbub and for what? You just had to wave and walk past. This brought a refreshing smile to your face, happy that you were grounded back to your reality. 

"Pharrell was right. Look at the birds," you told yourself as you strolled along by, "look at the bees."

Though there were no birds or bees in sight, and the possible thought crossing your mind that you hallucinated the birds' chirps earlier, you thought it best to live in this pretend state. It helps being fake happy sometimes, after all! More and more that carbon dioxide leak in your house was sounding less like a theory and more like a fact!

You continued on, now remembering the area - Target was only a block or two away. Just in and out and oh shit there's another depressed tweaker right in front a couple feet away from you. 

This time, it wasn't one of those fungus girls. It was the one who could see AND hear. Talk about double fucking whammy. And she clocked your ass, head swinging inhumanely fast to look you straight in the face. 

"DAMN BITCH! YOU UGLY AS FUCK?!" you thought to yourself, unfortunately your instant, innate reaction.

"Hey, girl!" you said, friendly, trying to maintain your mindset from earlier. You waved and walked past, she seemed so taken aback from your friendliness that you left her stunted. She just stayed behind and watched. And on you walked on blissfully. 

But you weren't walking for long when you heard the pitter patter of those steps RACING behind you. You whipped around. Again, you were shit at directions and feet and all, but you were PRETTY sure that you'd walked several feet farther away, so why was the ugly fungus-but-no-fungus girl HELLA close to you right now?

"What?" 

The girl stopped, now confronted. 

You waited for a response. 

Apparently, so did she.

Y'all just stood there, silent.

......

................

...............................

..........................................

"Girl, I said what?"

Nothing. 

You shrugged, rolling your eyes and turned back. But again, that pitter fucking patter. 

You whipped around, quicker. She stopped her running, caught again. 

"Bitch, chill. I know your ass is not chasing at me," you warned. 

Nothing. Again.

You turned back around, walking a little faster. "Flaka drug ass bitch," you said under your breath. 

Pitter. 

Patter.

You whipped around again so fast you gave yourself whiplash and vertigo at the same time. 

 She stopped. 

"Bitch," you said, annoyed. 

"Ahfsjjdshhuweuifw," she mumbled. 

"I'm sorry?" you asked, genuinely confused at her mumbling. 

She had a dumbfounded face, despite not having the greatest ability to make expressions (half her face looked like those Barbie dolls Shane Dawson used to incinerate back on old YouTube). You inspected her closer. She definitely needed some Accutane treatment, cause apparently everyone ALL gave up skincare this year. 

"Sadjksfjdksjc," she snarled again, "sdfhjdsf, sdfhuwjsjioisd?" 

"Girl, I don't know," you replied, sassy. "I don't know what the fuck you're saying, to be honest."

"Sjdklasjfoijdjdisjfids," she mumbled.  

"Girl, speak the fuck up!"

The zombie huffed. "SJDJDFSAFIDSD!!!!" She put her hands on her waist, annoyed too.

You felt bad. You genuinely had no idea what she was saying, and it didn't sound like it ended in anything you could just reply with a quick and safe, 'yeah' or 'thank you' to. You couldn't even fake laugh. Awkward. Awco fucking taco. 

You two just stood there, face to face. A little standoff, perhaps? 

This encounter reminded you of the first time you encountered one of these girlies. It was on your walk home after you left your White Lotus resort from your month long stay....

"Ghrskjdsksfs," the girlie said from behind. It made you jump.

"OH MY GOD!" you yelled, both out of fear of her popping out of nowhere and of course, her appearance. "Girl, I don't wanna be rude, but you look BUSTED as fuck!"

She didn't respond. You soon found out she took offense to that.

She began to follow and chase you all the way home and up to your doorstep. High key on some harassment shit. You had to barricade yourself in, cause girl was trying to hug you or something and you love being nice to strangers but didn't wanna contract bed bugs, so you pushed the bitch down the porch in time for you to lock that door. She fucked up your Ring camera too from banging on the door, so shit was personal. 

You did NOT want to get physical with this girl now, but if push comes to shove, LITERALLY, then it'll have to do. 

And that was your mindset from then on. Anyway, back to the Western standoff:

"Okay, girl, look just back the fuck up, okay?" you warned. "I'm being like - soooo serious right now." 

You turned back around and continued down, a little hurriedly and checking behind yourself a little more often, but that girl got the memo. For a few more blocks, she was out of sight. 

You hated being rude, but, that's what being a girl entails sometimes.

"Horror nights came a little early this year," you told yourself, shaking your head, "some people don't have any self-awareness at all. So sad." 

Finally making it, you saw the big ass red target signaling it was a Target up above, with some extra cute greenery and mold growing inside of it. You liked the whole post-apocalyptic aesthetic, actually, but we keep that to ourselves. Other people's disadvantages are not cute to make an aesthetic out of, after all.

Inside, shit was ran SACKED. Others had gotten there before, the shelves wiped clean (figuratively, cause the shelves were filthy). It gave you STRONG COVID flashbacks. But, you were not here for toilet paper, you were here for FOOD, remember? 

You went to the back, avoiding broken pieces of glass and other unidentifiable and possibly tetanus-infested objects, looking for the produce and dairy section. It smelled of dampness and poop. Not great. 

"While I'm here, I wonder if they have some tampons, maybe? Actually, maybe they have some ZYN?" you wondered. After all, no one was readily available to supply you with an Elf Bar, your original being LONG dead. A girl still needed to tell her nicotine craving to chill out. You weighed your options: 

Having reciting gums > not having ZYN

Hmm.

Yeah.

Options seemed to talk for themselves. 

Anyway, you kept searching for any remnants of a SEALED package of food, but, unfortunately, there was none. If there were, it was moldy to the house boots down and def not edible to most people. You rummaged through and through, over and over - nothing. 

You took a deep, shaky breath in, feeling those panicky tears coming in, your hunger more unbearable. 

"Dude it's that, it's that I'm about to lose my fucking mind, bro," you mumbled manically to yourself as you continued to rummage like a raccoon. This made you sympathize with them, those girls live hard lives. If you were RJ, you would've stolen that bear's food too.

You picked through the remaining bags, inspecting the see-through plastic while holding it like it was an object from Chernobyl - at the very tip with the most minimal amount of skin to package contact possible. You held them up to the light and god forgive you, gave them a little sniff. When you made that mistake once, you assured maybe it was best not to do it again, the mildew-rotting scent so horridly offensive to your nasal passage that it nearly catapulted you into the ether. 

You sat down, ready to welcome that panic attack breakdown, but soon shot yourself up after smacking your ass right into a cold septic puddle of rainwater (or so you hoped) dripping from the rotted ceiling. In just in your "I <3 ORLANDO" Spongebob-themed PJ shorts, you were never more sure that you just contracted yourself a yeast infection. And by the way you also caught a glimpse of your hair in the reflection of the puddle. 

And this was it. 

You broke. 

Your hair looked like Beetlejuice. 

You looked like Beetlejuice.

YOU LOOKED LIKE BEETLEJUICE?!?!?!?

"I'm losing my mind? I'm losing my mind. THIS IS SO FUCKED!" you exclaimed, oddly enough in the exact likeness of Shane Dawson's freakout in that one instagram live reacting to Tati Westbrook's YouTube video. (What's with Shane today?) "Oh my god? Oh my god?"

You were manic. This was it. This was it - 

But wait - you forgot the canned food section? 

A lone Chef Boyardee ravioli sat on the shelf, waiting, seemingly, just for you. She looked beautiful. Stunning. Heavenly. 

You feverishly snatched the fuck out of that can, and in such power popped the lid off wide open, the colors of that red tomato sauce and surfacing ravioli packets swimming delightedly. You did it. You tapped into your inner Neanderthal, strength and all.

You downed that shit all in one go, feeling its room temperature-ness sink from your throat down to your intestines, down past that lodged Polly Pocket dress, into the acidic pit of your belly. You felt all your stomach cells jump collectively with such joy, imagining the cheering sounding just like what Horton heard on that speck. 

You smiled so happily and genuine, with the exact likeness of Mark Weins. 

You moaned, quite audibly. It was delectable. 

You had to hit it, you NEEDED to hit it, just like Mark - 

"Mmm, woooowwAAAGAHAHAH - "

"- SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHCCHCHCHHCHHC CRAASH BOOMMOMSMDF JSAFJSDSFHSJDHFJS - "

" - OH SHI -"

-You ragdolled onto the floor -

"- WHAT THE FU -"

-Fragments of cement bursted all around you -

"-BRO WHA-"

-You went blind-

And then, it was all silent.

Your moment of bliss completely evaporated, by a blue pick-up crashing into the Target, right into the produce and dairy section you were in seconds before, in another world...

Your ears rang, you were covered in dust, with the remaining red Chef Boyardee sauce all up on your face. 

The entire building SHOOK with more pebbles and asbestos from the roof dropped onto the floor, along with the rattling of the glass windows.

The sound of insane gunfire soon followed. 

You remained soldier-style onto the ground, like one taking it for the team by taking in all the impact of a land mind, belly to the ground. Though you couldn't see it what was happening, your soy face was NASTY. 

"Bro whaaatttt????" you whispered. "All this for toilet paper????" 

"TA-TATA-ATATATATATA," said the gunfire. "PPAPAPAATATATATTAAAA!!!!"

You crouched up, peering a little outside, to see a car on fire, along with more of that loud ass fucking gunfire and people ducking for cover. Shit was a real Call of Duty game. Shit was a real war zone. You were stupefied, stunned, SAT! Then, to the right -

"SCREEEECHCHCHHCHHCHCH BOOOF BOOOM PAPRATATATATA!!!!" More cars whipped around the corner outside, like for real Fast and Furious shit! 

"Uh," you thought to yourself, no longer wanting to watch like a noisy pedestrian, "uhhhhhh, yeah this ain't for me. A girl like me is NOT supposed to be here! This ain't my business! War is for boys <3"

You quickly made a go for the exit, only to find it blocked by some grown ass man and child. They quickly clocked you, safe to say, both parties knowing that seeing another person this close right now is not a great sign. 

The man pointed his gun to you as he stayed down with the girl, avoiding the incoming shots. 

"Wait, THEY'RE the ones being shot at?" you realized, "nah bro I'm good."

"Oh, don't mind me!" you quickly said in your sweet, customer service voice, "I'm just gonna, gonna go ahead and, yeah," you inched closer to the back door and saw yourself out to the alleyway behind the place, managing to casually dodge every incoming bullet at you by a hair. After shutting that shit behind you, you stood straighter, dusted some of the dust off, and thought it best to go on back home and pretend that nothing happened, as always.

You actually ended up knocking out NASTY in the alleyway. Like, unbeknownst to you, multiple of those fungus girls walked by you thinking you were already dead. 

You stirred, delirious and confused, like an old person snapping out of a moment's dementia. It was nearing sundown by now, with the sunset casting its glow on the desolate alley buildings. 

You rubbed your slept-swollen face after you cranked yourself up with shaky ass arms, genuinely trying to remember the events that brought you here in the first place. You were like a shell-shocked vet. 

"Bro...where the fuck....?" you looked around, trying to piece everything together - but you thought that might be too much work, so you opted to doing your own version of the Irish goodbye and leaving without addressing the previous events <3. 

"I get those frat boys. Last night really WAS a movie," you thought as you walked out of the alley, looking left and right trying to remember how the fuck you were gonna take your ass back now - like NOW cause nighttime is not the place to be around these girlies. You played Minecraft. You knew the vibe. They seemed to be more rabid and unpredictable, which safe to say, is NOT your fave combo. You could so fuck up a bag of Combo's right now.

You dusted more dirt from your SpongeBob shorts, and tried to fix your botched hair, but was briefly and heavily distracted by a dust particle getting into your eye - causing such emergency and panic. 

"Oh fuck oh fuck no get out get OUT!" you worried, trying to pry whatever foreign conspirator of a dust particle that was currently committing espionage in your eye socket, albeit looking quite disturbing doing so. 

After prying that bitch out, you wiped your face and to your fucking dismay, spotted red stains all up on your hands. Your heart fell to the empty distilled pits of your stomach, to the pits of your gooch - 

"IS THAT FUCKING BLOOD? OH MY GOD AM I FUCKING, LIKE, HURT?!" you freaked - you were quite literally wounded in battle. You took a sniff. "Oh, just tomato sauce. I'm so silly!" 

You smiled to yourself happily, slowly remembering that ravioli - the one highlight of this mess. Your tummy rumbled. 

"If only there was a cart full of foo - oh my god there's one right there," in front of you was a shopping cart that apparently spawned out of nowhere filled with goodies. Literally perfect!

You approached it, mesmerized by its contents - more canned ravioli, Dolly Parton's buttercream frosting, a tub of fresh watermelon, some bags of gummy worms, some bags of Wingstop wings (with fries and ranch!), tubs of water (of which you credited this random shopping cart being sent from some higher power because it wasn't Dasani or Zephryhill), Combo's and, perhaps most importantly, a jar of spear dill pickles. 

You could've cried. 

And you did. 

But you stopped after like ten seconds because remember it's nighttime a girl needs to GO!

You took that shopping cart and began walking down the scene where that Fast and Furious ass scene went down, now lifeless of any activity but bullet-riddled crashed cars, piles of broken cement, dead bodies, and random spouts of smoke. You felt like just a girl, walking down an average street in New York, living a single, nepo-fueled and quaint life. 

"If only I had my headphones," you thought, now saddened that your phone and sound-proof headphones had been long-dead. "I LITERALLY pay my fucking bills, like?" 

You continued walking, just a girl with her shopping cart, when you spotted a clearing in some forest area, which seemed very familiar to you. 

"Lowkey, I think this is a short-cut to my house?" you said to someone, apparently. (There's no one around you but that's never stopped you.)

You went down into the wood, like a girl with just her shopping cart going through a magical Studio-Ghibli-esque forest that sprouted between two demolished buildings into some portal into the spirit world. Though it was pretty difficult to push the lowkey-broken shopping cart on anything but flat flooring, causing you to have some bouts of intolerable anger so powerful it helped you yank the wheels stuck on uprooted roots, you thought, "hey, things could lowkey be worse? Like, let's just remember what Vanessa Hudgens said, 'Like, yeah, people are gonna die which is terrible but like...inevitable?' "

And people did die, BUT, you did have Wingstop fries, so. 

And now, it wasn't just a whole shopping cart of goodies that you would return home with, but some granola?!

A pile of perfectly placed granola sat pretty on the ground in front of you, with some berries and yogurt bits scattered in - just fucking delicious and any vegan mommy's dreams.

"Oh my god," your mouth salivating, inhumanely - a Kubrick stare fell over your face as you eyed the fuck out of that horse feed.

"I could lowkey fuck UP some granola," your stomach said, the only decipherable thing she's said in a loooooooong time. Long time.

When you clocked out of your gaze, you walked on over, ready to scoop up the entire pile, relishing in the self-fulfillment and satisfaction you imagined was what those Neanderthals felt way back when. This little hunting and gathering thing we got going on here? Ain't that hard. 

You stood over it, grabbing the pile that happened to be conveniently sitting on a plastic mat, attached with some strings that went places you didn't really give a fuck to know about. All that mattered, was that the stars were aligned for you tonight, the moon must've been in your favor. You didn't need a tarot reader to know that life, well, was good now. Life laugh love even through apocalypse <3

"Man, mama eaten GOOOOOOD tonight!" you bellowed, giggling, dancing slightly back and forth like the fat ass you are, "I wondered if the Neanderthals ever dabbled in a little grano - "

"Grhasjdhfsdsknfjs."

You froze. 

Ain't. No. Fucking. Way. 

You looked up slowly. 

"Biiiiitccchhhhhh," you said, in disbelief. 

"Grajsdhfsajdsk," she said, more sassier than ever. 

"No - NO! This is MINE!" you warned the same fungus girl from earlier. She stood, several feet away, creepily standing in the dark now that the sun was pretty much set. Let's just say, HELLA liminal spaces-core. HELLA ominous with it.

She didn't reply. Instead, she began creeping closer to you, looking at you up and down like an old man checking out a girl walking by who HAPPENS to be in a tank top. You loved your LGBTQ+, but girl needed to be a little smoother in her approach! 

"No. Back off NOW!" you shot back, now standing straighter. After some time out in this life, you learned it's best to approach these girls like you would a bear, if, ideally, you were able to keep yourself calm enough so much so you could think clearly - just stand straight and tall. Stand your GROUND stand your GRANOLA if you will. 

"I'm warning you, girl. No means no. I found it first, fair and fucking square." 

She kept coming, now closer than ever. She wasn't taking no for an answer. You almost gagged at her peeling face, icked the fuck out, but didn't wanna be THAT outwardly rude. She was looking you up and DOWN. (It admittedly boosted your ego up a little, like, were you lowkey hot right now?)

It was clear she wasn't backing down. Your bear tactic went down the toilet. 

She began running. 

Full. 

Speed. 

"Jesus, fine we can share, girl, okay?"

Let's just say, she meant business. Bitch was about to pimp-slap you across the face for that granola. 

"Bro it's that I said we could shaAAAAAAAAAAA - "

But itt was too quick. Too sudden. 

One moment you were about to post-up with the fungus tweaker and the next you were plummeted to the ground by an unseeable force, every ounce of wind pushed out from every crevice of your body, the granola popping into the air like confetti that became shrapnel against the fungus girl, lodging itself into her already fucked-up face.

You gasped for air, in complete shock, whatever force holding you down to the ground - you looked up to see what actual 200+ pound of muscle football fuck just tackled you. Is the granola like the football right now? Did you just touchdown or whatever right now? 

It was him - the same guy from earlier. 

You were too exasperated to speak, literally non-verbal. All he saw were your wide ass eyes, gaping open mouth begging for air like a fish out of water (fish don't breath air, little fun fact! :D) and Beetlejuice hairdo, some tomato sauce still crusted around your lips. 

He suddenly lifted himself up, whipped out a bat from his side and beat that fungus girl to DEATH. Like, BEAT. 

"Oh fffff - uckaaaa," you were able to muster, "there go my Chiro sessions -" 

You rose up, struggling, feeling physically and spiritually like a stomped-on roach, watching this man absolutely go ballistic on the girl. She wasn't even identifiable anymore, just a big mess of red gross goo and shit. 

The little girl from earlier stood closely, like you, just completely entranced with the very ugly and quite frankly inappropriate violence for a child like her to be witnessing. It was like the Reddit 50/50 challenge all over again. (P.S. so like if you look up what that challenge is DON'T press images like I absentmindedly just did literally right after typing that to see if it was still up - Sam <3).

After he was done wailing, he stood straight, caught his breath, bringing himself back to reality from that outburst. He wiped blood off his dome and looked to you, a face of both complete disappointment and disgust that only comes with a man 50 and up. 

Your short-tempered, therapist-diagnosed anger flew over you - physically raging like a boy who got his house blown up by a creeper in Minecraft. Again, what did we say about nighttime???

"You. Fucking. DICK!!!!" you spat, your control now completely lost, "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT FUCKING COSTS FOR A CHIRO SESSION?! DON'T YOU KNOW THEY DON'T EVEN EXIST ANYMORE, APPARENTLY?!??! DO I LOOK LIKE TRAVIS KELCE?!?!? DO I LOOK LIKE A QUARTER POUNDER OR WHATEVER THE FUCK?!?! ARE YOU TRYING TO ROLE PLAY AS TAYLOR WHEN THE CHIEFS WON?! I AIN'T A FUCKING SWIFTIE LIKE THAT!!!!!!"

After your spewing, you took a deep breath. It felt pretty good, you even smiled. 

His face fell. 

"Are you fucking crazy?" he bellowed back, "Are you out of your mind?! What were you thinking?!"

"I was literally JUST sharing food. I had that handled. I was like, breaking - breaking bad. Like Jesus..?" you knew there was something wrong there. Now you felt embarrassed. "No, wait - that's bread. Whatever fuck it I FUCKED THAT UP! But I'm NOT meth head, I'm NOT LIKE HER!" you pointed at the now mass of flesh and fungi. Gross. 

"I just saved your fucking life," he now came in close, towering over you and pointing, intimidating and furious. His southern drawl was in full action. (Uh oh you found this hot little does he know). "That granola back there was a fucking deer trap!" 

"Well," you started, biting your tongue like a mom, "it seems you've trapped my 'deer' ol' hear -" 

The girl stepped forward before you could finish that not well-timed flirt. "Wait, aren't you from the supermarket? Earlier?" she asks, now laughing, "That was crazy!" 

"Ellie, don't." The man stepped back, guarding the girl from you. He was weary. "Who are you?"

"I'm me," you said, arms crossed, unplucked and overgrown eyebrows raised. "Who are you?"

"Joel....?" the girl named Ellie said, worriedly. He seemed to chill out a bit. He looked over to her with a face that read: Don't worry. I know this bimbo means no harm." 

During that moment, you really took the scene in - and that scene? This man in front of you with the hick ass name Joel. Joel? Well, 

"Why he kindaaaaaa," BOTH sides of your brain said. "No, no I can't. Not here and not again, like time and place," you thought to yourself, but unbeknownst to you you said aloud. Safe to say, they looked at you oddly.

But you couldn't control your thoughts or your emotions. They are, after all, your thoughts and emotions which are usually, like Vanessa said, inevitable? 

He was tall, burly, and graying - with such a masculine aura it was insane. The strong, silent types, as your ex-boyfriend/ex-sugar daddy, Tony Soprano, would've adored. His whole rugged look - dirt on the face, unkept hair and facial hair, tired eyes, somewhat smelly...

Then it hit you. 

Is this it? 

Is this him? 

Is this your RICK?????

You didn't realize it, but you were staring. Not in the Kubrick this-bitch-fucking-crazy way, but in the, this-bitch-out-of-it way. You shook yourself back to reality. If you were going to bag this man, you needed to act indifferent. 

A moment went by, no one spoke.

"Well.... y'all gonna eat this?" you asked, motioning to all the scattered granola.

They didn't reply.

"Okay slay!" You bent down to start picking up all the pieces. You weren't, after all, gonna let all that go to waste like these bozos would. 

You popped one in your mouth, chomping that stale piece. "Mmmm. Mhm. Yeah. Sprout's. Def." 

You continued to pick them up, the man named Joel now scoffing in disbelief of the situation. You perked up and turned to the Ellie girl. "Hey girlie, you want?" 

Ellie the girl happily grabbed some, chewing on it for what looked like the first time. You were confused, judging, but thought it best to not judge. 

"Ggrjsdfjsakjdfska."

All three of you stood straight, frozen. 

Another fungus bitch pulled up, arms out and perked up at the sight of y'all - his possible little buffet. He had on a Vineyard Vines t-shirt and a pair of Sperry's. In summation? Ugly. His face was also fucked up.

"Oh, my god," you said, over it, "what ever happened to finders fucking keepers? Y'all getting on my damn NERVES! Hold this girl," you passed the collected granola into Ellie's arms. Joel, getting prepped to probably curb stomp this once-private and probably racist schoolboy, soon stopped once he saw you step up to the ring. 

As mentioned before, you never liked to resort to violence, but there comes a time...

You grabbed that zombie by the hair, and began to wail on it with one punch after another, grabbing it's man-bun ponytail and slamming its body onto the ground, continuing to obliterate it's my-daddy-has-a-boat ass, completely disassociating with anger. 

Joel and Ellie watched in both horror and amazement at your abilities. 

"You fucking bitch back the FUCK off bro!" you muttered. The last time you fought with this same manner and vigor was in the school bathrooms over a juul. Those cookie-monster PJ pants girls taught you well. 

Once you landed him in an induced coma, you rose up, took in a deep breath and searched his Bermuda short's side pockets, feeling for the all familiar shape. And there she was. 

You pulled it out - there she was in all her beauty. 

"Speaking of!" you said, examining the blueberry fume. As mentioned, it was just like those bathroom fights. "Yes YES! I used to know a girl who FUCKED these up! I just KNEW he'd carry!" 

Just then, the rich boy moved. You clocked it, and kicked it on its side. It rose and quickly ran off, frightened, as you continued to yell some more obscenities. You hit the fume - shit was still kicking. 

You turned back. "Sorry guys, I'm just, I try to be patient with them, and I am, don't get me wrong. I know COVID has everyone acting, you know, off their shit but," you looked to the now deceased fungus tweaker. "Poor girl. She just wanted some granola bits." 

Joel furrowed his brows, very confused. "Why would you be 'patient' with them? They're infected!" 

"Hey! That's not a nice way to characterize victims of diseases - drugs are real, like don't you know about fenty? And I'm not even talking about Rihan -"

"They're runners! They're not human!"

You turned back to the limping 'runner', now confused too. 

"Runners?" you asked, turning back. 

Joel nodded. "Yeah. Infected. Undead." 

"You mean, like, zombies?"

Joel took a minute, seemingly embarrassed that he hadn't thought of something so obvious as that sooner. 

"You know," you shrugged, tired, blowing out an obnoxious cloud of smoke from the fume, a cloud, if you will, "they're just going through it." 

Ellie looked to Joel, unsure of what to make of your comments. 

It was now nighttime, and after massively failing to locate or find your way back home, Joel, out of pity that you were a bit of a bimbo, allowed you to stay with them for one night. 

You all were camped (ew I know) in the middle of a forest, it was pitch black outside all except for the small fire in front of you all where Joel had baked beans cooking. Apparently, your perfect shopping cart with the goodies vaporized into the air, because it was nowhere in sight after the whole shabackle and hubbub. Joel suggested in a, what you swore was, passive-aggressive way, that you were so starved you began hallucinating it. You knew that was most probably the case but would've rather eat a fungus off one of those 'runners' or whatever's faces than admit that. And you would've, again, rather eat that toe fungus than mentioned your probable house's carbon dioxide leakage.

Anyway, back to the scene - Ellie is knocked out in her sleeping bag, leaving you and Joel to sit across from each other in a pretty awkward silence as you ate those gross ass beans. There were some moments you caught yourself about to complain about them and claim they tasted like 'dick', but thought it best not to. But, you needed to say something about this, you couldn't just hold it in. 

"How's the beans?" Joel asked, quietly and moodily as usual.

"Tbh," you said, the first thing spoken in like an hour, "...I just want, like, sushi, man."

His face fell a bit.

"But this isn't bad! Trust me!" you quickly tried saving yourself, feeling very quite bad, "look, I've had beans in England. Some say the bean capital of the world, there's literally a dude from there named Mr. Bean. And this is so much better."

He was too confused to reply.

You felt a fly buzz by your ear - one of your number one hated sensories to be crossed - and smacked it. You HATED the outdoors too, as much as you hated these beans. It reminded you of when you had exited your home after months being inside and how quickly that 'touching-grass' shit got old. 

But still, no complaining. 

You glanced over at him, and you couldn't help but think - man this dude looks familiar. Very familiar. You weren't sure if it's just cause you haven't seen another person in some time, or in this case, another man in so long that your brain basically said: "man = every other man" and that's the reason you thought he looked 'familiar'. But, no, no - you'd SEEN this man before. Did you have a dream about him? No, that was Rick. Actually, now that you thought about it, he lowkey looked like some of your ex's? 

"What's your name?" you asked, trying to break the awkward silence. You knew, but had forgotten. 

He hesitated, his grumpy ass chewing on those beans. "Joel. Joel Miller." 

"Oh my god, you're real?" And that was it - THAT'S why he looked familiar! "I literally wrote a fan fiction about you in class, and submitted that as my final! Everything really does come full circle when you think about it." You went back to eating your beans, waiting for him to respond, which he didn't really do a lot. You thought it best to move on. 

"Well, Joel. Can I tell you something?" 

He hesitated again, a little longer. "What?"

"So like, I've only been out here for like, a week? Or two? To be honest I don't remember. Could be a month, but like, what happened?"

"What do you mean what happened?" that southern drawl coming out more now that he was annoyed/mad that you'd even ask a question like that. 

You shrugged and looked around. "Like, all this?" you said, obviously. 

He let out a tired breath.

"Well, there were this fungu -"

Just as he was about to explain, you interrupted, unknowingly, going on more about your cluelessness. 

" - Like, one minute I'm in a resort, you know, the White Lotus one, sipping marg's on the beach, for like a month? My ex-boyfriend slash sugar daddy at the time, AND I only say ex cause he hasn't gotten back to me since all this shit happened so I just assumed he broke it off with me but whatever, that's not the point, Tony - Tony's his name - paid for my stay. It was great, I was living pretty, you know, lavishly? VERY lavishly, actually. I was tanning, being massaged, going through a whole cleanse, you know? No phone, no internet. I had a bunch of books recommendations from TikTok, but to be honest I didn't really read them cause the words just don't process, you know? You just need to bring it with you to make people THINK you read, you know? Anyway, I'm there, and who do I see? Fucking Jared Leto! Yeah, that creepy ass bitch! He had his whole cult there, like they're weird Jonestown retreat or whatever, and I wanted to join cause it looked fun but I knew I probably couldn't be married to him, you know, how all those cult leaders are. Anyway whatever, it was great. I was having a great time, Big Ange was even there and she left me her green glasses and I've been meaning to give them back to her - "

"- Where'd you say you were staying at again?"

"White Lotus? In Jersey?"

"There's a beach resort in Jersey?"

"No, I know what you mean. It's where Tony was from, but it's a faux beach. The beach? It's faux. Stops the smell of rotting 'whacked' bodies, you know, cause that's not very resort like?"

He nodded, he understood. 

"Yeah. Anyway," you said, annoyed he interrupted you, "I'm there, in my room, sleeping, and there's a knock at my door. I go and it's the lobby guy or whatever, he's like rushing me out telling me about how my stay is over cause there's a cold going around and I have to leave, like? I'm sorry, I paid - well Tony paid - for the whole month and a half? But what am I gonna do, you know? So I'm like fine fucking party poopers, and they kick me out, like a fucking cartoon, down the steps of the place and toss my luggage. At first I was mad, cause like, what's a little cold? And then I look outside where they kicked me out and the world is like, over? Everything ended? Over a fucking cold? Shit was like, demolished. And then they shut the door behind me leaving me to fend for myself, like I'm sorry? Do I look like Bear Grylls? Do I look like 'Survivor'? Like I got this shit handled? So whatever, I walked back home and let's just say: Culture. Shock. Insane. Like, whaaattttt? Covid was worse than I thought! Then I get home, my power's out, my water, everything. And shit was DIRTY! Like as if I'd been gone for twenty fucking years. I couldn't check Twitter or anything, it wasn't loading so I couldn't find out what the big deal was. Like, guys, can we talk about the political and economic state of the world right now? AND I had a blister on my toe from the walk! It sucked!" 

(Told you we'd revisit! Now, we're revisited!)

Once you were finished with your impromptu story time, Joel intently listening, he went onto explain after the whole lore of the political and economic state of the world right now, how it wasn't even political or economic, just a virus. Shit was crazy. Fungus, coffee beans and spinach, Fire fly people, rations, explosions, the whole deal. You were tapped in, realizing you didn't space out cause he was just so fine to look out you genuinely cared about what he had to say. And he said it. 

A sullenness came over him, and you hated to say - it was pretty hot. But time and place! It just occurred to you that he didn't seem like the type to open up, so him being vulnerable just made you think, wow, he's a human! And he's hot! 

After he finished, there was a sad silence in the air. 

"Man....covid really was worse than I thought," you replied. 

"Now do you get it? They're not real people or 'girlies'. They're infected," he said. "Do you have any experience with them? Besides the one you beat on and scared away today?"

"What makes you think I don't have any experience?" you replied, with a little flirtatious-sass in your voice. You knew you didn't have experience. 

"Cause no experienced person would have willingly beaten up an infected the way you did without fear of being scratched or bit. It was reckless and stupid what you did."

"Yeah but I fucked his ass up," you said, hyping yourself up in the process. "But lol you're kinda right. Nah, yeah the most experience I have with zombies is Black Ops. Those bitches give me the heeby JEEBIES!" 

"You think this Tony is still alive?"

"I don't know, actually," you said. "We got into a pretty bad argument before I left, that's why I left, you know, to the resort, for some space and a break between each other. So I doubt he'd call me back now." 

"What about?"

"He's like a big animal guy, you know? Whatever, his fucking horse died and I literally didn't know, no one told me. There was a candle lit at the vet when they were putting him down and I was like, as a joke, 'guys! It's lit right now!' and he was all like, 'what he fuck is wrong with you?'. He was annnnggrryyyyyyy. I didn't read the paper beside the candle saying to be quiet, that they were putting it down," you said, shrugging. "Really sad. She was a pretty horse, you know? Cunty." 

Joel nodded. This was all a very serious affair for him. It bummed you out, everything was so serious and sad out here. 

"So these zombies aren't girl's girls after all? They're like, anti-girlies?" you asked, mainly as a statement of fact you were coming to terms with rather than a question. 

"I guess so," he said. "Whatever the fuck that means," he also said, not as audible. That explosion earlier left you more partially deaf. 

He looked down and continued to fiddle and play with his beans with his fork, not taking much interest in his appetite anymore.  There was a moment of silence between you guys, more comfortable than before. You both felt the bond of this shared experience bring you guys together a bit, in this very moment. He didn't feel much of a stranger anymore, and neither did you to him. You felt, truly, he was a man who lost something too...

The solemness on him, again you hated to admit, you found very attractive. EXTREMELY attractive, actually. The last time you saw a relatively attractive man was months ago at the resort, and he was, unfortunately, (but not unfortunately for the gays) a gay man. RIP ARMAND <3. So safe to say, you were rabidly horndogging. He was the type of man that has a LOT of shit going on, but doesn't talk about it, but DOES look like it. 

But you knew how to handle this - it wasn't your first rodeo. 

"So are you, like, single, orrr...?" you asked, sheepishly, acting like you are so not trying to get at him right now. 

"Why do you ask?" he replied, somewhat guarded. 

"Well cause you got a daughter and all, like is there a wife orrr - ?"

" - She's not my daughter." 

"Damn. Okay. So you're like babysitting orrr?"

He thought for a moment. "Sure," he replied, cautiously. 

"Man, you're just triggering my daddy issues!" you joked but it horrendously didn't land, "just kidding!" You giggled, casually and nervously. What happened to time and place?

TIME JUMP!!!!!

Remember how I said Joel just let you stay with them for one night? Well now it's been like six months and you're halfway across the country, in another truck! Yay!

Despite him giving clear signs that you two were to part, (not wanting to outright DIRECTLY say so cause he didn't wanna be rude), it was clear you weren't able to those read social cues that well. (Actually, you did, you read them quite well, but wanted to pretend not to because he was now your Rick and you lowkey mentally imprinted on him on some Twilight shit). He eventually gave up all hope, pitying you in a way. The only positive he saw was how you did all the talking with Ellie, since his ass is basically mute.

You became a sort of bigger sister/cool aunt for her, which you ate the fuck up. You had to fill her in on EVERYTHING: the Dramageddon lore, the Challengers summer experience, Ariana Grande/Spongebob fiasco, Kendrick v. Drake beef, Jojo's Karma's a Bitch and how she's the first self-proclaimed lesbian to ever exist, Colleen Ballinger's ukulele apology, finding out about the Queen's death and Twitter, the Montgomery riverfront fight, and more that aren't too important to mention. You thought it best to fill her in on shit a girl her age would fuck up, like what kid cares about the political and economic state of the world right now? Anyway you two got along very well, she made you giggle and you made her giggle, the perfect vibe! Joel lowkey admired you for, (and found it hot), the way you were with her. What could you say? All those years in early childhood back in high school meant something after all! Not just D grades and getting caught with a cart in your backpack!

Speaking of Joel, he definitely wouldn't show it, but like I said, he began to like you a bit. Actually, fuck that middle school shit and 'liking' - he began to FALL for you! On some romantic period piece shit! And who wouldn't? Besides those moldy Spongebob shorts, crusty yet fast Lightening McQueen Crocs and Beetlejuice hair, you were a natural beauty! Girl you were bad asf!!!!

Now in another pick-up, y'all were moving cross cuntry. You had your feet out the window, letting them get that breeze as you watched the Microsoft Windows default wallpaper-esque landscape pass on by. Ellie was in the back reading her nerd ass comic books, while Joel drove, of course, in silence. You were literally his passenger princess. If only you had a phone and AUX, cause your Spotify roadtrip playlist would so hit right now.

But again, what's in Ohio?

All you knew, was that they needed to get to Ohio. What's in Ohio? Who the fuck knows. Logan Paul? London? Yes, there's a London in Ohio, you knew that all to well when you accidentally booked a flight there instead of the actual London in England high off a Benadryl pill. But you wouldn't mention that to Joel.

You weren't sure what the fuck was up with Ohio, all he said was that they needed to get there. You thought it best not to question too much, afraid of losing that passenger princess spot.

(hey! it's Sam and my dumbass just realized that it's Utah they're going to, not Ohio. Apparently they wanna meet up with the Mormons, not Prime's own, Logan Paul. Whatever same hick ass states anyway I'm not gonna change it so proceed!)

"I wish I had my phone or AUX right now," you said, sadly. "I have this Spotify roadtrip playlist that would sooooo hit right now."

He gave you a side eye, his normal response.

"What song would you play?" Ellie asked.

"Hmm, let me think," you said, now thinking. "Probably like, Lana's cover of 'Take Me Home, Country Roads'? You know, cause we're like on country roads right now."

Joel gave you another side eye. You peeped. This was a perfect prying moment!

"Do you know that song?" you asked Joel. Y'all barely spoke anything personal (actually, YOU spoke at lengths, without being asked, about your personal stuff, but not vice versa. He was a great listener, though).

"Yeah. I know it," he said, quietly. You knew there was more.

Just as you were about to say something, he interrupted.

"But I don't know who that 'Lana' is."

"Oh, Joel, you'd fuck UP Lana! She's like the bridge between girlies and middle-aged men, not for the same reasons but a bridge nonetheless!"

You all then began to talk about music, but it usually involved just you and Ellie pairing up to bully, in a friendly way, Joel. It was fun to make fun of him, in a friendly way. You got so much enjoyment out of bugging these grown ass men, cause their egos were so fragile. You also just kind of found it hot that you could do that, with Joel as NO exception.

As mentioned before, he was very quiet. And you're a talker. See the problem? You were waiting for the right moment, when after all this buildup and trust would, well, buildup into trust, enough for him to open up to you. And when that day comes, it won't be just his mouth opening up!

You also got pretty good at learning how to defend yourself against the zombie girlies. Not that you didn't know before, but now, with Joel's help, you were able to take down multiple at once. You ate that shit up, feeling like one of those hot Resident Evil characters. Joel was even impressed, which made you pretend more like it was 'no biggie' as you'd usually say. What you didn't say, of course, was how your asshole clenched from fear every time you saw one and how you ached all over from fighting! But why would you?! Appearances are lowkey everything!!

The skyline of the city finally came into view. Fuck if you knew which city it was, you lost track. Your stomach rumbled. You cradled it as if you were "so I'm thirty-four weeks today", softly and longingly. You needed to eat. The rumble was loud, causing Joel to look over.

"You okay?"

"Does it sound like it? I'm hungry," you said. "Where's my fume?" You began to pat yourself down for that appetite suppressant, having an addict's moment of panic that you may have lost it. You didn't, she just thought she'd be funny and slip between the cracks of the chair and armrest. You pulled that bitch out and envisioned it was a Five Guy's cheeseburger as you inhaled that faux blueberry chemical.

"Guys, what's this?" Ellie asked, reaching over to the front, pointing to a roll of sushi illustrated in her comic. You didn't know Batman had time to eat sushi, but,

"Oh, FUCK!" you bellowed. "Sorry, Ellie. Excuse my French. I could so eat that right now."

You then caught a glimpse of a rather large scar on her forearm. Shit looked crazy.

"Uh, Ellie," you said. "I don't wanna like, overstep or be rude, I know it's none of my business."

Joel and Ellie suddenly tensed up. At this moment, they both knew the mistake Ellie had just made. You didn't, of course, which was why they were concerned.

Ellie backed up softly, quickly covering up her scar. Joel shifted in his seat.

"Uh, yeah? What is it?" Ellie asked wearily.

"That scar," you said.

Ellie gulped. Joel tightened his grip on the wheel.

"You should slap some scar cream on that. Like, Mederma? Ever heard of it?"

"Mederma?" Ellie asked.

Joel let out a relieved breath. He raked his hand through his hair, self-soothingly. They were good. Thank god for your lack of social cues.

"It's, uh, a scar cream," Joel answered lowly.

"It helps, trust. Once, I was on a city bike in Miami Beach, fell right onto the concrete and ate shit. It was bad, but once that scar closed, I lathered that cream on, and that's it. Now I don't even remember where the scar is. The doctor said it was from memory loss after smacking my head on the ground, but I really think it was the Mederma. So yeah. Get some if you can," you said.

"Uh huh. Okay," Ellie said. She wasn't really listening, instead trying to relax herself from you almost finding out about what was really in Ohio (Utah). And you wanna know something? It's not Logan Paul (Mormons).

"Anyway, yeah that food? It's sushi. It's sooooo good. So good," you said, reminiscing about those rolls. "So good. So so sooooo good."

"What's sushi?"

"Anything you want it to be, honestly. But usually fish," you said.

You took a moment.

"FUCK!" you yelled again, the anger of craving sushi so animalistic, "Sorry, sorry. I just, I just really want sushi. I wish you could try it Ellie, I think you'd like it. Joel, do you like sushi?"

"Never had it."

"What?"

"I've never had it."

"How have you never had sushi?"

"I just haven't."

"Well, you should."

"I can't."

"Why not? You allergic to fish?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Cause we're in a goddamn apocalypse," he replied, this time quite irritated.

"Well, if you do, let me know. I want a piece," you said, a little sassy, looking back out the window.

He then turned to give you a hard look. It was a mix of anger and confusion, the usual.

"You know," he started, trying to think of the words, "you're weir -"

" - JOEL WATCH OUT!!!!!!!"

Joel shot his head straight forward, to see a zombie standing in the middle of the road.

BAMBOOMSD AHSDFJKASJDFKSJSKLDJFAS

He swerved, causing you're not-wearing-seatbelt-ass to slam into the passenger car door, then rag doll as you held on for dear life on the grab handles above as you flipped over and over and over and over and over and over from the sheer power and magnitude of that swerve.

BOOM CRASH BOOFS FJADSJJDASKDSAADS CRASH BOOM POPSJDKFJASFAS

"OH SHI -"

You looked like Jay Leno in that one video where the car repeatedly flips over and over, with Joel holding his arm out trying to keep you down (didn't work).

BOOM CRASH POWEBSDAJFJSAKDA BOOF BAM POWBOOMSADJF

It just kept going.

CRASHBOOM JSDHSIFHJSA CRASH SJDFLSAFDKL FLIPSD FASKJDFSSDOAFLIP SADJFKSAJFD

Kept going.

BOOM CRASHDJSAKDFJSALDJ FAS

Yo lowkey when this gonna stop?

BOOM CRASH BOOFS FJADSJJDASKDSAADS CRASH BOOM POPSJDKFJASFASSDJFSKAKDADAS.....

SJKDFASKLJDFS boom pop.....crash...

It finally stopped!

You groaned awake, feeling FUCKED up your shit was ROCKED.

"Get up! GET UP!" Joel yelled, already having been out the car with Ellie.

"Oh my god okay chill I literally just flipped?"

"It's a trap! They're raiders!"

"What -"

"TA-TATA-ATATATATATPPAPAPAATATATATTAAAA!!!!"

You rolled your eyes bro not again.

All three of you took cover behind the now dilapidated truck as the raiders shot from the other side of the road.

You weren't even scared now, just over it like? Likeeee???????

Joel started shooting back, and so did you and though your aim was pretty shit you managed to take out some of them. You found that not looking and just shooting overhead and all over the place was the best tactic! Let the bullet find its own way <3

"Oh my god, Joel, I got an idea!" you said.

"What?!" he bellowed, very busy with the whole gunfire and all.

"We should make a bomb!"

"How?!"

"Mazel tov cocktail?"

"You mean molotov?!"

"Why are you correcting me? We have to think fast not be correcting each other get your priorities straight Joel oh my god?! Am I the only one taking this seriously?!?!?"

You dropped that gun on the floor and began to craft the bomb with such efficiency and grace, you felt like a little brainiac. You thought this may have been how the Unabomber felt like if he actually succeeded. (Thank god he didn't though lol right?? btw fbi I'm not a terrorist sympathizer!!! - Sam)

Let's just say - the pressure was on! As you were crafting the bomb, shots continue to fly by overhead, blowing comically large holes in Beetlejuice-esque hair. Joel kept rushing you, which you didn't appreciate like no shit I'm trying to go fast? Why would I not be trying to go fast dumbass?

Once you finished, you lit the cloth's end and turned to Joel and threw it at him, "THINK FAST JOEL!"

He, petrified, grabbed it in midair and looked at you with a look of complete awe. And it wasn't the good kind. More a look of horror, actually. Offended horror.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW IT AT ME?!?!?!"

"UH, DOES IT LOOK LIKE I HAVE GOOD EYE-HAND COORDINATION?!?! YOU THROW IT!?!?!"

In disbelief, he threw the molotov on the other side of the car and took cover.

You all ducked, and you took out your Dollar Store sunnies to cover your eyes from, essentially, the war crime you've just committed.

Let's just say - Oppenheimer would've been jealous. It wasn't your first time making a molotov, but something was different in the air that day, because you pretty much made the equivalent of one atomic bomb in that little glass Jarritos bottle.

The light from the bomb was so bright, for a second's moment, everything seemed still and dead silent, muted almost, as the bright glare lit everything around you all - you all braced yourselves, readying for the sound - the boom.

And girl.

Did it boom.

"Boom," said the Jarritos bottle.

The bomb? Yeah, pretty big. The effectiveness? Yeah, pretty and literally groundbreaking. The sound? Yeah, deafening.

Shards of metal, glass, unidentifiable body parts, and other mumbo jumbo flew right past you all from behind the truck, as you all huddled together, still tense from the impact.

If it wasn't for the fact that, as previously mentioned, you were already lowkey deaf from AirPods, you'd definitely be a mute. The sound riveted through all y'all's ear drums, sprinkling in a little tinnitus behind.

You guys crept up to see the damage. You pretty much did more than enough, they all literally died. The coast was definitely clear and y'all were good to go!

You three then grabbed your bags and started to walk down the road into the city, all in a stunned silence. You weren't that stunned, really, (it wasn't your first time making bombs as you did notably do some freelance work for Escobar), but Ellie and Joel had the same look like that one pic of that thousand-yard-stare soldier.

Joel was also quite pissed off, he just had that grumpy ass face he always has, but more intense. You assumed it was cause of the whole shabackle, but couldn't understand why he didn't see a reason to smile right now like? We're literally walking alive! Yeah, walking instead of driving, but alive!

"Uh, what's with the long face girl?" you asked, trying to spread your happiness.

He didn't respond.

As you got closer to the city, your patience was running thinner. The big ass backpack you had on kept slipping cause one of the straps was fucked up, causing you to have to constantly shift it upwards. It was reallllyyyyy starting to tick you off. You felt like a middle schooler who hasn't learned it's cooler to just bring a folder and chewed up pencil to school. It was also heavy as fuck with a ton of random bullshit like Joel's Linda Ronstadt CD's and Ellie's nerd ass comic books. Look, you were all for physical media, but you were also all about setting the bag on fire and catapulting it Ancient Rome style for another raider's battle. You kept this to yourself until then, though, like mama's lil secret <3.

Now in the city, you guys took a shortcut through some random building. You weren't sure it was a smart shortcut, cause it's a random building, but you were too exhausted to really gaf and ask. Plus, Joel didn't seem in the mood. He never was.

You were all creeping through the abandoned, smelly, rotting, moldy hallways, finding out it used to be a dispensary, and thought you could find some, you know, good loot or whatever. So you mentioned to Joel and Ellie that'd you look around and split off. Joel knew you were going to look for any scraps of weed like a raccoon feign, (your blueberry vape died during the battle)

You turned a corner, into a room, then looked around carefully. The place seemed pretty empty, so your guard? Very down.

"Slippppppping I'm slippingggggg," said the bag.

"Oh. My. Fucking. God," you said through gritted teeth, feeling a rise of deep anger. You violently thrusted it back on your shoulder, sore from the weight as you turned a corner. "Fucking dumbass back pack -"

You then hit the wall, as you were too distracted and fixated on the bag.

"Oh fuck," you said, rubbing your head. You looked up.

"OH FUCK!"

It wasn't a wall, it was actually the fupa of a giant bloater. You stood, petrified, stunned - almost collapsing onto the ground from the fear that plummeted into you - you were Wendy Williams as the Statue of Liberty.

Then, it burped, just staring down at you.

"AY DIOS MIO!!!!"

Like a cartoon, you jumped in the air, turned the other way and hauled absolute ASS out of there.

"GUYS!!!! GUYS, WE GOT A FLOATER!!!!!!" you screamed, running and running, doing what you perhaps always seemed to do best.

It started to chase you, it's fee fi fo fum ass stomps echoing from behind. This was some temple run ass shit.

"Feee....Fi.....Fo.....Fummmm.....," the bloater's steps said.

You then felt that all too familiar feeling, down there. And not the good kind. You had to shit. That bloater? Yeah. Scared you so much it made your butthole say,

"I need to shit."

The anxiety of 1. a bloater, 2. your need to go shit, and 3. you not being able to locate neither Joel or Ellie, filled you with such dread. You really did now gaf.

"Feeeeee....Fiiiii.....Foooooo.....Fuuuuuummmm....."

"GUYS??!?! GUYS LIKE WHERE THE FUCK ARE Y'ALL?!?!? NO LIKE FOR REAL?!?!?!"

Every thought raced through your mind - did they die? Did they abandoned you? Or worse, did they stop somewhere to eat WITHOUT you????

"Feeeeeeeeeeee....Fiiiiiii.....Fooooooo.....Fuuuuuuuuuuummmm....."

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," you rambled, holding one hand on your ass to keep the shit in and the other on that backpack strap.

"Slipping I'm slipping again!!!!" the bag said.

"OhmygodIHATETHISFUCKASSBACKPACK!!!!!" you screamed, then proceeded to grab it and yeet it full force at the bloater's fupa.

The power of your thrust was so monstrous it caused the bloater to fly mid-air backwards for several feet and land right through a glass window.

You didn't stop to check it out, now instead enjoying the free weight literally off your back and your faster paced running. Those Lightening McQueen Crocs were now in full force, in sports mode and ready to go. With every step, the sounds of tiny yet serious little engines squeaked out from below the heel.

You then spotted the pair, and to your relief they hadn't died, left you, or were eating. No, instead they were huddled in a corner, crouched down and holding their fingers to their mouth. It looked as though they were telling you to be quiet.

"Do you guys want me to be quiet?" you asked. At that moment, Joel's spirit died. He let his head fall in general disappointment.

Turns out, an entire group of clickers were in the room next door, overstimulated, triggered and ready to pounce, triggered from your maniacal distant screaming.

"Ohhh," you mouthed, nodding overtly your head in full understanding. You crept on over, now huddled with them.

"Where's your bag?" Ellie whispered.

"What bag?" you asked, then looking away as if disinterested. You thought the best way to explain the absence of the bag was to gaslight them into thinking there was no bag in the first place. "So what now?"

"Joel?" Ellie asked.

Joel thought for a moment. "We're going to walk across the room, quietly and slowly to the exit on the other side. No fighting, no shooting," he whispered.

"Okay lieutenant," you said, biting your tongue like a white mom. This was again your attempt at flirting but it didn't work. You really needed to better your timing.

You three began to creep down the hallway, and at first it was working great, up until two random stray clicker girls were hanging out at the exit doors.

You three stopped, Joel thought for a moment on how to handle this.

You couldn't stop. You still needed to shit, and you needed to shit now. You felt your asshole gaping for air, knowing that a fart was the last thing needed now. You held that shit in, but alas some things cannot be held in forever....

"Joel," you whispered in his ear, "I like, have to shit, bad. Like, emergency. Can we speed this up?"

He heard you and decided to ignore you.

He took out his gun, then turned to you both. "I'm gonna shoot, but then you two need to run through those doors. Don't stop and don't look back."

You two nodded.

He aimed, but at that moment, you had no control.

You couldn't hold her in anymore.

This was it.

You can't control nature's course.

You farted.

And he shoted.

But your fart was like a silencer? It worked? It was so subtle and swift, and its duration lasted long enough for two shots that the clickers took it as another one of their co-clickers farting.

The two fungi bitches dropped dead and nothing followed.

"Did you just fart?" Joel asked, breaking the silence.

"No, no - that was the bloater?" you turned behind, again using the gaslighting tactic. He looked behind, too, confused, and since you knew that bloater was probably busy reading comic books and listening to Linda Ronstadt some ways away, you thought it best to move on.

"So like we gonna go orrrr....?" you asked.

"We need to run," Joel said.

"Don't need to tell me twice!" you said before hightailing outta there, your Crocs doing wonders, and leaving them in the dust, (it was actually asbestos).

Running? Running was what you did best. It was so basic, so innate, there was really nothing to it. You always thought, had it not been for all these setbacks in your life, these side quests that just kept side questing you, you lowkey could've been a runner? Not the crackhead Flaka drug ones but, the other type of runner. But oh well c'est la vie.

You three made it out and ran for what seemed like miles and miles (it was across the street), before you stopped from the force of your imminent shit. Joel and Ellie ran past you, not waiting to save your ass, and climbed down some rubble. You tapped back in.

"Joel! JOEL!"

He turned to you, flustered and annoyed as the group of zombies echoed behind y'all like the sounds of minions.

"WHAT?!"

"I CAN'T CLIMB DOWN!"

"YES YOU CAN?!"

You looked down the rubble - you theoretically could, but didn't wanna make one wrong move and ledge your asshole open. Of course, though, you couldn't tell him that, boys aren't supposed to know that girls shit. So you hoped that maybe you acting as a girlie who needed a guy's unnecessary chivalry could so hit right now. He wasn't biting.

"WHAT?" he yelled, literally less than three feet below you.

It wasn't gonna work. The zombies incoherent ramblings grew louder and louder behind you. Looks like plan B - you needed to give him no choice.

He started to run back towards Ellie, before you stopped him.

"JOEL! CATCH MEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Like a baby who's dropped into the pool for the first time to 'learn how to swim' without any sense of physical agency or control, like a manic person running with their hands up and mouth agape, like a true damsel in distress, you hauled yourself off of that three-foot ledge, aiming for Joel's heroic yet un-consenting arms, all in a slo-mo.

Joel literally had no choice but to catch you, so he did, and your fat ass made him fall backwards onto the ground where it really fucked up his 50 year old, seniors discount breakfast-ass back.

"Oh fuck," you said, like a wounded grandma.

Joel groaned. You two looked at one another in the face, quite close, cause you were literally on top of him? Like omg this is so rom-com! Enemies to lover's type! Except you were always his enemy and you always thought he'd be your lover <3

Time stood still as you looked into one another's eyes. It was as if the whole world had stopped, and it was only you two - you inspected every wrinkle, gray hair, blackhead - he was beautiful.

"Uh, guys! We need to go?!" Ellie shouted.

"Oh shit I forgot -" you said and bounced right up, remembering your shit, and back to leaving.

You three were back to running, since it was not only your favorite activity but a common pastime in apocalyptic worlds. You were up ahead, again fueled by your natural instincts needing to shit, its adrenaline pumping through your veins as if you were the Flaka fungi people. It caused you to momentarily ponder - is the real reason why all these zombies are irritable is because they need to shit but can't, so they've been backed up for YEARS? A shiver went down your neck at just the thought.

You turned a corner between buildings, before stopping again in your tracks. A whole fucking HERD OF THEM BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!

You were frozen, petrified, stunned, silenced. Your face couldn't help but go into its natural fight or flight state - the soy face. And a mega one at that.

Joel stopped, looked at you frightened.

"What? What is it?!" he asked desperately.

But there was no time. Cause guess what? There's now bandits!!!

Then THEY started to chase you. Fuck the clickers. Fuck an iClicker!

You couldn't help but giggle. You couldn't help but be amused. Why are a bunch of bandits chasing a girl in SpongeBob shorts? Like they think you got the goods like that?! What's a girl with Spongebob shorts got? A probable yeast infection?

You didn't realize it, but your giggles were actually audible. You sounded like Pops from Regular Show.

"I'm just a girl, like whaaaaaa?" you giggled and shouted, running still. "Like, leave me alone what the fuck?!?!? This is crazy omg!!!"

Even Joel was confused, running beside you, thinking, 'why is this bitch giggling?'

Even the bandits took notice and got weirded out. So weirded out they actually stopped chasing y'all. You were treating an ambush like a frolicking sesh in the garden.

You supposed it was your brain trying to protect you, seeing that you were in actual danger of being killed. Maybe you genuinely couldn't believe it? Who knows. (I'm not a psychologist I'm sam st. Clair)

You all finally made it to a supermarket, where you boarded yourselves up once you scoped the place out. It was nighttime now, hella dark out and you couldn't guess shit where y'all were at. You just relied that Joel knew, it was your default since he's the self-proclaimed Rick of this little posse y'all got.

Anyway, you three split off, maybe because you all were tired of all the socializing you guys did back there. You didn't mind being alone, it gave you the opportunity to fart without anyone around to sniff or judge, or both. Speaking of farting, you took your shit the moment you slammed your ass on the toilet in the back, where the manager's office was. Shit was monstrous and you were sure you might've contracted some of the fungi since you were so determined to sit down that you didn't notice spores all up on the seat. But oh well. Your ass did start to itch, but you relied on your body to figure it out.

You got so bored you decided to walk up and down the smelly aisles, then found a pack of untouched, one of a kind, rare finds, vintage ZooPals. You remembered that Joel was making dinner, so thought these would be perfect!

You grabbed them fast, then went to present them to him. He was not so impressed.

"Joel, check it," you said, acting as if you were Christian Bale in American Psycho showing off your business card.

"That's extra weight," he said, dismissively and went back to cooking the beans.

"Are you kidding me?! This is some fine China right here," you protested. "Your boomer ass might be having a dementia episode or something not remembering the sheer value of what it is to eat off a ZooPal's plate."

His demeanor got sadder. You feared you might've crossed the line with the dementia comment.

"No," he mumbled solemnly. "They remind me of my daughter."

Your face dropped.

"Yikes. Sorry about that luv," (when you felt awkward you opted to go British). You then walked away. Best avoid that <3

That night you guys ate the beans and left in the morning, since Joel said apparently a supermarket isn't the best place to hide. You weren't sure why - if they carried ZooPal's, who know what else they could be hiding?

You kept walking down the street until you found a car that looked recently used. Joel tried starting it with the cables and shit whatever they do in the movies when they jumpstart a car. Red wire blue wire green fish two fish one fish blue fish.

"Can I drive?" you asked. You weren't sure what got into you, you literally don't have a license. Not that traffic violations mattered in these parts, but because you couldn't even tell left from right.

He gave you a look. "Fine."

"That was easy," you said.

As he began fixing it up, Ellie pointed to an object on the dashboard.

"What's that?" she asked.

You looked.

Oh no.

Not on my car.

"No. Not on my fucking car."

You grabbed that octopus stuffed animal dashboard bullshit, swung and threw that shit so far that it broke a nearby high-rise apartment window and exploded. It was a bomb and you inadvertently just saved everyone's life.

"How'd you know that was a bomb?" Joel asked, incredulously.

You knew the answer was that you didn't know it was a bomb, it was cause you actually hated nothing more on this earth than those octopus dashboard plushies, because every bad driver in a BMW happens to have one, so you thought you should go with the flow.

"I told you. I worked for Escobar. I can smell a bomb," you said.

"Wow. That's a crazy nose you have. It's like your superpower," Ellie said, geeking out.

"If it really was a superpower, I'd been able to stop Oppenheimer," you said.

She didn't get it.

Joel looked up, again, confused why you would say that in the first place.

"Sorry, it's before your time," you said, moving on quickly.

The car started and you three hopped in, ready to drive y'alls asses OUT OF HERE! You were excited, feeling that this was gonna be like a little roadtrip movie.

It was only two miles since you guys have driven and you had to contain your giddiness. Joel definitely wasn't happy and Ellie was to herself in the back reading her nerd ass comics. You just looked crazy laughing to yourself. You were just looking forward to the roadtrip vibes, FINALLY you guys found an actual working car so no more walking no more dilapidated backs no more annoying backpacks and oh shit there's a spider.

"OH SHIT THERE'S A SPIDER!!!" you freaked, seeing it dance slowly from the roof, hanging onto its web and literally three inches away from your face. You began to move yourself away, moving the steering wheel with it and thus moving the whole car off the road.

"Okay, calm down I got it -" Joel said.

"No Joel it's that I can't dude no Joel get it GET IT!" you demanded, feeling like an entity just possessed you with how deep and demented your voice got from the fear.

"Just keep the damn car still I can't grab it!"

He really couldn't, the more you turned the car, the more the spider swayed into your face, causing you to turn the car more and causing Joel to have trouble actually getting it. He was getting frustrated.

"Joel, we're gonna crash!" Ellie cried, trying to hide behind the seat.

The screaming and shouting also wasn't helping the vibe at all.

"I can't dude no Joel it's that I can't BRO FUCK! GET THAT BITCH!" you kept crying, "I'M NOT JOKING BRO!"

"KEEP DAMN STILL -"

Y'all crashed.

The random light post just HAPPENED to be in the way. Thankfully you guys weren't hurt, you just fucked up the car bad. And Joel was pissed. When he's mad, he's quiet. And he was QUIET.

"Well that was short," Ellie said as you three just stood looking at the demolished car. "So what now?"

The 'what now' was actually that you guys found a safe house literally less than a mile away. God finally gave y'all a little break!

It was down the road, in a little suburb. It seemed to have belonged to others, since it was all boarded up and defensed up and the only sign of life left in the house was a infected fungi girl strapped to a chair in the bedroom, placed in front of a tv screen playing a VHS tape of Friends.

You thought it best to put it out of its misery, so you turned off the tv.

You patted her on the back, caring and lovingly as she snarled at you, "No one deserves to be forced to sit and watch Friends, not even in the apocalypse."

You closed the door, leaving her at peace and again, out of her her torture.

Time passed. Joel was about to start cooking beans and Ellie left to go take a much needed power nap in the guest bedroom. You offered Joel to rest and that you'd cook instead. Little did he know how much of an exclusive this was with you, bitch you didn't cook. But you felt pretty bad for the whole spider thing and thought, hey, what's a little cooking? What's a little meal prep?

Joel said his very weary 'thanks' and went to rest on the couch, while you went into the kitchen. He looked genuinely happy to see you take the responsibility. And you were genuinely happy in other places too at the idea of you cooking for him <3 and Ellie ofc. And yourself, who could forget your fat ass?

Time passed, maybe a little too long of a time to make beans, when you had finally finished. Though you were pretty sure all the garnishes left in the kitchen were expired and no, those are not flakes of oregano but flakes of mold, they actually came out pretty good. You prepped three beautiful plates, on the fine China (ZooPal's, Ellie got the duck plate, Joel the ladybug, and you the frog), and went to push the kitchen door to present your dish as if you were battling Bobby Flay on that one kitchen show with the other woman with white hair that looks like she'd be one of the emotions from Inside Out.

"Dinner's ready! -" you said cheerily, until you realized - it wasn't just Joel who would see your dish. Not Ellie. Not even Bobby Flay - it was the raiders. Again. They were all up in your living room, def crossing the maximum capacity. They just couldn't seem to get enough of you and you didn't want to come off as narcissistic but guessed your personality had to be addictive.

You all took a minute, assessing the situation. Actually, you ALL took that minute. You just stood there, plates filled with beans, and they stood there, guns filled with bullets, with Joel and Ellie on their knees with their wrists tied behind their backs.

The silence kept going.

You just stood there.

"Wait, so -," your bimbo ass said, very Trisha-esque, not even able to come to form a conclusion. You were just so confused. "Wait -"

And there it is again.

Someone tackled you. AGAIN.

Not only did your body go flying underneath the massive weight that just sumo slammed itself into you, but so did the beans. The beans? Yeah, they were airborne. The ZooPal plates? In flight.

The mass was actually a man who was attempting to zip tie your wrists now that he had you pinned down. However, he underestimated your irritability when you were hungry.

Mama's hungry.....and mama wants her beans.....and what mama wants...........mama GETS.........

You had just about had enough.

You threw him off with such strength that could only come with a girl's rage. A rage so deep, so visceral and seemingly uncontrollable, one that could set you back on all the self-help and patience exercises that you've practiced. No. That's it. She's gonna pop, and just like the shit from earlier - some things just cannot be held in forever.

You rose up, looking briefly over at the man who's back slammed against the window, where he then tumbled and tumbled to who knows what fate, but a fate just the same as that bloater earlier.

The raiders were too aghast at your abilities.

"I just, I can't," you started, panicky. "I can't hold it in anymore."

You almost started crying from the mania. You looked very unstable, cause you were.

You took a deep breath, but knew one thing - you've been holding this anger, this wrath in for so long, now it's time for her to be released.

One of the raiders caught on and began to back up. His buddies followed, scared, almost like watching a Jack in the box as a grown adult, but that childlike fear still imprinted in your innermost being.

"Hey listen, we'll just get out of -"

" - do you KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD IT IS TO FIND ANY FOOD OUT HERE WITH NO FUCKING MOLD ON IT?! YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO COOK ROOM TEMPERATURE FUCKING BEANS ON A DINGY LAPTOP RUNNING ON SIMS 3?! IT TAKES A LONG FUCKING TIME!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW HUNGRY I'VE BEEN?!?!?! I'M THREE DAYS LATE ON MY FUCKING PERIOD AND I'VE BEEN FEIGNING FOR SOME FUCKING BEANS!!!! BEANS, BITCH!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW DESPERATE I'VE GOTTA BE FOR FOOD TO WANT BEANS?!?! I'M CRAVING ROOM TEMPERATURE BEANS LIKE A SOLDIER IN THE CIVIL FUCKING WAR!!!!! - (you lost them) - DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS?!??! THAT'S LIKE, ONE OF THE BIG DEAL WARS!?!??! WHATEVER AND NOW MY BEANS ARE ON THE GROUND LIKE DO I LOOK LIKE TRAVIS KELCE?! DO I LOOK LIKE A BITCH TO BE TACKLED ONTO THE FUCKING GROUND??!?!! DO I HAVE A SIGN ON ME THAT SAYS I'M A QUARTER BACK?!?! NO BITCH I WANT A QUARTER POUNDER!!!! AND NOW LOOK!!! 'UH, GUYS, WE HAVE COMPANY!!!!!'"

After your spew that gave you the same catharsis akin to rapping a Nicki Minaj verse word for word, they put their hands up in surrender and backed on out, suddenly becoming overly-friendly while you followed them out to the porch. You had the same aura as a a 'get off my property or I'll shoot' type.

"Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am."

"Have a nice day, Ms., sorry about that."

"Lovely house and beans."

"Have a good day."

"Bye bye now."

"THANK YOU, YES!! FUCKING LEAVE!!!! RED-COAT, QUARTERING ASS FUGLY ASS BITCHES!! OR Y'ALL DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS EITHER?!?! GO FIND A BOOK ON WARS THAT DON'T INVOLVE TOILET PAPER AND LEARN ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF BEANS YOU FUCKING SKID MARKS!!!!"

"Great plates."

"I like what you did with your hair, ma'am. Very unique."

"AND STAY OUT!!!!!! THIS IS MY OWN PRIVATE DOMICILE AND I WILL NOT BE HARASSED!!!!!!"

You turned back around into the house, overhearing one of their conversations as they got farther and farther (not only are you partially deaf, but you have super-hearing).

"I think that's the same girl from earlier, with the weird giggles from earlier?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. The Spongebob shorts, remember?"

"Oh, fuck. You're right."

You couldn't help but not smile hard. You like, lowkey did that? No violence or anything. MLK was lowkey right.

But that smile soon fell once you got back into the house, remembering what literally just happened. Seeing your hard work splattered all over the floor was like seeing your own world end. By then, Joel was already untied and had just finished Ellie's.

"That was INSANE!" Ellie said, excitedly. "Did you see their faces?! That was so sick!"

"Thanks, Ellie. I'm lowkey gonna cry now, so those words of positive affirmation do help."

"Wait, don't," Joel said, oddly caring.

"Of course I'm gonna cry! I'M FUCKING HUNGRY oh my god what's that?"

Joel had reached into his bag, pulling out three very familiar containers.

"I'd, uh, hope we could be eatin' this, too," he said sheepishly, as he revealed they were perfect condition, ready-to-eat, beautifully displayed fat rolls of sushi.

You at the very moment became a belieber in spontaneous combustion, because you'd never been so hot so quick, it was just too hot. Joel was too hot. Sushi was too hot too, and he got you sushi?! That's like double the hot! This is Hot Ones DA BOMB!!

"Oh my god, Joel - you didn't," you held your hands to your face, in such happiness and surprise. It looked as if Joel had just proposed to you and the ring was a singular spicy tuna roll.

Joel smiled softly, a rarity around these parts. You found that glimpse of another side of him so interesting, intriguing - attractive. You always knew he was hot, and knew you wouldn't say no to your bestowed Rick, but DAMN like Kendrick's 2017 hit-album he was fine as FUCK right now.

"Contain it girl, contain it," the voices told yourself.

"How'd you get this?!" you asked, taking it as he reached them out for you. You inspected them, you weren't sure if it was because you were hallucinating from the hunger, but they looked exactly like Studio Ghibli food, your fat ass was about to feast. You felt the salivation like those rabies victims outside.

"I'm a smuggler. It's my job," he said, which you swore was flirting-ly but unfortunately didn't have any of your girls around to tell this too and get their opinion :( so you decided to live with your delusion that it was!

You wanted to kiss him so bad for that, you could've cried. And you did.

You three sat around the campfire, eating, talking, laughing, all good vibes. Ellie had finally tried sushi for the first time and loved it, as you went on to explain the days of the Barbenheimer summer. (You thought she needed to dip her toes into Oppenheimer lore somehow already.)

"Hey, sorry you guys had to see me like that," you said, finishing your roll. "I just get like, really annoyed when people stop me from eating food when I'm hungry. Like, that's me time, you know? It's personal."

"What are you talking about?! That was so good! They were shitting their pants!" asked Ellie.

"Lol me," you spat. You hoped they didn't catch that.

"You - you really scared them off there," mustered Joel, impressed.

"Thanks," you said, taking whatever compliment that man could give to heart.

"If only we had you during our shootout, back at the Target," Joel said. "I thought you were a runner, first time I saw you."

"Why's that?"

"You had all that," he motioned to his face, "red stuff, all on your mouth and chin. Thought it was blood."

"Oh, that was Chef Boyardee! You know him?"

Did he know him.

Did he know him?

Girl he was a single father once of course he knew him.

And what else did he know?

He knew he was in love with you, in love with Y/N...

"I, uh, love -"

"- Joel loves Chef Boyardee. He got all excited when he found a can, once," Ellie said, interrupting him.

"Because that's what the Chef intended with his creation," you said, not really one hundred percent sure what that meant. And neither did Joel or Ellie. Anyway,

Time passed, you guys cleaned up and Ellie had gone to sleep.

You and Joel were sat on the swinging bench on the porch outside, passing your blueberry fume back and forth like a blunt (it actually wasn't dead, contrary to popular belief). He wasn't really a fan, but didn't want to tell you no.

You'd been out for some time, enjoying the warm (lowkey hot) breeze and of course, Joel's company. He was a man of few words, unfortunately, but it did make him hotter. Like, why so mysterious?

"So how'd you really get that sushi?" you asked, after some unimportant small talk.

"When we were at the supermarket," he said. "Wanted to surprise you."

"That's so hot," you said immediately.

"What?"

"It's so hot right now, that's what I meant," you spat and took your fume from him, taking in an unnecessarily giant hit.

"Well, wanna go back inside?"

"Nah."

"Okay?"

Another silence.

"You know, I wanted to uh, thank you, for being nice with Ellie and all," he said, "it's uh, it's nice."

"No probs. She's funny. Reminds me of a younger TikTok-obsessed cousin, you know? The kind you're excited to see on Christmas?"

"Yeah, yeah. I understand," he said. He didn't.

The silence continued. And you had to admit, it was getting awkward. Something needed to happen. And your pervert mind knew what would be perfect right now -

" - My daughter loved Chef Boyardee," Joel then said, really out of nowhere.

You turned to him. For a moment, you genuinely forgot he had a daughter. You didn't really like comforting people when you were horned up, but there was no escaping this. Who knows if he's ever said this before? Maybe you're the one - the special one - that gets to hear this exclusive tidbit. So you complied. Sometimes people needed a shoulder to lean on, so you decided right there and then, (and apparently Joel too), that you'd be that shoulder...

"That's crazy," you said. So little words, yet so much meaning.

"It is," he said, smoking the fume.

"My ex-sugar daddy, the guy that I told you about, do you remember?" you asked, he nodded his head. He did remember. "Well, yeah, he actually had a health scare once. Chef Boyardee, specifically the ravioli, was all he ate when he was separated from his wife. She used to cook all these real pasta dishes, so when he was living on his own he was pretty much incapable of cooking anything besides a bowl of cereal. He just ate Chef Boyardee ravioli all day and his cholesterol went up. It was crazy."

"Huh."

"Yeah. And it was kinda weird, you know, because he was Italian. I didn't think Italians accepted the Chef as one of their own."

"I guess he did."

"Yeah. I miss him."

Joel turned to you.

You realized your mistake. You DON'T bring up an ex on the first date hello?!?! HELLO (@ALL THE BOYS IN THE WORLD HELLO?!?!?!)

"I mean, I miss the old world, you know. Like, how you miss your daughter," you explained. "Association and all."

"I'm sorry if I'm a little, you know," he said, "If I don't come off very - personable. You've, uh, been a great help to us both. To me."

"Of course! It's okay. It's kinda hard to keep manners going when more than half of the population are demented cannibals and the other wanna rob you all the time."

You both smiled softly. You provided him the warmth he needed, the warmth that could always greet him at the end of the day, reminding him that there's always room for warmth. You are his sun, his warmth. You're his heating pad, the warmth of a heating pad.

"I don't, I don't say this much. Not at all, actually, not until you brought up the 'association' thing, but - you remind me of the old world," he said.

Your ass couldn't help but smile.

"Oh my god Joel that's like so sweet!" you said, before jumping on him to give him a big hug! He hugged tightly back, he then threw you back on the bench and you felt his member pressed against your leg. He then began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your "I <3 ORLANDO" Spongebob-themed PJ shorts off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia," he said, his southern drawl coming out in full force.

"Oh my god this is just like my fic!"

"What?"

"Nothing!"

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the man from Austin, Texas in. This is it. No Flaka girls, no fungus-infested toilets, no Chef Boyardee-obsessed raiders, nothing - just you and Joel.

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

P.S. - I'm not actually dead! I've been in hospital. So, almost. I've now learned that sanding your tires down to make them look cleaner and smoother and prettier is actually quite dangerous.

xoxo, again,

~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Tony Soprano's Goomah

Tony Soprano X Reader

Anonymous Request -

Hiya Saint Samuel!!!!! So listen to this, I've just started Sopranos, you know, the HBO show? Anyway I've come to the conclusion that Tony is exactly my type. He's brought out an inherent and animalistic part of me I never realized was there in the first place. Like, a strong attraction to alpha men. I'm not that far in the show, but I love the idea of him taking me to dinner at Vesuvio's, you know, Artie's restaurant? I love that he supports his friend's small business when he's not busy blowing it up! So could you come up with an imagine about the date? Let me know!! Thank you!!!!

P.S. - I love your work but please keep this one short! It's gotta be a quickie before bed!

Word Count: not that long tbh

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

"It's so gloomy out," you said, face souring as you looked out the window of your apartment. "It's always gloomy." 

"Um, where the fuck do you think we're at? It's New Jersey," your friend, Snooki, said. "That's why I only like the shore. It's different out there."

You smiled. Her thick Jersey accent always threw you off but it felt so warming. You forgot people actually talked like that. She'd come to visit you from the Shore to help you get ready for your little date. She was filming a season of her TV show, which you didn't completely understand, but nonetheless you were supportive cause you always supported your girls. That's just how being a girlie works. 

"So who's this guy anyway?" Snooki asked as she began to flat iron your hair, clouds of thick smoke rising from it as it fried your shit straight. "You're so like, secretive about him. You never ended up telling me."

You blushed, living for the idea of this little forbidden-esque romance you and Tony had. 

"I didn't tell you because I'd only just met you, I had to make sure you were a girl's girl first, you know?"

"And when was that?"

"When I found out you were down to help hide me go into hiding from the stupid ugly IRS men-in-black people, THAT'S when I knew."

She smiled to herself, she DID that. 

"Anyway, and I couldn't tell you over the phone cause you were on that stupid duck phone. I didn't want the show to be recording my business, silly," you said, "plus, those guy friends you have there are creeps. I don't want them knowing my business, either."

You shuddered at the thought of those overly-tan, Ed Hardy cologne smelling boys. You didn't trust them in the slightest. After one of them called you a grenade because they caught a glimpse a single stretch mark, you knew DAMN well they had never been connected to any basis of reality and therefore not REAL.

Except Paulie, you didn't really mind him, if you catch my drift if you catch the flow! ;). He was lowkey a girl's girl.

"So tell me now! I'm so over waiting!" she whined. She really was over it. You loved holding back information some times just to create a little suspense. A little of that never hurt no one never hurt a FLY.

"Well, what do you wanna know?" you smirked to yourself. 

"Is he Italian?"

"Oh, def."

"Is he tan?"

"Oh, no."

She suddenly stopped the ironing and gave you an annoyed look in the mirror. You knew that was a no-no in Snicker's book. "Then why are you wasting your time?"

"Because he's just hot, like, I don't know how to explain it," you really didn't. When you first met, you just found it odd how insanely attracted you were to him. You just were. It made you feel like a middle-aged mom. But who cares? EXACTLY! "He's low-key, rich, high-key. He works in like, garbage disposal or some shit."

"That's what they say when they're in the mafia." Snooki said, continuing to iron your hair. 

"I did my fair amount of business with Italians back in England, I know what the mafia looks like." Of that, you did. But that was your old life, you were supposed moving on. The Queen is dead, after all. Don't push! 

You wish you could tell your girlfriend more, but you had to remind yourself that you were under a different identity - as you mentioned before, the IRS are actually a bunch of Debbie downers and negative Nancies who wanna see you, just a girl, down. They hated seeing you, just a girl, succeed, and that's not cool or cute. They ran you out of the country once, but not again. You were a full, beer-blooded American and that's that. (if ur reading this and not American just pretend you are! Who wouldn't want to?!)

You met Tony through the Italian connections you had in England, and once you knew you had to escape back to America, they were the only allies you knew that could help smuggle you in like the cocaine in little baggies shoved up the asscracks of a flight attendee. If it weren't for that, New Jersey would have definitely NOT been the first place you had in mind to arrive in. 

Once the Italians brought you through, they directed you to this deli place called Satriale's after you moaned and groaned about your tummy rumbling. You kept joking that you were a different person when you were hungry, what you dubbed as the "hungry monster", over and over. Safe to say, the Italians soon grew increasingly uncomfortable with that and your other incoherent ramblings about food and decided you needed some gabagool. 

Let's just say - you went to absolute fucking town on those slices of meat and cheese. All those thoughts about becoming a vegetarian? Yeah, out the window they WENT. 

You assumed that none of those Italian-Americans knew that a girl could fucking eat, because they looked at you with both horror and confusion. Also, a little concernment. You also learned the complete difference between Italian and Italian-American, as if that horrendous atrocity that is your bff Snooki's Jersey Shore season 4 wasn't enough to learn from.

As you were munching away on what you were sure was only your third slice of 'salam' (salami), (it was actually your eleventh), the door swung open along with the little bell atop ringing. That wasn't what broke you out of your trance, no, no it would take a LOT for that to happen in the state you were in, but it was who....

"Hey, sweetheart, save some for the rest of us, huh?" He giggled, his other goons giggling behind him.

You looked up. You hated being spoken at while eating. It was really a trigger.

But there he was. Tony.

Tall, big, low-key balding, leather jacket and Goodwill's men section polo with some khaki pants, cigar in hand, under-sized gold rings and necklaces bulging, and a whiff of men's cologne (probably an Italian designer's).

You were stumped. Stunned. Stupefied.

So were they. They watched you, waiting for some sort of response whether it was verbal or physical. Instead, they were given your mega disassociation-state, blank expression, mouth full with a slice of meat in one hand and a slice of cheese in the other.

The entire deli went silent - it was literally as if there was a cowboy standoff going on like some Western film shit. A Spaghetti western here, perhaps?

"Fuck's wrong with her?" one of his minions asked. You later found out this was his wannabe Aaron Sorkin nephew Christopha.

"Hey, Ton', I think you broke the poor broad!" the other said, who had crazy white streaks of hair. This was his other minion, Paulie who giggled with the possible case of Tourette's syndrome.

"Ayyeeee, sweethaarrttt," the other said with a grumpy face and crazy hairline, (Silvio), "what's tha matta?"

You didn't know what the matter was. And honestly, neither did Tony.

All you two knew, is that you were both locked IN. What you didn't know at the time, was that he realized he had landed his eyes on one of the most beautiful, fine ass women he'd ever seen. And man was down BAD! Of course he was, girl, LOOK AT YOU!

(For realsies all respect to Carmela she did not deserve any of Tony's caca!)

"Who the fuck is this?" he finally asked, somewhat angrily. He wasn't angry, just taken aback someone had defied him as much as you did in that moment from that face off. And that's just the regular tone of how a lot of these people talked, which you ALSO later learned.

"I'm me," you said back.

The three minions behind him all raised their brows in shock. They couldn't conceive a girlie, like you, could sass just as hard back. That response ALWAYS worked.

And that was that. You two were history <3. 

You then met Snooki at a bar later that same night and she let you stay at the Jersey Shore house for a bit until Tony gave you enough money to get your own spot. And now, here you two were. Some full circle shit. 

So yeah back to your apartment WE'RE BACK AT THE APARTMENT!!

You were in the midst of a rant to Snooki about beefing with your hairstylist, the same lady who bleached your hair and unknowingly participated as an accessory to concealing your real identity from authorities. 

"...and so I was like, I want a bleach and tone, like can you do a bleach and tone for me please, like smiley face emoji and she was like tone? (question mark) and I was like, a bleach and tone, like, a bleach and tone, like a bleach and tone, like what do you mean tone, like? Like after you bleach it, can you tone it, like make it not brassy, and she was like 'oh oh I understand' and put, like, the blonde princess emoji and I was like, okay I'm glad you understand."

"What a fucking dumbass," Snooki laughed, finishing your hair. "I can just give you the number to my hairdresser, just let me know."

You heavily considered. A couple chunky stripe black highlights here and there? Some reverse raccoon shit? SHIT!!!

As she wrapped up, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your other girlfriend, JWoww, had done your makeup but had to leave early to let out her dogs at her house. She'd done the full Y2K trashy mcbling look - black smokey eye with glitter, heavy on the contour, thin ass brows and a nude lip. You looked like a Pamela Anderson variant and you were fucking it up! 

After taking some grainy ass photos on your hot pink bedazzled camera, Snooki hyping you up some more and pregaming with you before your date, you got a text! 

"I've got a text!" you said like a Love Islander. 

"Oh my god, is it from him?" Snooki asked, drinking the remnants of the Ron-Ron juice she made, the only good thing he's ever been associated with.

"Oh, fuck he's like - he's like here! He's here!" 

You ran towards your window and peeped your head through the blinds - he was indeed here in his red Chevy. A wave of anxiety flushed over you - but you weren't sure why? You were literally his 'goomar' or 'goomah' however you spell it and this definetly wasn't your first time on a date with him. But every time before one, you felt like you needed to shit yourself. He just made you all nervy! Like, that's a MAN RIGHT THERE!

"Oh, fuck Snooki," you said, frightened. "I think I need to go."

"You're kidding. You don't have time! You said he made a reservation, right?"

"Oh, I don't know. He just walks into anywhere and he automatically has a reservation for that exact time. You really think I can't go?"

"I mean, how fast can you go?"

You ended up going. And you were fast.

It was a quickie, definitely not ALL that needed to come out, but it was something for now. You knew your body too well. As you hit that flush lever thingie, you saw all your anxiety go down with it. You were ready, renewed, and refreshed. THOSE are the real three R's for saving the planet. You also smoked the last bit if your blunt, a 'roach' if you will, to see if that could calm your nerves. Spoiler - it didn't. Girl there was less than an inch left the fuck did you think that would do.

As Snooki was closing the front door, she yelled somewhat drunkenly "YOU'RE FUCKING HOT!" It definitely gave you a little pep in your step, to say the very least. Your heels clicked and clicked down that staircase, you felt like Rose in Titanic to Jack in that one scene.

Tony exited the car, admiring his view. Snooki was very right. You were eating it UP LIKE THAT BITCH!!

You had a slip on sequin dress, not too clubby but not too dressy, low-key classy and a little not too shabby? Your hair was all done up and your hoops dangled from your ears. You smelled of some sweet Nicki Minaj's body spray from TJ Maxx.

A cloud of cologne (a good cologne, one that you secretly stole for him also from TJ Maxx) hit you as you and Tony embraced. Even with your heels, he still stood over you like a fucking wall. You got why the gays love their bears. 

"How do I look, Tony?" you asked. You knew your answer you just fucked with compliments. 

"You look beautiful, hun. Like an old Hollywood actress. Let's get goin'." He opened the passenger's seat door for you like the gentleman he was and closed it behind you. Once he was in the driver's seat, you two were off. 

It was now Christmas time - so the aesthetic was KICKING! Lights were all around on people's houses and trees, the air was cool and there was a little snowfall. It felt like some cozy 2000's digital photos you find under looking up 'nostalgic' on Pinterest. The car's heater was on full and the warmth felt good against your ass. You thought about fucking up a sauna and how you'd love one of those. Maybe a future date with Tony?

You lowered the sun visor to check yourself in the mirror. These false lashes were CRAZY. You only trusted JWoww or Snooki to put them on. 

"You smell that?" Tony asked, sniffing the air.

"No," you said. You only smelled the his strong cologne and Nicki.

"You smell like weed," he said. 

You did forget about the 'roach' and plants you were growing on your balcony to make some extra cash. But then, you thought, this could be the perfect lay-up right now. If it worked on Megan Fox, maybe it would work on Tony? If it didn't, you'd honestly Lady Bird yourself out of his car from the embarrassment.

"I am weed," you said, trying to sound femme fatale, biting your tongue like a mom. 

He didn't get it. 

"What did you say?"

You weren't high enough for this.

"Man, never mind," you said. "Where we going, anyway? You said you were take me to eat some real food. Cause apparently McDonald's isn't."

"Oh please, you're gonna start with that shit again?" Tony said. One thing with Tony, and all these mafiosos, they have more insecurity than a thirteen-year-old middle school girl. You've had to learn how to dodge Tony's whiny moments. 

"So where?" you asked again, back to the topic. 

"Italian."

"Oh, like Olive Garden?"

He stopped at a light and faced you, with a look of pure disgust.

You saw him in the corner of your eye, trying not to smile. You loved fucking with him. It was like fucking with a toddler.

"The fuck did you say?" 

And there it was. 

Tony then began to rant about what true Italian dining and food was, as he always loved to flex in his whiny self about how there's no other shame of an establishment other than Olive Garden to bring embarrassment to Italian cuisine. You disassociated for much of it after, watching the lit-up suburbs as you drove by.

"....and that's why Vesuvio's puts back the honor in the Italian name. End of story!"

"That's crazy," you said, one of your many safe automatic responses to have after your disassociation trips. 

Anyway, you two had finally made it to the restaurant, as Tony mentioned before, called Vesuvio's. It was owned by a close friend of his, which made you all happy as it was refreshing to see Tony support small businesses. It was the late evening, so the sun had already set and the ambience was hitting. 

Before you entered the restaurant, Tony said he had a surprise for you and took out from the back of his car a quite large box.

"What is this?"

"Go ahead," he smiled slyly, "open it up."

You felt like a child needing to rip the bitch open, but you stopped yourself - you liked playing hard to get so you knew you had to act indifferent. You instead opened it slowly, as if it was just an ordinary box but no it WASN'T!

"No. Fucking. Way," you were in disbelief. "Tony - a FUCKING VINTAGE HOT PINK JUICY TRACKSUIT?! THESE ARE LIKE, $100 ON DEPOP?!?!?!?!"

He was fucking up your reaction. He must've really listened to when you indulged in him your airport troubles and losing your suitcase, as well as your vintage Juicy Couture tracksuit. This got you all hot and shit down there to know he cared like that. Again, this is a MAN. He makes ugly dudes like Tate tater tot look like a little bitch and that's that.

"You like it?" he asked as you yanked that shit out and were admiring it. "Here, let me help," he put the box down and helped put the top jacket part on.

You were too shock to speak. Non-verbal, if you would.

"Tony, no bro it's that I can't - "

His little dumbass smile made it all the better. You hated that he knew he ate with this.

The fresh smell of baked bread and pasta was making your toes curl violently. You loved being a fat ass. Once inside, Tony greeted like half the staff because that's what these men do, but you were just bouncing your eyes from table to table at all the dishes. Shit was about to HIT! You purposely didn't eat all day so you could have room for what tonight was to come. But, with that, the Ron-Ron juice was now in full effect. Uh oh oh no.

No, no - you couldn't. Had you not learned before in England? You cannot embarrass Tony, no, not in front of all these people. Tony was like a pillar in this little suburban community, you needed to make him look good!

But then, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror - you DO look good! 

And then it hit you - you're just a girl who likes to dress up and eat good. The last thing you were gonna do was hide who you truly were! High key who gives a fuck about Tony? You do but you get what I mean.

A very pretty, blonde hostess came to you guys and led you to your table. Tony said hi, gave her the usual besitos, and introduced you two. 

"Y/N, this is Adriana. You know, Christopha's girlfriend?"

"Oh my god yes! I remember!" you brought her in for a hug and your own besitos. She smelled great. It made you so happy to see another girl do her thing! "You look so good, bro! And your nails!"

"Oh, my god thank you!" she said, modestly. "You're so pretty!"

Tony smiled, happy to see two girls do their thing. Men will never understand.

You two sat a little more secluded towards the back. He had introduced you to Artie, the best friend and owner of the restaurant.

About an hour in, the vibes were HITTING! You were on your third slice of bread, dipping it in the olive oil and vinegar (though you preferred butter, but you weren't just about to say that in front of all these Italians, LITERALLY when in Rome like??), laughing as Tony was making his shitty dad jokes, light Frank Sinatra and 'like a big pizza pie in the sky' in the background, the chatter of other customers who were also vibing, and, like you, looking forward to absolutely demolishing the dishes. 

What those dishes were, you wouldn't know. The moment you sat, Artie pulled up and took your menus, saying he would make y'all something exclusive from the menu. Like THAT? Like that. You felt like it was 2017 all over again and you just found out about the secret Pink Drink that wasn't on the Starbucks menu. Exclusive! 

As Tony was rambling on about his new horse, you were just thinking about how insanely attractive he was. Again, this ain't no boy - no, this is a MAN. This is a man who gets shit done, whenever and wherever. You always thought yourself to be pretty humble and not consider power a trait to find attractive, but you just realized you were lying to yourself this whole time, cause Tony proved it was. Is it shallow? Oops. Who gives a fuck be real. That and giving you money every time he saw you was definitely a plus! He was just too smooth with shit.

And let's be real again, it was a little bit of a power trip for you too. Like, you're TONY'S girl. You know what that's more powerful than? Exactly. Anyone other than Tony's girl.

"What's your horse's name?" you asked.

"Pie-O-My."

"That's such a cute name!"

Dumbass name, you thought. But in all honesty you would've named a horse like Pickle or some shit so.

"Do you like horses? I should take you ta see her sometime."

You weren't a horse girl, even though you did have a small phase in middle school. "How could you not? They're so, like, otherworldly. Back in Colombia, my old boss used to have a zoo, and there were a bunch of horses there too."

"When were you in Colombia?"

You froze - you forgot. You're not Y/N, you're Y/N! You're supposed to be under a false identity! You can't just be revealing your past, Colombia was not supposed to be talked about! Have England Colombia not taught you anything?

"A long, long, long, long time ago. Long time. Looooong time," you said, smiling sheepishly and taking a nervous sip of your wine. This topic needed to be SKIPPED.

"For business?"

And then you forgot. Tony literally knows you're a fugitive. You are safe <3

You went on to expand about your brief but not-so-brief, actually extensive, time in Colombia, working for Pablo and committing heists with your girls. It seemed like another lifetime ago, but recounting it brought you such nostalgia, it made you happy to reminisce. Tony was eating it up too, he fucked with the fact that you weren't just no ordinary girl, no, you were a girl with a past. Dare I say, not like other girls at that. A criminal one, at that. To these macho mafiosos, seeing a girl do more than being a housewife is considered very exotic. 

"One time, in Colombia, I almost set off one of Pablo's bombas by accident," you giggled to yourself. Shit was crazy. "It was supposed to be a hit on someone and I opened the wrong door to the wrong car lol. Thank god it malfunctioned and didn't detonate, but ever since then my close experience with death has just taught me to live, laugh and love more, you know? He was reaalllyyy pissed at me, for like a minute. Then he got over it, cause like, it's never that serious, you know?"

You dug into your pasta, which had just been brought out. It was Alfredo, your favorite. You weren't sure how Alfredo was an exclusive dish, but whatevs. You felt the warmness go down through your intestines - deletable. You felt Mark Weins possessing your spirit.

Tony was in awe of your stories. 

"Wait, wait, Pablo's what?"

"Bombas. You know."

He still didn't comprehend. Ugh boys.

"Bomb bass?" you repeated.

"Boss Baby? Like that cartoon scientist prick?"

You'd never seen Boss Baby, but was pretty sure he wasn't a scientist. Just a baby in STEM. "No, Tony, bom-bas."

"Baz Luhrmann?"

"Oh my god, no, but I miss that summer," you said, thinking about that curse of a movie. "All that our love surviveeeesssss. So good. So good." 

You continued eating your pasta, imagining Jacob Elordi's face instead of Austin Butler. It helped with the nightmares.

"Wait, you mean bombs?" he whispered. 

"Yes, that!" you covered your mouth with your hand, still chomping away, "Sorry, all that time in Colombia I forgot English words. I should redownload Duolingo again."

"You can't say that around here. Not around Artie."

"Why not?"

"He's sensitive to subjects like that. Gets him all nervous." Tony then went on to basically play with his food by making his fork dance in and out of it, never actually accumulating more pasta. This was his fidgeting.

"You garbage disposal guys love to pretend you're all hard and shit."

He stopped. Again, he's offended. "What did you say?"

"Like, you pretend you're all hard, and shit, but then you're not. Okay, like, okay - Paulie doesn't like me cause I made a joke. A little joke and he got all butthurt."

"Yeah, cause you said that if he eats more than 12 grapes on New Years, he's cursed."

"Yeah, so what? His fat ass ate the entire bag. I had to make him feel bad for that. Reparations, honestly."

"You know Paulie, he's superstitious. And you weren't helping when you asked his zodiac sign or whatever bullshit."

"And what about Silvio, huh? So what if I've never seen the Godfather? How else is a normal person supposed to react if you just randomly say 'once I'm out they pull me back in'? Like, what? Back into what? I was being nice pretending I knew what he was talking about the first couple of times. I can only fake it til I make it so much."

Tony was growing more impatient. 

"And Christopher? Sorry if I didn't know that an Elf Bar would break his sobriety. I just thought he'd love to invest -"

"Listen, sweetheart, I gotta be honest with ya. My friends, they're not perfect, but they're my family. Let's not forget about the sanctity of loyalty and respect. So let's put this aside and enjoy each other's company, huh -"

"How's the food, huh?" Artie asked, suddenly appearing like an Gusteau's ghost. 

"It's great, Artie," Tony said, somewhat dismissively.

"Artie, you ATE this shit up! I'm gonna be sleeping sooooo good tonight!" you smiled. He smiled that you smiled. 

"Well thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" Artie then walked off, leaving you two to yourselves. He quickly turned around and came back. "Be sure to call if you feel you have food poisoning, though."

"Wait, what?" you asked, mimicking Trisha Paytas.

"Cause if you do have it, it's not my food," he chuckled. "Right, Ton'?"

With that ominous comment/inside joke that you really had no idea what he was talking about, he walked away laughing. Tony wasn't. He, underneath it all was fuming but holding it in. He didn't like to raise his voice in front of you, because he knew you would hit lengths that exceeded his. One of your favorite activities was to make guys feel stupid, and you were too good at that and he knew. Honestly, he was kinda scared of the power you held, like one of Pablo's bombas. 

You just shrugged it off and continued eating up your pasta. 

It was quiet. It wasn't an awkward quiet, just a 'who's gonna talk first to get us past this quiet' sort of quiet. You didn't care, you were being wined and dined for free. 

You then thought about how you could enhance the dish, like a wizard adding potions and his creation. You pointed to the parmesan. 

"What?" Tony asked, oblivious, munching. 

"Cheese, hellur?"

"The fuck is 'hellur'?'

You swallowed the food that prevented you from saying 'hello' correctly. 

"Like, hello. So, cheese, hello?"

"Why not say hello?"

"Tony, I don't make fun of you when you say things in Italian," you shot back. He couldn't know food delayed your speech. "Don't make fun of my language, xenophobia doesn't look good on you."

He passed the parm, again in awe. "You know, of all the women I've been with, you're the weirdest fucking one," he laughed to himself. 

"Awe, Tony, you're so sweet." You smiled. The bad quiet vibes had gone away and the good vibes had returned. So what if there was a boulder on the path? You walk AROUND it!

Fast forward to dessert. Artie brought you some cannolis because we're in an Italian restaurant remember. 

Tony was in the middle of being pretty vulnerable with you. You loved that type of shit, when a man opens up. It's like seeing them fully evolve to becoming a normal person and you were front row.

"The things I do, you know. It's to get food on the table for my kids. But they, they don't understand. Meadow does, she's still young, but AJ? I don't know about the poor kid. Stays in his room all day, on that fucking computer, listens to that metal bullshit -"

"He's just going through his emo era. We all have it, don't worry. Some worse than others. And, he's a boy. They all enjoy a little Reddit from time to time. But just cause you're a criminal, Tony, doesn't make you a villain. The IRS just love to hate, trust me, I know."

He appreciated that you cared. "Therapy helps too, or whatever."

"Awe, that's great Tony!"

"But don't tell anyone, or I'll get whacked."

"By who?"

"You know. My associates."

"That's nice that you play games with your associates. It should be more than just business, you know. Like, there should be room for some bonding time and exercises."

"What are you talking about?"

"Like, Whack-a-Mole. Isn't that what you were talking about?"

Tony laughed. You thought he got it, but he was just still confused and was actually laughing at the shit you just say. 

After the check (there was no check cause it's Tony Soprano), you two stopped by at Wawa to get some SpongeBob popsicles, cause those cannolis didn't hit that 'sumthin sweet' feeling. The flavor you got wasn't as good as his, despite being the same thing, so at every free opportunity when he wasn't looking you scooped a little of his. He started to notice as his popsicle shrunk and shrunk, getting hot at what you were doing. You didn't mind, you liked it sometimes when he got mad cause you thought it was funny you got to him like that. He got over it eventually, realizing that it's never THAT serious. 

Some time later you were back at his place, what your girls would call an 'open crib'. It was just you two, and as Nicki once said, the night was still young. The possibilities? Yeah, they're endless. You had to admit, you were getting impatient. You needed something and that something was NOW.

By the pool, you two were making out. Shit was getting heavy and the night was getting pretty fucking chilly. A little too chilly, like the Juicy tracksuit was cute asf, but let's be real not helping in the slightest. But you weren't just about to have that interrupt you. What's a little cold? People literally live in like, Russian tundra.

Still making out, you felt small droplets of water hit you. 

You broke from the kiss and said, quite sensually but not exactly meaning to, "I'm wet."

Tony chuckled with his goofy, excited smile. "Tell me more -"

He brought you back in for another kiss.  

You felt more of those droplets hit you. You broke your kiss off again.

"No, I'm actually wet."

As if on cue, the rain began to pour pretty hard, increasingly violent. He grabbed your arm and pulled you to go inside. You two laughed as you were drenched, trying to escape the heavy downpour on some rom-com bullshit. 

You slid your heels off and ran, you ran and ran. One thing you knew how to do - you knew how to ran. Your feet hit those puddles of water with such velocity, Tony could no longer catch up to you and lagged behind. Your hands let go - you couldn't wait for him. Once you were in this state, there was no breaking out of it. He was amazed at your abilities. You couldn't risk your makeup running. That's a big no-no, no?

Once inside, he brought you two towels and began drying you off. You caught a quick glimpse of your make up in the mirror, and needless to say, you needed JWoww to drop you that link of the setting spray she used cause shit was STUCK. Immovable.

"Thanks for the towel, Tony." you said. He winked at you, pulled his soaked shirt off and tossed it on the kitchen counter, then pulled out a jug of orange juice from the fridge, downing that bitch. Your eyes trailed from his body hair, down to his chest, to his belly, then his happy trail down to - oh. Oh there it is. 

"Peter, the horse is here." you said. That bulge was bulging. 

Tony clocked his head to you. 

You thought you said it in your head, but you actually said it loud and clear.

"Who the fuck is Peta?" he interrogated, getting scared into thinking someone else was in the house, or that maybe 'Peter' was someone you were seeing...

"My god Tony you're such a fucking boomer."

"Is Peter your boyfriend -"

"- oh SHUT UP TONY!" you said, before pouncing on top of him. You hugged him, and he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the dining table and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your sequin dress off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia," he says. "End of story!"

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the man from North Caldwell, New Jersey in. This is it. No Peta, no duck phone, no garbage disposal, nothing - just you and Tony.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Also, a heads up!  A friendly warning - DON'T tell me how long to make story. That is up to me, myself and I. Anyway this one's shorter so whatevs. 

xoxo, 

~ Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Fanfic Masterlist (Oldest-Latest)

So y'all don't have to scroll through my bible-length posts. ALWAYS updating ;) xoxo, Sam St. Clair

Aaron Taylor-Johnson's Butter

Johnny Knoxville's Valentine, Hasan Piker's Beyblade

Nathan Fielder's Frenchie

Javier Peña's Klepto

Kendall Roy's Princess

Pedro Pascal's Thespian

Tommy Shelby's Barmaid

Tony Soprano's Goomah

Joel Miller's Survivor

[samstclair]

Tommy Shelby's Barmaid

Tommy Shelby X Reader

Anonymous Request - 

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night Sammy Sammy yes I am! So check this out - I just saw Oppenheimer and came to the conclusion that I really miss seeing Cillian Murphy's face. So that night I began rewatching Peaky Blinders and am just in awe. So you know the point. I want to be his barmaid. No hate to Grace, love her, but let a girl just imagine. And that's where you come in. So yeah I wanna be his barmaid and sing to him. Maybe we're off to the races? Do your thing or else I'll might do a thing and report your account! :)

Word Count: pretty long

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

"And where are we off to, Miss?" 

"One ticket to London, please!" you told the airport cashier, (or whatever they're called I'm not sure tbh), with your gleeful, bimbo smile. "The UK, one, thought. Not the Ohio one! Can't have that happening again!"

The lady didn't respond, she instead gave you a soft customer service fake ass laugh pretending she knew full well what you were talking about and kept her eyes down on the computer, securing that flight. You no longer trusted yourself to use computers or laptops, thanks to those Benadryl pills you used to be addicted to. But now that you were evicted from your New York apartment, you lost those pills in the process, and honestly all of your personal shit, so you've been forced to quit cold turkey and was actually experiencing withdrawals at the very moment. But, you couldn't let anyone know this! You needed to leave America fast. 

"Okay, to confirm your name, Y/L/N, Y/F/N, correct?" 

"Yes, ma'am!" You passed her your credit card and she did her magic, charging you a fuck ton of money!

The printer pooped out your ticket and she passed both that and your card back to you. 

"Enjoy your flight. Safe travels," the lady wished you. 

"Oh my god, girl, you too!" you wished back. You turned around and found your terminal, buying an expensive Starbucks drink of your choice and plopping your big butt down on a chair. You sat and looked around, sipping your coffee like a mother, taking in your surroundings of this little JFK airport they got going on. 

"I'm really a world traveler right now...like, I'm on some Lewis and Clark shit right now," you thought to yourself. 

You looked down at your luggages, or perhaps, just luggage. All that remained after your eviction just filled one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase you bought from TJ Maxx. You also had your rare vintage Juicy Couture purse you bought from Depop, thats faux leather was literally peeling off like dead skin, filled with all your essentials - lip gloss, nearly dead Elf Bar, crumpled up two-year-Goodwill old receipts, wired headphones because that's what cool people use walking down the street, crystals, loose hair ties, a baby Calico Critter, wire-exposed phone charger, and more that aren't too important to mention. You did miss all your other knick knacks and items that were lost, but since you were traveling light you 1. saved more money since it was just carry-on and 2. looked mysterious, just a girl on the road on her own adventure. 

"After all, items are just like - items. Things." you thought, trying to convince yourself that all material items are just not real and people don't really need those things. This is what you repeated to yourself over and over but in all honesty it wasn't helping. You were fucking pissed you lost all your shit. 

With all your items was your go-to airport fit - a Juicy baby blue tracksuit. So now you resorted to old PJ's you had shoved to the bottom depths of your drawer, wrinkled to the house boots down and forgotten of existence. They were a pair of Nike shorts and a baby tee that read "I <3 Surfer Boys". You then looked down to your white Crocs with the knock-off Jibblitz - the ootd would just have to do. 

As you sat in your terminal, waiting, you thought about what adventures UK would bring to you. You wondered what people you'd encounter, what new storylines you'd get wrapped into, what NPCs would say to you - it really did feel like you were fast-traveling into another country in a video game. 

Safe to say, you were ready for liftoff! Whenever that liftoff! would be because your flight was delayed like three times cause that's just airport things! This was the start of a new adventure! New and humble beginnings! No more America and their never-ending obsession with you committing financial fraud or whatever the IRS loved to say! But never mind that don't ask don't PUSH!!!!!!

Some hours later, you were finally able to board your flight. By this time, let's just say - people were fucking pissed about their flight being delayed, but you didn't really mind it. Yes, you were in a big time rush to leave America as soon as possible, but all that time waiting allowed you to finish the only downloaded show on your phone: LPS Popular. Shit was finally getting heated, Savannah Reed was def the no nonsense type of girl you envisioned yourself to be. 

Anyway whatever you boarded on, took your window seat and went through the usual bullshit of waiting for everyone to board on and take off and turbulence and random ass baby crying and shitty food and whatever. 

About a half hour in the sky, you looked through the catalogue of movies available - none which caught your interest. 

However, after scrolling for another half hour - you found the one. 

"Oh my god, a movie about two lovers flying in the sky staring Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams?!" you thought excitedly. "That's some good shit right there."

You hit that play button, scooted deeper into that seat, propped your patas up, and was subsequently locked IN for the short ass movie Red Eye. 

The majority of the plot went over your head because you were to entranced with the Irish actor's cunty little face, sassy little attitude and blue big orbs for eyes, causing you to replay certain scenes over and over. (Specifically that bathroom scene. You didn't miss SHIT there). That hour and a half passed by and the movie had finished. Safe to say, you were NOT expecting any of that shit to go down.

"If that were me, I'd call that fucking hotel before he even told me to. Shit. I get Mark Wahlberg, if I was on that plane, things really would have gone differently," you thought, shaking your head. ]

After your almost seven hour flight, you had finally made it to London Town. It was indeed a stormy day, he was right, but you could go outside and roam around, contrary to popular belief. In order to prep for this trip, you stuck to just watching British films, trying to get an overall vibe of what those little redcoats were like. Pride and Prejudice (2005), Love Actually, Trainspotting, Little Women (Greta's version), Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon - let's just say, your Letterboxd was going crazy. You sobbed pretty disgustingly to all of them, except Trainspotting and Clockwork, which made you feel just icky. And Barry Lyndon just made you angry fuck that guy fr. 

A/N - I just realized that Little Women, both Greta's version and the older 90s Winona Ryder one take place, in FACT, America. Oops! So yeah disregard move on u horndog <3

You once thought you were well-rounded on what chaos was, after all, you've been 1. in theater school, 2. briefly in the Medellin cartel, 3. worked in corporate America - but all of those experiences looked like fun Sunday pastimes the moment you stepped your fat butt off of the plane into London's Heathrow airport. Nothing could've prepped you for this shit. Too many people all doing different things in different directions was NOT your favorite place to be in! Let's just say - shit was hectic. 

You boarded off, left your terminal and gathered your one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and bolted the fuck out, running at your highest speed possibly, your Crocs locked in their sports mode, you just ran. It's what you did best, your superpower some might say. Maybe since Ezra Miller is canceled for being a kidnapper, you could possibly replace the Flash? Who knows tbh. 

You ran so fast, miles and miles, (kilometers here!), you didn't realize you were now standing in front of the Big Ben. It was, admittedly, pretty big. Too bad you couldn't read time like that. 

You looked down to your phone to see your receipt - you needed to be back in three hours for your next flight to Glasgow, Scotland - your actual destination. This London shit? Yeah it was only a layover. But you couldn't miss it. 

You ended up missing it. You fell asleep on the big red bus, thinking you could sneak a little tour in before having to return for your next flight. By the time you woke up, it was morning, and you were alone, just you and your carry on. 

"Ello Miss? Miss?" 

Your eyes fluttered, adjusting to the brightness. A big English dude with missing and fucked up teeth was poking you awake. 

"Bro what?" you muttered, pushing yourself up. 

"Miss, it seems you've drifted off to sleep," the man said.

"Wait," you collected your thoughts, looked around at your surroundings, then down to your phone - your flight was seven hours ago. You felt your heart fall to the acidic pits of your stomach - 

"Ain't no fucking way I'm stuck in London", you blurted out.  "AIN'T NO FUCKING WAY!"

As if you took ten shots of DayQuil, you jumped up, scrambled for your shit and rocked the bus side to side as your Crocs took you across it, out to the exit and back onto the cobblestone streets of London Town. It was cloudy as always. 

"Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no. NO I CAN'T DO THIS I CAN'T!" you yelled, running back towards the direction of that hell of an airport. You needed to get back. You NEEDED to get back to Scotland, you literally saw Trainspotting just for Scotland!

But alas, it was too late. By the time you made it back to Heathrow, there was no refunding. You would have to pay another fat BUCK to get on another flight. 

"Oh fuck that," you told the English lady. You walked back out, no way this little kingdom was gonna make a profit off of your ass. "I'd rather walk!"

And then you began to walk. Not run, you were a little hungry and needed some energy for that amount of dedication. 

You stopped by a tea place and thought that you might as well have a crumpet or whatever, which sucked ass. They charged so much for what?  A pastry with like three grams of sugar? Girl bye. 

You sat on the curb, looking down at your phone and opening a map, you could literally just walk to Scotland. Yeah it'd be a pretty fat walk, but you might get a crazy BBL ass for free from all the walking. 

"Babes? Are you alroight?" you heard a strong British voice call. You turned and there it was - a chav. A real fucking chav. 

"Oh my god, you guys exist?"

She furrowed her dark over-filled brows as she smacked her nude-lipsticked lips on a piece of gum. There were other chavs behind her, all bleach blonde, overly tan and red ass cheeks. It was like your friend group, but in an alternate universe. 

"Wot?" she asked again, more confused than offended. 

"Listen girl, I don't know if you can tell - but I'm not from here. I need to get to from the UK to Scotland. How does a girl like me do that?"

"Babes? Yor in the UKay, loike, this is London?"

"Huh?" you asked, like Trisha Paytas in the car. 

"Babes," another chimed in, "the UKay is loike, mooltiple places poot into one? Loike, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales -"

"Oh, so they're all like, the same?"

Their faces dropped with fear. 

"Babes, don't say that. I've just met you, but I'd definitely tell you loike, don't say that around other peepol," the main chav warned. 

"Especially the Irish, yeah," another said. "They'd be mentool."

"Oh, no worries here. I'm an ally to all," you assured, "so do you know where I can rest for the night?"

"Babes!" the chav said excitedly, "I've got family in Birmingham! It's up norf, already on the way for yor travels! I'll text me nana so you can stay there fo free!"

"Babes," you said, you're cheap frugal ass getting hyped, "you're such a babe! Thanks girlie!"

You ended up dropping some money to take an Underground from London to Birmingham, because you then really realized your Crocs could only momentarily take you so far. Also, tat withdrawal wasn't doing you any favors. Anyway you enjoyed the ride, drinking some complimentary tea with your headphones in and disassociating as you looked out the window into the cement walls. You started to regret not bringing some sort of sweater because who would've thought a baby tee and Nike shorts would be enough. Shit was chilly. 

You stepped off into the platform, feeling a strong GUST of wind rush past you. You first kinda enjoyed it like it was some sort of main character moment, but the moment that ghastly smell of smoke hit your nostrils - you went frozen like Mitch McConnell. 

"Jeeeeeesus CHRIST!" you bellowed, "who fucking farted?"

You looked around, but soon became even more confused. Everyone was giving you the hardest stares you've ever received in your lifetime. But it wasn't their stares, no, you've been stared at before for worst things, it was cause of their - fits. 

Everyone was dressed like some 1900s shit. It reminded you of the show Downton Abbey, the show your old boss Logan Roy used to binge. Little particles of what looked like dandruff floated around you and everything else just seemed gray. 

"Wait, are you guys filming?" you asked in your bimbo self, smiling, "did I just walk onto set?"

No one replied. They really thought you were insane. There you were - rough looking, mid-withdrawal, I <3 Surfer Boys, old high school Nike shorts, Crocs, Five Below socks, Dollar Store sunnies, Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and Juicy bag, Elf bar in one hand and your phone with dangling earbuds wrapped around it. They were petrified. 

You grew angry. You just stood there as they stood there too - both you and the Downton Abbey cosplayers were in a stand off.  

"Okay whatever," you said, rolling your eyes. "Stay hating!"

You whipped around and began walking down the pavement, calling, or as the English say "ringing", that chav's nana. However, it rang and rang, you dialed and dialed, the lady was not picking up. 

"Um, what the fuck?" you said looking down at your phone, "can this girl pick up?"

You continued to dial, your other hand to your waist like a Karen. You continued to look around as it rang, really impressed with the set. 

It had been very foggy, and the cobblestone roads led down between old brick buildings where people in their 1920's costumes walked along, smoking and dodging the occasional explosion from the coal-burning coming from inside the buildings. Horses were trotting, carrying hay and other shit. People were yelling in their crazy accents and the dandruff kept raining down. Pillars up in the sky let out dark clouds of smoke. That gross exhaust smell still lingered, and no matter how much Nicki Minaj body spray you put on yourself, there was no way to mask it. 

"Great. I'm homeless AGAIN!" you thought, giving up on that nana. "Whatever. I didn't even want a roof to sleep under anyway. C'est la vie honestly."

The stares did not cease. In fact, it got worse. You knew you were hot but like what the fuck can't a girl just walk and bitches mind their business?

Things were getting worse. The cobblestone ass road made it hard for you to pull your suitcase, so you were just essentially dragging it, you phone was on ten percent, you were hungry and thirsty because let's be real you did not eat much on that train, and honestly just over it. 

You passed all the workers, dodged some random explosions, evaded random running children, spit some of that dandruff out of your mouth. Safe to say, you were angry but needed to persevere!

Eventually it was nighttime. You couldn't really tell if it was night or if it was just the pollution in the air at first, but after asking a random man he assured you it was indeed nighttime. 

"I don't know how you guys live with all this dandruff," you told him, shaking your head. "You guys must be getting paid good as extras."

"Dandruff?" the man said, "that's ash, luv!"

"Thank god, that makes more sense. I was thinking I was gonna need to buy some Heads and Shoulders. I hate Heads and Shoulders."

He continued to look at you weird while he smoke his, what you were pretty sure in the span of you two talking, sixth cigarette. "Heads and shoulders? Fuck are they to do with your hair?"

"I know, horrible branding. I feel bad for the people in Pompeii. They probably thought it was like, a dandruff epidemic."

Eventually the man directed you to the Garrison, which was supposed to be this pub or whatever that all the locals hit up. You really just wanted a drink of water and like Taco Bell or something. Maybe a "Macky D's"? By the time you made it to the establishment, it was midnight, since you took forever cause you kept getting lost. 

It was situated in a weird spot, where several men would occasionally run out and throw up bad on the dirt floor. It sounded hella noisy and rough in there, which was something you were not looking forward to. But again, you're hungry. 

"I'm fucking starving," you thought to yourself as you pushed those heavy doors open, your suitcase getting caught in them. A surge of anger caused you to yank it past the swinging door, causing the it to slam against the wall and crack the glass. You got scared cause you didn't wanna pay for it, so you applied the "hear nothing, see nothing" tactic. It always worked <3

Nothing could've prepared you for when you entered. The energy was just not it. Heathrow vibes for sure. Hoards of drunk ass English men doing, well, things that drunk English men do. They were yelling, cursing, fighting, just being overall very annoying and overwhelming. It took you by surprise, you were just in awe that English were real. It was literally like a Call of Duty lobby but the English colonized it as they always do.  

"These motherfuckers are crazy bro," you thought to yourself, getting a seat at the bar. The bartender made his way to you, and after some hesitation on his end, he finally spoke. 

"Em, what can I get you, ma'am?" he asked, looking at you confused. 

"Y'all got a menu?" 

"I'm sorry?"

"Food, bro. I want food." You were not having it. 

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid there's just drinks here."

"Fine, fucking alcoholics," you said, holding in your hangriness, "what about water?"

"Huh," he thought, "no one ever asks for water. I forgot we served it!"

He turned around and as he began to pour some crusty water into a dusty glass, you felt a tap on your shoulder. But before you could even turn to ask what the fuck whoever wanted what, another big burly English drunk dude was all up in your face. 

"ELLO MISS! MIGHT I HAVE A CHANCE AT BUYIN' YA A DRINK?"

You were flabbergasted. Dude REEKED of some ale. 

"Uh, you stink," was all you could muster, pressing your fingers on your nose. 

His face fell into a very angry one. "YOU FOOCKIN' JEZEBEL!"

You weren't sure what 'jezebel' meant so you just rolled your eyes and turned back to the new glass of water placed in front of you by the bartender, and before he could walk off you downed the entire thing. He, too, like McConnell, was frozen at your abilities. 

"Sorry about that man, Miss," the bartender said as he poured you another. "You're very pretty. Must be getting used to it by now around here."

"Yeah, like, about that," you started, taking your time with the water this time because you didn't know how much they had left in this place, "why is everyone cosplaying? Like, people here are DEEP into their character, which, don't get me wrong - I respect. I used to be a theater major myself, so I get it. But this is like, crazy. I know the English love their theater, but god."

The bartender, with a hypothetical gun to his head, could not for the life of him understand what the fuck you meant. You kinda got that vibe when he didn't reply right away. He actually looked worried for your mental wellbeing. 

"Um, why did you just like, disassociate?" you asked. 

"I'm sorry, Miss," he chuckled nervously, "you've just confused me, is all."

"Yeah, all that alcohol is giving you that early onset dementia. Do you know where I can get food around here?"

"Hmm," he thought, "I don't really know, to be honest with ya. And it's quite late, so I'm not sure what's open."

You could cry. You hated being hungry and tired at the same time, added to literally everything else that was happening around you. You were able to tune out the drunken men yelling behind you, but only to a point - mama was close to blowing. 

"Oh my GOD," you started. "WHAT'S A GIRL TO DO TO GET SOME FUCKING FOOD AROUND HERE?!" you caught yourself. The bartender was growing more concerned. "I'm sorry," you cleared your voice, "it's just like, your queen for real sucked."

"Queen?" he asked. 

"Wow, you're really dedicated to the craft. Like I said, I respect." You continued to drink your water. 

"How'd you end up here in London, anyway?" he asked, leaning against the counter. You later found out his name was Harry, like Styles. 

"Oh, buddy," you said, "what a story I have for you."

You then began to blabber on about what brought you to this point, which helped because it made you forget about your current grievances. Soon, the entire pub went dead quiet, tuned in to your story time. You felt like Tana Mongeau, and these were your viewers. You get why the majority of YouTubers were lowkey conceited. (Not Tana though she's funny love you girl <3). It was like a big kindergarten story time. 

About half an hour later, you were mid-way through. 

"And so, when my boss literally fucking died, I was like, 'oh shit, I've like lost my job by like, proxy'? It was scary."

"How'd he pass?" one of the drunk men asked. 

"Dude, get this. He died getting his phone out of the toilet. Like, some Elvis shit," realizing they wouldn't get what you just said, you thought it best to move right on, "anyway, I was like, 'maybe this is a good time to move on, maybe America isn't the place for me.' I was also wanted by the Men in Black, too. They don't fuck around."

"Who's the Men in Black?" Harry asked. 

"The IRA were after ya?" another asked, in shock.

"I. R.S. It's not important. So, after he died, one of his kids had to be chosen to take over the company. Imagine like a Game of Thrones sort of thing. My on-and-off boyfriend, Kendall, is the oldest so you'd think it'd be him, right? Like, his name was underlined and everything. Or crossed out, you know, is the dress blue and black or white and gold? The day of, I snuck into the building for the board meeting. I wasn't supposed to be there, cause you know, I'm not a share holder or whatever, but I thought 'if I act like nothing happened, maybe technically I'm NOT fired cause my boss died, maybe nobody will say anything?' Confidence takes you a loooong way let me tell you! So at the board meeting, I voted Kendall, but his stupid home alone ass brother Roman was like 'oh YOU'RE still here?'. Then he told me to fuck off and that I should've died with Logan? Could you believe that?"

They were all in shock, muttering angry English curse words to each other. 

"And then I was like, 'no fuck you. What ever happened to democracy? I don't have a vote?'. But whatever, Kendall didn't win and he left the building. No, Horton Hears a Who Tom won, and while everybody was celebrating I was like, 'guys? GUYS! ALL EYES ON WINDOWS! WHERE DID KENDALL GO? All eyes on windows!'. Then I got like, kicked out or whatever. I kept spamming Kendall, texting him and calling him and nothing. Like 'Kenny, wya???'. He was ghosting me. Then I saw right after he put his phone on Do Not Disturb. Targeted, really. I saw his location at Central Park, facing the water, and this had me WORRIED. Kendall and bodies of water? Yeah they don't mix well. I needed to talk to him before he jumped! But when I got there, his new dumbass body guard was like, 'Can you leave? He's not seeing anyone'. I kept calling him, and he wouldn't turn to look at me. He was like, mega dissociating watching that horizon."

"Must've killed him that he's no longer the number one boy," a drunken English man said, somber. 

"Def," you said.

"So you and Kendall?" another asked.

"No more. He never picked up, so I thought we were done," the men in the bar were devastated. "Yeah, really sad. I already mourned, though. So, yeah, I was like, 'what do I do now?' Logan gave me some money, so I can really just do anything? I was walking down the streets of New York and saw a random man in a suit I thought was the IRS, and it hit me - I'm lowkey a fugitive? I need to like, leave. Logan isn't there to protect me anymore, you know? And then it hit me - I'll go to Scotland! In Logan's honor! Like, his hometown. Plus, I thought Scotland didn't have extradition, but it was actually Venezuela. But it's okay, same shit. And that's why I'm here."

"But this is Birmingham?" another man said. 

"Oh, yeah, don't worry I fully aware. But yeah, that's it."

Again, the pub had been silent. They'd been intrigued, captivated. You waited for someone to speak up and break the silence, but about two minutes later you realized that wasn't gonna happen. 

"Okay? Anyway, so nothing to eat here?" you asked Harry. 

He shook his head, stunned. You then slowly crept off the chair, gathered your shit and saw your way out. "Weirdos," you thought. 

You exited back out, it was now fully dark with few lampposts shining light onto the falling dandruff. It all reminded you of exactly where you were - stuck. 

You slumped against the wall, onto the ground where you didn't see any of the mud that splashed all over your shorts. You were too tired and over it to give a fuck. You pulled out your phone, and saw the battery on 2%. 

"Man FUCK!" you exclaimed, "I know damn well none of these Lin Manuel Miranda stans built an electric socket." 

You went on to scroll mindlessly through your feed, which barely loaded because of the lack of signal. You were in the middle of spamming the refresh button until you received a notification from Snapchat that read, "One Year Ago Today". You clicked it open, forgetting you still had that app downloaded, and its contents nearly pushed you over the edge to start balling. 

You clicked play. 

"Oh, don't be a pussy, Greggguh!"

"Mumusdsfjks," Greg said, shoving more marshmallows into his mouth, "Chubb Bunif."

"Sorry, buddy, couldn't hear you!" Tom said, giddy, shoving his own marshmallow down Greg's mouth.

"You got it Greg!" you heard yourself say. 

You wanted to cry. You wished you could just go back to Waystar in that moment, playing the Chubby Bunny challenge with gay lovers Tom and Greg. 

"Man, I miss them," you thought. But alas, that was all gone now...

You quickly closed the video, going to your bank app to see how much money remained. After all, Logan DID leave you with enough, but you couldn't help yourself on those McDonald's breakfast orders through Uber Eats.  

Your tears quickly evaporated like they were put through the snap of Thanos when you got a glance of your credit score though. Oh no. 

"OH MY GOD?!??! MY CREDIT IS AT 400????!!? I'M LIKE, FUCKED?!???!"

"What's a credit score?"

You nearly shit yourself at the deep, sullen voice. You looked up and let's just say - you were intimidated. It's the terrorist dude from Red Eye. He wore a flat cap and a tweed little suit type of fit. 

But it wasn't the tweed that had you transfixed - no, it was those eyes....they were familiar. The last time you felt power of being in a trance like that were those Furbies... it forced you to look at them, you had lost all ability of self-control. They made you question yourself, your purpose and whole life being. They were commanding you with their uncanny valley vibe. Their immense gravity caused all time to slow...

"Dude, put those away!" you yelled, forcing your eyes shut and looking away. 

He didn't reply. 

"I'm sorry," you giggled, realizing he wasn't gonna reply to you and instead just stood there. "I'm just really hungry. You got anything?"

He thought for a moment. "Actually...we don't eat." He had a little sassy, matter-of-factly tone of speaking you fucked with heavily. 

"Yeah, that's why your official dish is tikka masala," a glance of that dish popped into your head. "Man I could fuck that up right now."

"I can take you to my office, I might have something there," he said. You agreed right after, anything would have to do. Little did you know, this would be the man who would save you. Not in a self-fulfilling sense but he'd grab you something to eat. 

You two made it to his office, some ways away. It was just a big ass dark room with tables in the middle, which you would later find out the betting on his horse racing took place. 

You sat down and he took off his coat and goofy ass hat, then went to the back for a moment. You looked around, you felt like you were in a dungeon. You looked down to your phone - shit was dead. 

He came back moments later, with a single loaf of bread he placed in front of you. He then took a seat across from you, took out a cigarette and did what the English do best, smoke. 

You were a bit taken aback, and it definitely showed, since his little sassy face got more sassier. 

"Well?" he bellowed, motioning to the food.

"Honestly," you started, not wanting to offend cause he did scare you (in a hot way), "I don't know what more I was expecting. I know Panera bread when I see it."

You began to eat, he just watched you. You would be annoyed had this been anyone else, but man was too fine. 

Some minutes went by, and he just smoked while you ate. He was definitely a man of few words. 

"You're so mysterious," you said. "Is that your character?"

He took in a big puff and put his feet up on the table like he owned the place, cause he literally did. "You don't belong here."

"Yeah, no fucking shit. I'm supposed to be in Scotland."

"What's in Scotland?" he asked, tapping his cigarette into an empty whiskey glass. 

"Bagpipes, I've heard."

He then leaned to the side, grabbing his cigarette case out and offering you one. You declined. 

"It's okay, I don't like cigarettes. They're gross," you went inside your bag and pulled out your crusty geriatric Elf Bar that was on life support, "here, try this! She's my sidekick!"

He stared at it, not a thought behind those eyes. He then rose up. 

"What about a whiskey, eh?" He went to a table against the wall and poured two glasses. You shrugged at his decline of your Elf Bar, and took some shitty hits cause girl it's dead give it up. 

As he had his back to you pouring the glasses, you really thought about how manly he was, in a way all those Ryan Gosling Drive stans love. He reminded you of those mafia boss fanfics you used to read. The way he spoke was so low and serious, but it made your feet rock like crazy!

He turned back around and placed your glass in front of you. Before he sat, he took a swing of his and literally drank it all in one shot like an animal. Wanting to impress him, you did the same, but soon regretted it right after. You'd tried whiskey before, but that was just not good. It was so strong it burned your esophagus, causing you to feel like you had strep throat all over again. You nearly gagged and threw it up but you couldn't let Tommy see you that way. He was staring. 

"Jesus Christ," you said in a raspy, chain smoker voice, trying to smile through the pain, "that's some real shit right there. I'd much prefer a BuzzBall."

"What brings you to the UK?" he asked again, a little more interrogating. 

"Fine. I'm avoiding parole."

"Parole?"

"Have you ever been on parole?" you asked. 

He took a moment, your question hit hard. "Ever since men like me got back from France, we've always felt we were on parole under the king." He had a sadness to it, which then made you kinda sad. 

"Aww, you're a parole baby <3."

He rose his brows in a "yeah this girl off it" way. 

"Does France give you bad memories?" you asked, wanting to know both out of being a nosy bitch and seeing if you could break him. 

"Most nights," he said. 

"Don't worry, me too."

"You served?"

"I might has well have," you replied, thinking of that past life living with your old boyfriend. 

"I wasn't aware women served."

"We always do," you assured. You kept looking into his eyes like it was a staring contest. 

"What's it you're looking at?"

"You have a very, no-nonsense cunty face. Like BBL," you first smiled telling him that, but it then reminded you of when you told your old boyfriend Kendall the same thing. The thought of him made you sad, you wondered where your number one boy was now...

You didn't realize but Tommy noticed your change in demeanor, initially believing you were thinking about your time during the war in France. He rose and grabbed another drink, placing one in front of you as he killed his in less than a second. 

You snapped out of your sadness. "Oh, no thanks. I don't think I can have anymore. This trip will definitely be very detoxing for me."

You two then sat in comfortable silence for some time, as if you two were both mourning after the innocence lost before France. You were something different for him, a new comfort he couldn't find much else in that polluted ass city. And you found comfort in him, he really did seem like he needed fixing. But that's not what you do, no no, he's a grown ass man and can fix himself. You'll just watch from the sidelines <3. 

Eventually, you stayed in Birmingham. Once you were aware that your money had no value in the UK, you realized you needed to be employed again to save up for Scotland. Dollars, turns out, did not equal shillings and pounds or whatever. Tommy hooked you up after finding out your situation and generously gave you a job at the Garrison as a barmaid, along with Harry, who in time, became your BFF. It wasn't that hard of a job, these men never mixed any drinks and would instead have their alcohol straight like a bunch of monsters, so you kinda ate at this job. Another perk was that these 1920s bitches loved thin eyebrows, so your Y2K overplucked eyebrows fit right in! Full circle shit!

But perhaps the best perk was when Tommy would come in every so often and give you a little LOOK. Oh that shit made you rabid yes it did! It made you all hot down there and you couldn't handle it! You two barely spoke, as he would go into the side room for meetings and whatever mumbo jumbo he got up to with his brothers, but when you did you did your best to bring out that old femme fatale. You knew damn well he'd fuck that shit up. And let's be real so did you. 

You knew that you had Tommy in your CLUTCH when he was once lecturing you - basically there was talk about some Billy Kimber dude amongst him and his brothers and the members of the gang, but you couldn't get past how fun it was to say the man's name, especially in their wild ass accent. You kept incessantly shouting it, to what you thought was a joke, "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA" in every possible moment you could, but it would send all the men into a paranoid shock thinking Billy boy was just around the corner. Obviously, he wasn't, in fact you couldn't point out who Billy Kimber was in a crowd of English, but let's just say - it sent them for a sheer panic. They would constantly tell Tommy to get you to stop, since it was bringing back war trauma basically and never felt fear like that since the war. You personally thought they were being a bunch of pussies but whatevs. 

Anyway Tommy found you at the bar after closing and wanted to have a serious talk with you - no more random BILLY FACKIN KIMBA. As he was lecturing you on the dangers of it, you actually started to disassociate in those eyes of his. You then started to think, 

"What if I just grabbed his hat?"

Those intrusive thoughts grew stronger and stronger as the moments flew by and the more his voice became a bunch of muffled nothing. And they won. 

"GOTCHA HAT!" you spat before taking his flat cap off and running with it, jumping over the bar on some parkour shit and pushing those doors open onto the grimy streets of Birmingham, in an excited manic.  You ran for nothing, since you didn't notice in the adrenaline of it all he didn't move an inch and instead just stood at the bar, stumped. From that point on, he knew you weren't like other girls. Cause let's be real who in their right fucking mind would do that to Tommy Shelby? You did girl xoxo <3

But when your image with Tommy REALLY hit home for the guy, it was one night. One very special night...

You were working the night shift at the Garrison, again. It was another rainy day in London Town, and you were all alone cleaning up. You started to think about Gabbie Hanna, and how low key right she was. You continued to rap to yourself, 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overworked, overpaid. I'm on top of the world sitting pretty ♪ -" 

The doors flew open, causing you to jump pretty high up. You looked to the entrance, it was Tommy. And man was drenched and tired looking, your fave combo. 

He walked over, behind the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was always a little emo and to himself, but something about him now was really depressing, like man's definitely going through it.

He then took a seat at a table, and looked at you with dead eyes. 

"What's with the frown?" you asked, trying to lighten up the mood but was severely unsuccessful. (Unbeknownst to you he literally just had to put down a horse he thought was cursed :/ it's a canon event!)

He didn't reply. Surprise surprise instead he just drank his whiskey done. You chewed your gum, clueless. 

You just continued to clean, continuing Gabbie's rhyme in your head. 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overwork, underpaid ♪ -"

"Can you sing?"

You turned around again. He fr sounded sad asf. It shocked you, cause did he like, read your mind or sum? 

"Uh, yeah. You want me to sing?"

"Every barmaid knows how to sing."

"Okay, sure. Like acapella?"

He just stared at you, lost again with your mumbo jumbo. 

"Well, I know Lana, I know Nicki, my ex had a song L to the OG-"

"Lana. She sounds nice."

You nodded. "She really is, I love her. Okay, I think I know a song."

"Stand up there," he pointed to a table. You were a bit hesitant, the last time you did that you ate shit like that one girl on YouTube who was also singing on a table and ate shit. But it was for Tommy so you did so anyway. 

You climbed up, took out your gum, flicked it in a bucket, cleared your throat, moved your hair out of your face, and fixed your posture - this was your Pose moment tonight, and Tommy's Billy Porter. 

You then started to sing White Mustang by Lana, but the moment you got to the chorus, which was, well, White Mustang, he told you to stop. 

"Something else, please," he asked demanding yet softly.

"What? Too close to home? Don't worry, Lana does that," you assured, "here, I'll sing a song that hits close to me, it's called How to disappear, it's what do when I'm trying to run from the IRS."

You cleared your throat again and started to sing and girl you ATE THAT SHIT!!!!!

You hit those fucking notes, you were lost in your little own world envisioning yourself in a music video. You understood why America's Got Talent contestants were nervous, cause the pressure? Yeah it's real. And not only is Tommy Billy Porter, he's also Simon Cowell - a yes from that Brit would secure your spot.

Speaking OF Tommy, because momentarily you forgot he was there with you - the man was enthralled, ENCHANTED. He sat silently, the rainwater dripping down his face, as he was taking in every small gesture you made, taking in every musical note that came out of your BBL mouth, (even the voice cracks), and just taking, well, you in. At that very moment, he was in love. YOU were the femme fatale he needed in his life, the one that would complete him, make him feel whole, and would give him purpose. 

Once you were finished, you snapped back into reality and realized you actually weren't in a music video. You looked to Tommy, whose face barely made any other emote other than the one where he looked like he was annoyed, staring up at you. A wave of anxiety flooded over you - you were the center of his world right now, and that pressure was too hot!

You quickly climbed down, and flashed him a big smile. 

"So?" you asked, now LITERALLY feeling more grounded on the ground. 

He didn't respond at first. Moments later, he did. 

"Do you have something nice to wear?"

"Like what?"

"A dress?"

"Um," you thought, trying to remember the contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase, "maybe. Why?"

He rose up, getting ready to leave from the fear and insecurity of the emotions he just experienced. "I want to take you to the races."

"We're gonna race?"

"Horses. Horse races," he corrected you, making his way to the exit. "Be ready by tomorrow, I'll collect you before noon."

"Oh my god, like a date?" you were too slow to come to the conclusion because by that time he'd already left. The excitement quickly mixed in with the anxiety, which wasn't the best feeling in the world. You knew in anticipation for tomorrow you were gonna need SOMETHING to take the edge off, so before closing up you snatched some bottles of alcohol to take to your flat. You weren't really sure what exactly they were, but what you did know was that it was gonna taste like fucking ass. But when mama needs her go go juice, she TAKES her go go juice.

The following morning you woke up at the crack ass of dawn to get ready - you knew you needed TIME. Not that it takes a while for you to get all pretty, girl you're already naturally stunning! but time and place - you needed to stunt today. Also, you already weren't a morning person so you didn't trust yourself to snooze. Actually, you barely slept at all last night since you were too caught up about what makeup you were gonna do, how you were gonna style your hair, what dress to wear and most of all, your ass was just asked out by Tommy. You wondered if this is how nervy the soldiers felt when they encountered bin Laden's bunker. 

You had already finished your makeup and hair, looking pretty snatched. Too bad your phone's been dead for the past couple of weeks and you couldn't take pictures. But anyway you did the usual 1920's makeup tutorial you remember watching on some Buzzfeed video a while ago, pretending you were doing a Vogue makeup tutorial in your mirror and talking step by step your process. You curled your hair into the 1920's bob they were obsessed with back then, packing on an obscene amount of gel just to keep that wave stiff. You struggled but nonetheless you got it girl. 

You were now staring at the remaining contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase - let's just say, you had nothing. That's a lie you did have SOMETHING but was it appropriate for the time? No. Like if you're going to the Renaissance Fair, your ass isn't gonna wear some Skims ass dress. But guess what? That's actually all you had. 

It was a black, tight, spaghetti-strap slip-on dress that was above the knee - definitely NOT the vibe for the era, maybe a bit too revealing? But what other choice do you have? You're I <3 Surfer Boys tee? Exaaaaactly. 

You slipped it on and was taken aback - you know how you forget how good you look when it's been a while since you've dressed up and you actually surprise yourself? Yeah that was you right now. Kim would be proud to see you in that dress, in fact, she'd probably cheer you on to wear it proudly at the races. Even though she wasn't your favorite sister, you imagining her company right now really did help.  

You kept feeling yourself in the mirror - girl you looked GOOD. You put on some black heels, some perfume and that was it - you were simply that bitch now. 

"Oh my god," you thought to yourself, "Tommy's gonna flip. Shit, I'd get with me."

And just like that, you heard the honks of a car coming from outside your flat. You peered through the window, and there you saw some vintage, rinky dink ass car. 

"Oh, fuck!" you shouted, mainly to yourself, but they heard. "Coming!" you called out the window. 

It was actually happening - oh fuck he's here oh yes he is. Quickly, you grabbed one of the bottles you confiscated and took the fattest swig. It was the most horrendous, grotesque warm vodka you've ever consumed. But it would have to do.

You quickly made it downstairs, taking a moment before appearing outside to calm yourself down and make it seem as if you effortlessly just went down some stairs without a care or worry in the world. You made sure to grab a fur coat, faux of course, and your keys. 

Down by the car was Tommy in the driver's seat, with his two brothers, Arthur and John, seated in the back. They all looked at you in awe - they had never seen so much of a woman's legs in their entire life. 

"Bloody foockin' hell, Tommy! What do we have here?!" Arthur exclaimed. 

"Jesus, Tommy," said John, "I didn't think it was bloody possible for you!"

Tommy stared at you for a few seconds longer, a bit taken aback himself. 

Tommy ignored his brothers and exited his side, helping you into the passenger's. You got a whiff of his cologne that brought out an animalistic, innate horndogness of you that you remembered to keep in check. Now was not the time but it was admittedly hard cause the man just looked so good. 

He climbed back into his side, then started driving off, the cobblestone road causing you to feel even more nauseous than you already did. You didn't realize it, but you were mute for the first ten minutes from how disassociated you were. That vodka was hitting deep and swimming in circles in your empty tummy - you hadn't had breakfast, essentially raw dogging and running on nothing, because you knew if you munched on some Panera bread, you would've thrown it up from the nervousness. You were now really accepting the fact that it was a grave mistake. 

"Well, what's wrong with her?" Arthur bellowed, "is her bloody tongue cut off?"

Tommy gave you a quick little side eye, then fully turned to you after realizing you were, indeed, gone. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned with a TOUCH of attitude. Or maybe they were both the same you couldn't differentiate it when it came to Tommy. 

"Uh, yeah," you cleared your throat and sat up straight, "just really taking in the moment, you know? It's my first race."

Tommy turned back to the road. 

"You guys look great!" you complimented, wanting to move on. 

"Why thank you, Miss Y/N. I shall wear your kind words like a medal from tha war," said Arthur. "You look like one of them silent film stars!"

You blushed. "So, wanna listen to some music?" you suggested, hating sitting in quiet cars.

Tommy scrunched his brows. "What do you mean?"

You looked down to where the touchscreen on the car WOULD be, forgetting this car was quite literally just a box on wheels with an engine attached. AUX and Bluetooth are not in the vocabulary of these people's brains for another couple more decades. 

"Like, carpool karaoke," you suggested. 

"What?" John asked. 

"Bloody hell is that?" Arthur also asked. You also forgot, these English men wouldn't face the atrocity that is James Corden in ALSO a couple more decades. 

Tommy scoffed, a small little smile on his face but nonetheless a smile. He gets it. "Singing. She likes to sing."

"Is that right?" smiled Arthur, "wow, you've really done a number on Tommy boy over here! He's now a fan of the musical arts!"

The two brothers began laughing and smacking Tommy on the shoulders and head in a playful, men-in-a-gang, manner. He smirked. 

"I'll start, I have the perfect song - this one's called Off To The Races," you turned to Tommy, "also by Lana."

You two smiled at the little inside joke y'all had going on now. You then started singing, really into it like the night before. You were hitting those "scarlet, starlet" notes a little too good. Once you wrapped up, you left the three men in a silence that lasted for a couple minutes. Except Tommy, he was always silent. But his brothers were a little confused, but decided to just roll with it since you made Tommy happy. You thought they were just floored by your abilities. 

"Lovely," John finally said, hesitant and low to break the silence.  

"You've got yourself a bloody mental one here, Tommy," said Arthur. Tommy smiled, you were indeed a little unwell but it was okay to him. So was he <3

It had been about an hour after your arrival, you had been helping yourself to a shit ton of food by a table, stocking up like a bear ready for hibernation. You were literally the only one there, and you assumed so because the cigarettes and alcohol these Brits were fucking up were acting as appetite suppressants. Your fat ass wasn't complaining. 

Besides being the only one actually eating something of nutritional value, you were getting HEAVY looks and side eyes for your outfit. You didn't care, your ass looked good from all the walking around the pub you've been doing. Upon entering, Tommy noticed the looks to. You whispered in his ear, "it's cause none of these interbred Habsburg jaws know what a real woman a real BITCH looks like 💅." 

He didn't get exactly what you meant, but got the vibe and he liked it. He, actually, loved that you were the center of attention here, as you SHOULD be. Afterwards, he told you he had some business to attend to and knowing you were hungry, led you to the food table. He said he'd get you after he was done, and man was taking his time. But again you didn't care you were just munching away. 

"Try the scone, darling, it's absolutely dashing!" a rich, socialite said to you. Her costume was just as amazing as everyone else. 

"You know, I've been avoiding it but, maybe I will. Why not?" you smiled, grabbing one and taking a chomp. It tasted like actual ass but you have a great poker face. You moaned like Mark Weins, even hitting his crazy facial expressions. "It's great!" you mumbled. She smiled and talked on about something you didn't really pay attention to. 

Eventually, Tommy came up behind you and grabbed your arm gently. Had this been any other man, you would've pistol whipped them in the face with the rock of a scone in your hand, but it was Tommy so you just got all the butterflies inside. You turned and smiled, chewing your food and swallowing it almost hole to say something and not just stand there. 

"Fhey Tomyif," you mumbled through the dry scone. 

"Feeling better, eh?" he said in a low tone. He seem a little more cheery, which made you cheery. He was enjoying himself, as he should. And so were you, as you should. Let's just say, the vibes were good. 

"Omg, def," you said, finally swallowing the last bit of food, "you know, you should try eating something. I know you don't do it much, but, I feel like it can be a great experience for you."

He looked into your eyes. He loved that you cared. A soft smile came on his lips. 

"Not hungry."

You thought for a minute. "But like, I'm pretty sure you haven't eaten since France."

"Maybe later. Do you dance?"

"Do I dance? With a little spicy marg in me, Tommy, it's over." But alas, the bartender would have no clue what a spicy marg was, so you kinda had to retract your statement, "But no yeah I can dance sober too no biggy."

"Good," he said, grabbing your hand gently and leading you to the crowded dance floor. You turned back to wave at the socialite lady, who gave you a little wink. My girl knew you scored. 

All you knew was that the Brits LOVED their Charleston dancing, something that you definitely needed Just Dance to teach you. But she wasn't here. You were frightened at the thought, but when Tommy pulled you in, and you two just started going at it, it was as natural as your BBL ass. That one Pride and Prejudice dancing sequence had you mastered in the art. 

With his hand at your waist and the other in your hand, and your other hand around his neck feeling his buzzcut, there was no force on this earth that could stop you. You honestly just moved your legs around and were great. 

Up close to him, you were again in touch with his cologne. You needed to control yourself, but it didn't help that he was like three inches from your face. In this sea of people, it just felt like you two and no one else. 

As you two were fucking up that dance floor to that 1920s jazz music, you looked around at the other faces of people dancing around you. Some you caught staring, others pretended not to. You smiled at the fact your hot ass was intimidating. 

"Man, if I were to do the Woah here, they'd all lose their fucking minds," you thought. "What if I like, just started twerking? No, I can't. I can't let them win."  You knew those intrusive thoughts cannot get another W against you again. The last time that happened, you were expelled from theater school. You couldn't, you couldn't embarrass Tommy - but the urge was too strong. 

Almost as if Tommy read your mind, he pulled you aside the dance floor. 

"I want to introduce you to someone," he said. He then took you to a table where a man with the craziest middle part and mustache sat, beside another who looked like an owl with glasses and other carbon copies of English dudes. At the table was a fuck ton of coins and money, along with drinks and clouds of cigarette smoke from ashtrays. 

"Y/N, this is Billy Kimber. He owns the tracks here," Tommy said. Oh my god it's him, its Billy fackin Kimba...

You weren't sure why Tommy would introduce you, but you took it as a compliment. Maybe he just wanted to stunt on this guy? Who knows. 

The man with the goofy ass fucking name had a wry grin on his face that you did not like at all. The vibe was not good no more around this guy. He stuck out his hand to you, and you obliged very hesitantly. He grabbed your hand and kissed it. With that a wave of disgust flew over you, feeling as though you've been stained. Ew gross. 

"Lovely ta meet ya," the man said. He rose, "Mista Shelby, might I ask your lady for a dance?" 

"Oh, no thanks! <3" you said, a welcoming smile on your face. Tommy and Billy both looked at you as if you just said the most out of pocket shit. The owl man and English robots also gave you daring looks.

"Wot?" Kimber spat. 

You almost laughed. 

"Uh, yeah like, I don't wanna dance." you said, mimicking Tana Mongeau's "a bleach and tone".

Billy saw absolute red. He was livid. He turned to Tommy, who, too, was speechless. 

"The fuck are you on about?" Billy spat again. You really weren't sure what he didn't understand.  

You then realized - there was no getting out of this. You didn't want to cause a scene, cause you kinda already did. So you again invited those intrusive thoughts. 

"Fine," you said, clearing your throat and standing straight. "I'll dance."

You then pretended to throw something in the air, looking up in an anticipatory, worried way. They all looked up too, confused. 

"Oh my god, do you see it? Mr. Kimber, where is it?!" you said as if a bomb were to fall. 

He looked up and then to you, growing increasingly worried. He was too in shock to speak. 

"Where is it?! Where is it?! Do you see it?!" you kept looking up at basically nothing, but you knew it was something. You kept them on their toes, scared at this point. Your feet dancing softly, they were ready for impact. It was time to come down. "There! There it is and -"

With that, you pulled it down and committed the hardest, most nastiest Woah you've ever done. The last time it was that riveting was during middle school lunches. 

When you brought that down, the pose you ended on had your head down and body limp, as if you were Aang in the Avatar state during the episode where he was fighting Zuko's papa and had to unlock and harness such force.

You left them taken aback, disoriented. They didn't know what to do or how to react. You looked fucking insane. 

You took a deep breath and stood back up straight, satisfied. Once you realized that the room had fallen completely silent, even the musicians, you felt you needed to excuse yourself. 

"Um, so," you struggled to find the words. You felt the anxiety creeping up again, the lightheadedness arising. And most of all, it was time for you to empty yourself. "I've, uh," you thought harder and harder - "I'VE GOT AN ITCHY BUM!"

You split, running and running as fast as your pumps could take you. You ran and ran, it was always the most liberating activity honestly. All that dancing with Tommy, the nerves piled up along with the hors d'oeuvres - they lead to this very moment. 

You searched round and round, desperately for a bathroom. No where in this bitch was there a sign or indication, and time was running slim. This was some real Mission Impossible, Tom Cruise is on a time crunch, shit. You pushed through crowds of drunk, belligerent and yelling people, feeling your body slowly succumb to the intense body heat. 

Eventually, you spotted a familiar face. You ran. 

"Arthur!" you yelled. He spun and looked back to you. 

"Y/N! What is it?" he asked, worried. You looked a bit wild. "Are you alright? Where's Tommy?"

"He's fine, he's," you thought, "somewhere. Look, it doesn't fucking matter."

"The mouth on you -"

"Where the fuck is the bathroom in this bitch? Huh? The loo? The toilet? The washroom whatever the fuck y'all call it?"

"Well, I was on me way. It's just over there -" he pointed and you bolted. 

As you were entering, you literally ran full force into the socialite from earlier. She wasn't angry, just like Arthur, worried. 

"You look absolutely GHASTLY darling!"

"Girl move -"

You went into one of the stalls and laid your worst. Thankfully since it was a Skims dress, all you had to do was pull your Victoria Secret thong off and go. You felt bad for the ladies in their dresses and stockings and shit here - convenience was definitely not a factor yet. 

After you cleared your business, (and subsequently the whole bathroom), you stepped out of your stall, refreshed and effortless. You washed your hands, fixed your hair and makeup just a bit in the mirror, and felt yourself again. You took mental selfies, since it was all you had. 

As you left the bathroom, you heard the grunts and yells of men. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but it sounded like some shit was fr going down. You crept to the source of the noise, coming from the men's bathroom. At first, you thought someone was probably constipated, but instead it was Arthur, John and a few others absolutely rocking this guy's shit. They were beating him, cutting him with the razors sewn into their goofy caps, and curb stomping his head into the sink. So sink stomping? 

You made a gross face and walked back out. "Yeesh."

After all, it wasn't the first time you were so close to the mob.

 You remember your number one golden rule you learned from earlier during your time with Pablo: Hear nothing, see nothing!

After walking past the dance floor again, you were relieved to see that everyone and everything had gone back to normal - people were back to dancing, drinking and chatting - back to the script. You actually forgot this was supposed to be a horse race. 

But, there was no Tommy anywhere. You searched and searched, yet you couldn't find that 75% shaved head anywhere. 

You then walked back outside by the entrance, where you saw a woman smoking. You went up to her. 

"May I bum a smoke?" you asked in your best English accent, trying to speak their language. She turned to you and pulled one out, lighting it for you. "Thank you so much, you look lovely, darling."

The woman smiled. You loved hyping the girls up!

"You too. I must admit, I find your choice in wardrobe absolutely admirable and daring!"

You smiled, "Aww, really?" you quickly corrected your accent, "Oh dear, many thanks, many thanks yes."

You took a hit of that cigarette. Shit was gross. But when in Rome...

You and the woman spoke for some time, deep in conversation. It was refreshing to meet another girl here, safe to just talk shit and have a break from all the drunken men and oh no there's Tommy. 

You saw him approaching you and he looked again, upset and emo. It didn't exactly burst your bubble, you really liked Tommy, but were afraid that you possibly embarrassed him in front of the Bilbo Timberland from earlier. 

You bided the woman goodbye and walked towards Tommy. He then took you two back to his car and started off onto the road. By now, it was nearing evening. The car ride was pretty silent, you were looking out admiring the brief countryside. Shit was beautiful like a Microsoft Home Screen. 

"So, what's wrong?" you asked. "You're like, down in the dumps again. And where are your brothers?"

"They'll find their own way home," Tommy said, low and serious, the usual. 

"So is that it? Y'all got into a fight or something?"

He let out a deep breath. "I told Billy Kimber he could have a dance with you."

"Ew, why?"

"Well," he didn't want to say 'business', cause like okayyyyy shout out to 1920's gender roles!, "because you look...nice. You look pretty."

You blushed hard, trying to control your smile. Seeing this side of Tommy was like a sneak peak, it was so exclusive!

"Oh my god, Tommy, are you flirting with me? I didn't even know you had that setting available!"

He smirked, his frown OFFICIALLY being turned upside down. He chucked in disbelief of himself. He was falling. 

Once you made it back to the neighborhood, the sun had gone down and the streets were once again pretty dark. Smoky depressing England like what the Smiths wrote about you get the vibe. 

Anyway he took you to his flat, saying that he wanted to "show you something". You weren't sure what that something was, it could've honestly been like a dead body but actually it wasn't! It was dinner <3

"I've uh," he started, not crazy about the fact that he was falling for you, "I've prepared dinner."

You gasped and made a very soy ass face. How absolutely gentlemanly of him!

"Oh my god, no you didn't Tommy!" you said, "You're so sweet, that's like, so sweet! You shouldn't have!"

He smiled softly, in a "yeah I did that" sort of way. And he did just that. You were 90% sure whatever was inside he didn't cook, but it's the THOUGHT that counts!

He escorted you inside like the gentlemen he was, shutting the front door behind you two. The lights inside the flat were dim, and by the table were two plates. Upon closer inspection, you were absolutely FLOORED!!!!

"No way - tikka fucking masala?!" you exclaimed. He chuckled and it was hot. 

You walked closer and saw two very familiar, VERY FAMILIAR, colorful orbs. You turned them to the side. All this time since you'd last seen one, you forgot what they were or looked like. 

"AND FUCKING BUZZBALLS?!?!?!" you said. "Tommy, how the fuck did you even get these?"

He pulled the chair out for you, and you scooted your big fat butt in. 

"I know people. It's my job."

You couldn't help but smirk.

"It's so hot when a man has connections," your dirty Jezebel mind thought. 

He cracked the BuzzBalls opened and poured them for each of you, like it was some high end expensive ass champagne. You watched him, relishing in the moment - you had your GRIP on this man. Chivalry was in fact, despite popular belief, not dead. But it was also the 1920s so you forgot about that bit. 

You looked down at your plate - you were going to fuck. this. up. He'd never seen this side of you - the side that would tear your meal like a fucking ape cracking open a coconut with a rock for water. You thought if you should warn him, but told yourself - he needs to know ME for ME. 

You gripped that naan, grabbed a fat ass chunk of that chicken - and the moment it hit your lips, you had started giggling like Mark Weins again but subtract the poker face. You had forgotten the long lost love of spice other than pepper and salt. You could've cried if it hadn't been for the fact your makeup looked too good. 

You two dined and wined (there's no wine) for the next hour, talking and talking and chewing and chewing. Seeing him eat was hard for your mind to process, you just never thought he was capable of it. Anyway as he was talking you felt bad because you were zoning out looking at him as if he was another dish of tikka masala. He had such a sigma vibe to him, maybe alpha? (I don't know I'm not familiar with gym bro brain rot TikTok lingo but you get the vibe.) He was just so manly and yet so gentle and calculating, it kinda scared you because like he could literally have everything set up to kill you right now and you wouldn't know cause you were too charmed. But then you realized, he wouldn't have done all this shit for someone he wanted dead. No girl, he just wanted YOU! Your toes tickled at the thought, and those butterflies? They were fluttering. 

For the first time, you had anxiety but hadn't felt the need to shit yet. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol calming your nerves, or the chill vintage ambience going on, or Tommy's comfortable/intimidating presence. In other words, this felt natural and you were fucking with it. 

There were several times you needed to burp, but forgetting you weren't with your girls, you had to swallow that shit deep. After all, girls don't burp. You tried to keep your femme fatale composure. 

You were the light he needed in his very dark emo life. It had been a very long time since he had a genuine laugh, despite the fact he might have had no idea what the fuck you were talking about or saying half the time, but seeing you all bubbly and happy made him feel content. He was finally being vulnerable, letting go a little and just, well, living life. Being free. #livelaughlove

"What will you do? When you've saved enough for Scotland?" he asked. 

The idea brought you down a bit. You forgot about that shit. "Oh, well, I don't know. I kinda like the barmaid stuff, so maybe I'll try to find something similar there?"

You were eating his leftovers. He didn't eat much but liked watching you eat like it was a mukbang. He loved a girl who eats. 

"Why don't you stay?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with you as he poured himself another BuzzBall. You could tell he wasn't a fan but drank it anyway for you because you liked it. 

You again couldn't help but smirk. You loved seeing a guy CRACK!!!

"Do you want me to?" you asked, biting your tongue like the white mom. You hadn't done that in a while either, this English life didn't permit it. 

He took a sip from his drink. "Perhaps you'd be interested in working for me."

"Aren't I already, low-key though?"

"Garrison's not mine," he said. "Do you know anything about bookkeeping?"

He lit a cigarette and offered you one. You took it, not wanting to offend. 

"Well, I gotta tell you," you said, "math is NOT my forte. But oh my god yes babe thanks!"

You ran over and jumped to hug him, he hugged tightly back, he then threw you on the hard table, pushing everything to the floor and you felt his member pressed against your leg. He began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your Skims dress clean off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a bloody fucking labia," he says. 

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the boy from Birmingham in. This is it. No missed flights, no drunk men to call you Jezebels, no lung cancer from cigarettes and factory smoke, no IRS or IRA, nothing - just you and Tommy.

You and Tommy laid on his bed, in each other's arms. Since his bed was high-key smaller than a twin, it was pretty cramped, but neither of you minded. You two were smoking (him a cigarette and you your Elf bar), reminding you of that one band Cigarettes after Sex and how Tommy would've liked them, but they wouldn't drop music for another couple years in this time zone. 

You two talked softly as the rain patterned on the window's glass, some of the street lights peering through the curtain. If there was some incense on, it'd be a vibe. You originally thought his opium pipe was an incense holder but you were very mistaken. 

" - so yeah, that's why people picked team Jolie. But in all honesty, I feel bad for Jennifer, you know? Like, he literally cheated on her. Over what? A fucky boof ass movie? It was ass," you hit your Elf bar, refusing to accept it was dead. "I guess it doesn't matter now, cause NONE of them are together anymore. So what do you think? Aniston or Jolie?"

He took a drag of cigarette as he stared at the ceiling. He made an unsure face. 

"I'm not familiar with them."

"True. Fine, let me think of something you'd know. Like something English drama," you thought. "Okay, team Blur or team Oasis? I hear there was a lot of blood shed during the battle of Britpop."

He again took another drag of his cigarette. Anyone would be looking at this and thinking he found you hella annoying, but he didn't. He just genuinely thought you had a great imagination. 

"Neither, I guess. I don't have time to listen to music."

He was right, which was why he loved when you sang at the pub and most of all, to him during your private Lana concerts. 

As time went on, you were in DEEP. Scotland? Yeah never heard of her. Not only were you working for Tommy doing whatever bookkeeping is, but he had even introduced you to his family, which you KNOW damn well is a sign that shit is serious. 

You loved the Shelby's, even though they were a bit off their shit sometimes. But it wasn't anything new, you'd been well familiar with crazy families before. You loved talking shit with Polly, going to the 'cinema' with Ada, fucking with Arthur until he got mad, supplying John with his toothpicks and making little Finn believe in the fake number 'derf'. You got along with them well, they saw you as a perfect fit for the family - something different, vibrant and bright! You loved them and they loved you! Polly would even tell you in confidence that you made Tommy a happier person, something he lost after the war. Getting Polly's stamp of approval was literally it, that's all you needed. 

And you and Tommy? Yeah y'all were a thing. An item. During work hours he'd give you little looks here and there, and so did you, as if it was some secret office romance. But it wasn't secret literally everyone knew you were his girl. And that's power. 

You learned the ropes pretty fast, again it wasn't your first rodeo in the mob. It was like Colombia all over again, but we don't talk about that. Tommy fucked with you having a secretive criminal past, he thought it was pretty hot. 

Besides bookkeeping, you still worked in the bar. All the patrons loved when you sang Lana, it just went on to prove that she's indeed a poet. They eventually memorized them and sang along, which annoyed you sometimes cause you just wanted to hear yourself and they sounded like ass when they were drunk. But you just go along with it! 

Some of the songs you in the pub (and Tommy's room) sang included:

Bartender (cause hello? You're LITERALLY at a bar)

Shades of Cool (for Tommy's big blue ass eyes (you wished they could hear that guitar solo cause the acapella didn't do it justice :( ))

Cola (singing this for the fist time made you realize you had to censor a couple things, they weren't a fan of that intro)

Stargirl's Interlude (Lana's part obvi, but it's again for Tommy cause he's your starboy <3 he loved when you hit those high notes)

Brooklyn Baby (you avoided it cause it reminded you of your ex)

Video Games (hello it's for Tommy)

Love Song (this makes them all cry)

Money Power Glory (again hello it's Tommy, but this wouldn't hit until he's a member in Parliament)

National Anthem (being in England for so long made you forget the United States anthem)

Fucked My Way Up To The Top (literally you rn)

Speaking OF a bunch of drunk men, the gang loved you. You thought you were like the comedic relief of the little theater thing they had going on here. You had to admit, you admired the method acting everyone had done so far. It only, to you, proved that it worked, since you were GENUINELY left in deep in a psychosis where you're just a 1920's flapper girl. 

There was some rules and etiquettes you needed to remember, however. One, was of course, the "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA", and another was you finding out Tommy did NOT fuck with brujeria or anything dark magic related. You thought it was kinda funny, he reminded you of those Reddit r/atheist accounts but at the same time, he was low-key scared of zodiacs. Not that he didn't like it, he was paranoid at them. You literally asked his zodiac sign and he responded very sternly and seriously, 

"Y/N, don't."

You then said. "That's a very Capricorn thing to say."

Besides that, everything was great and chill.

It wasn't long before this annoying ass Irish inspector dude pulled up to the pub. Once he saw you, he locked eyes with you and approached the bar. You didn't like his vibe in the slightest. In fact, no one in the pub liked his vibe either. They all fell silent when he entered. 

"Excuse, me, ma'am," he said. You turned, not really wanting to talk. 

"Yeah, what?"

"Do you know about a Thomas Shelby?" 

"Yeah, what about him?" you didn't fuck with anyone who referred to Tommy as Thomas. Like?

"Do you know where I can find him?"

You were really starting to not fuck with his vibe even more. Something was def fishy. 

"You should really go back to being with the dinosaurs," you said. He didn't like that. 

He leaned in. "Do you know who I am? Who do ya think you arrrrrre?" the R's went very crazy. 

And just in time, as if he was your guardian angel, Tommy opened the doors to the little room beside the bar. Babes was hearing everything and he was NOT gonna let this dude talk shit to his girl like that. 

"You need to speak to me? Inspector Campbell, is it?" he said. "I've read about you in the papers."

Tommy then took Campbell soup outside to speak. Before leaving, he (Tommy) gave you a wink and you winked back. You knew that was code for 'let's hit my flat later'. Little did you know, this would be the last time.....

P.S. - when you asked one of the men at the pub who he was and someone replied IRA, you originally interpreted that as the Irish IRS and shat yourself. You didn't know how to tell Tommy your time was ticking, they'd located you - but you were not going down without a fight. 

You were both in his bedroom as usual, he was lying in bed smoking, you were hitting the Elf bar, rain pattering, English people yelling outside yeah you get the vibe. Anyway, he asked you to sing - a request you took quite seriously. You knew this was his only time of relaxation and you had to make the best of it before you break the news you needed to escape again.

You rose, sitting up and looking down at his BBL face. 

"Lana or Nicki?"

"Lana."

"Can I do Nicki? You never ask for her."

He took a drag and nodded. "Go ahead."

This, now this would be where you fucked up. Let's just say, you wish you could wipe out this night from your memory. Alas, all things need to come to an end, even the good ones, unfortunately. You'd never thought it would be like this though tbh. 

You stood up on the bed, as usual, cleared your throat all that bullshit. You thought and thought, "what's a good Nicki song? What's fitting?"

And then it hit you - it was definitely a deep cut. 

He had a soft smile on his lips, watching you as you were thinking. Little did he know, you were going to harness a part of yourself you hadn't seen in a while. This was a mode you unlocked that was such a release after, and you knew you had to go all or nothing. 

You cleared your throat. 

"Okay, so this one's kinda not AS well known, but it has British themes I think work well," you prefaced. "Okay, here I go."

The moment you opened your mouth, you let the spirit of Nicki come in. And once she's in, there's no going back. And Tommy was not prepared for that. You then started Nicki's verse in Sean Kingston's "Born To Be Wild".  

"♪ If you will die, then why would you try and if you reply, a suit and a tie is what I will buy then you will be mine because you and I were born to be wild, I am Martha you King Arthur who knew you would land me, I’ve been known to eat these rappers, cook em like chef Ramsey - ♪"

You were too deep to notice Tommy's rapid increasing worry and fear as you spat out those lyrics. It was too overstimulating for him to handle. You ate, but that was just want concerned him - he didn't know you were rapping. In fact, no one at this current time did. 

" ♪ - Mission accomplished, your my accomplice cover of vogue yeah ima go topless ima go bonkers ima go crazy ima get reckless then have a baby then hang the baby off the balcony teach him to moon walk tell em he's Japanese - ♪ "

No, he thought you were putting a curse on him. No, he was CONVINCED. 

"Stop! STOP!" Tommy rose from his bed, pushing the sheets off of him. 

You were shaken out of your trance, confused. You became worried, what happened? Did you miss something? Were y'all in danger?

"Wait, Tommy -"

"Enough! Stop!" you had never seen panic in that man's eyes. Never. And you didn't like it. He was looking straight at you, talking to YOU. 

"Stop what -"

"You're a bloody fucking witch!" he yelled, rubbing his hand through his hair while the other TIGHT on his hip. This was his evaluating stance. "That's what this is - that's what it's been."

"Uh, Tommy," you said, more annoyed that he interrupted your moment, "I'm no witch. I'm just, well, Y/N."

He took a deep breath, now facing away from you. He couldn't believe it. All this time, all that mumbo jumbo that came out of your mouth, all this time - they were just that. Curses. No wonder he didn't understand them, you were literally speaking in tongues this whole time. 

You walked towards him, slowly. This man needed that opium right now. 

"Tommy -"

"Leave. LEAVE!" he yelled, grabbing your messy bun, and doing what you didn't think would happen again for a very long time - he beybladed you. 

Spin. Spin. Spin.

"LET IT BLOODY RIP!"

And there it was. 

And there you went. 

He twisted you in the air round and round, ready for a different kind of liftoff. He flung you out the window, you crashed through and onto the cobblestone streets of Birmingham. 

That was it. All these months, all this rehearsing - it all came to an end. On a random Tuesday evening? The Tommy you once thought you knew was no more - after all this time, he never trusted you? Didn't he know who you were? Like dude he watched you be vulnerable at fuck up a tikka masala. TWO of them at that. 

Anyway, you realized maybe the entirety of UK just wasn't your vibe, anyway. With this 'IRA' now in town, your ass needed to be grass. Before leaving, you broke into his horse racing betting place whatever it's called and committed a little fun heist, taking all the money. What? A girl needed to sustain herself in this economy. Dog eat dog world shit. And plus, all your stuff was back at his apartment and you were DEF not gonna go back. Who knows? Was HE working for the Men In Black? Wining and dining you to gain his trust and he turned you in? Maybe he did you a favor in the end. 

And maybe you could upgrade to the latest iPhone when you got to London with all this horse money? With a shilling and a pound, the possibilities seemed endless. 

You walked down the streets, sad, but again more confused and a little relieved, onto your next destination, wherever that maybe. Anywhere Y/N went, it was all just a big adventure of a girl having fun being, well, just a girl having fun in this world. And THAT'S all that matters. 

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo, 

~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Pedro Pascal’s Thespian

Anonymous Request - "Hiya Sammy!

I was wondering if you could do something short but not TOO short, a girl still wants her cozy bedtime read! Anyway, I know it's not that exactly ethical, but I think a great story idea would be Pedro Pascal being your theater teacher (university, no high school p!do stuff here <3) and you're his student, or maybe a co-worker? I don't know, but I know you know! Maybe he wants to see you after class, some storyline like that? Thanks a million billion!

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

"Oh my god, you're the guy. The guy from those posters! Those like, "Have You Seen This Man In Your Dreams" posters! I knew it! You looked familiar! Like a frog!"

The man with the thick ass unibrow furrowed that unibrow in confusion. He rose his hands up, backing up, "No, I'm not. You're just mistaken, I'm not him. I'm just a friendly Samaritan, that's all."

You continued to walk towards him, gun now raised. "You lied to me, after all this time. You're him."

"No, please!"

"I won't hesitate, bitch!"

Pow. Pow. Pow. POW......beep beep beep BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEBEEEEEEPPPPEPEPEPEPBBBEEEEP

Your eyes fluttered open, cringing at the sound of all too familiar alarm. You rose your arm and continued to slam your hand on the nightstand until you were able to land it on the alarm, effectively hitting snooze and effectively breaking it in half.

You rubbed your face, pulling the blankets over you to avoid the sunlight that came through your apartment window. There was the sound of traffic and commotion and all that other New Yorkan bullshit.

"What a weird dream," you thought to yourself. "I shouldn't watch so many conspiracy videos before bed."

Then forgetting that dream all in an instant because that's how dreams work, you rose and cracked every single bone in your body. Your favorite one to crack was that tailbone.

beep beep beep BEEP BEEPE BEPEPEPPEPE

"JESUS CHRIST BITCH! A GIRL IS FUCKING UP ALREADY MY GOD!" you yelled, ready to karate chop that already destroyed alarm once more, until you realized it wasn't your alarm. In fact, that all too familiar beeping just moments before also wasn't your alarm. It was your phone.

You picked it up, "Hello?"

"Y/N! Where are you?! Class is starting in like, fifteen minutes, get your booty down here or you'll be fucking expelled! Thespians are supposed to be punctual beings don't you get it?!"

Timmy Tim hung up right after, not giving you a chance to talk. And you weren't sure you could have had the opportunity arose. You checked the time - it was ten A.M. You were supposed to be up an hour ago.

"Oh fuck fuck FUCK!" you whined, grabbing the first pair of pants near you. Your PJ t-shirt would just have to do! "Oh my God, why am I always late?! First that carpet interview, and now this?"

Before you knew it, you were on the streets of Brooklyn hauling ass to your university building. You felt as if you were in a movie, breezing past all sorts of people, from those in suits cosplaying as characters in Succession and Wall Street brokers, to those TikTok fashion students, to Billy Eichner from Billy on the Street!

Running was what you did best, perhaps the ONLY thing you did best. You ran and ran, stomped and stomped, doing summersaults and other parkour shenanigans as to avoid crashing into anyone. Simone Biles WATCH OUT!

You jumped over a rat, a pizza slice, a rat eating a pizza slice, pigeons, cracks on the cement to avoid cracking yo mama's back. The constant horn honking and New York accents fueled you, you were your own person in this big apple, just like everyone else...

But wait - a girl needed her coffee. Like those Forever 21 t-shirts, a girl cannot function let alone LIVE without her coffee. You wouldn't mind being late for stopping at a Starbucks line. Those girls that would come in late to class with their loud fucking car keys in hand, a grande frap in the other, well, they had a point, to say the very least, after all.

And you did just that. You saw the green Starbucks lady just up ahead! You ran and ran!

Once you got your venti brown sugar shaken espresso with an added five shots of espresso after waiting in line for twenty minutes, you were back to your task.

"Hey mama you wanna hit this?!"

You turned at the harsh, deep and guttural voice. It was the same man who would cosplay as a Breaking Bad character you had always passed by, now holding up a crack pipe to you. He was dead serious.

You then held up your venti brown sugar shaken espresso with an added five shots up to him, as if you were cheering together.

"No thanks," your bimbo ass yelled back as you kept speed walking away, "I have my own crack here <3!" Forever 21 would've loved you for that. Instead of those proverbs they print at the bottom of their plastic bags, they should instead plaster your face as a replacement!

His eyes widened. He seemed extremely taken aback, soon following your response with a horrible coughing-laughing combo. It was very reminiscent to that meme of Idris Elba on Hot Ones.

The all too familiar university building was just up ahead. It looked like every other building in this city but you KNEW it wasn't just an ordinary building - it was the Waystar School for the Theatrical Arts - a prestigious and extremely overly expensive school for, well, the theatrical arts. You never saw yourself as a theater major, and to be quite frank, you hated Hamilton because it reminded you of those weird kids in the school hallways, but it wasn't until you were chased out of Colombia with hundreds of thousands of dollars that you thought - well I might as well do SOMETHING with this money...but that's neither HERE nor THERE and we WON'T be delving into as to why that happened!

Timmy Tim was standing outside the steps, his scrawny and tall ass looking down at his phone and back up to the street, a worried look plastered all over his Victorian doll looking ass face.

"Oh my God, Timmy! I'm here," you waved your arms so hard you felt them go numb, "over here!"

He whipped his head to see you, his frown was turned upside down.

"Y/N!"

You stopped in front of him, ready to catch all that breath that left you as you ran. Your sides ached, you felt like an old man going up like three steps.

"Y/N, what happened? What took you so long?" he asked. "And wait, what are you wearing?"

You looked down to your pants...

bruh.

"Um, I didn't have time to pick my outfit, these were the first things available!"

"Cookie monster? Really?"

"Listen Timmy," you snapped, "I didn't have time! Would you rather have me show up in underwear?!"

"I thought you didn't wear underwear. You love to call yourself a "freeballin' commando girl", right?"

You took a minute and thought to yourself. You felt that New York wind mixed with gasoline and steam from hot dog water ride up your bare ass - it was cold. He was right, there's nothing under these pajamas.

"Well, at least my shirt's....okay?" you looked down and stretched it out to get a better look. There was a mixture of stains and wrinkles plastered all over. Some of the stains you recognized, but some you didn't. There was mustard, ketchup and mayo mixed together, boogers, nail polish and makeup smears, Bang energy drink, oil from sour cream and onion Lays chips that you wiped on it with your fingers, watermelon juice, and more. The shirt itself was a light pink and once read  "Holy Crêpe!". It was part of a set you bought when you were back in Paris, but we don't talk about Paris here, just like Colombia. But whatever because now it's faded away, gone from existence. You forgot, this was your depression shirt that you hadn't changed out of the entire fucking week.

"Your shirt looks like Jackson Pollock painted it but he was also blind," he said, embarrassed.

"That's definitely ableist, Timmy Tim," you said. "We gotta go, we're definitely late now!"

You both ran inside, crashing into the glass doors as you kept forgetting they were "pull" instead of "push". But actually, they were neither. You didn't see the big ass sign on the window of the door saying "TO OPEN PRESS BUTTON", as you were too caught up with wiping the remnants of stains that transferred onto the glass as best you could, but to no avail. But you still tried.

"Timmy, hit the button!"

"What button?"

"The big metal one! The one with the Stephen Hawking chair!"

Timmy Tim looked at the handicapped button at the side of the wall, then back to you, in awe. "Bitch, you mean a wheelchair?"

He pressed it, letting the doors open by themselves as you were still trying to clean them.

Timmy gave you a dirty look as they opened slowly. "You know, you shouldn't take part in abusing the system. Neither should the school. It's fucked up, honestly."

"And you should know better than to go to dinner with Kanye West in today's day-in-age, but you don't hear me talking shit! I've seen that photo!" you continued to watch the door open insanely and inconceivably slow.

"Um, actually, Kid Cudi was there also. And Pete Davidson! It wasn't just Kanye!" he shot back.

When the door finally fucking opened, the two of you squeezing through. You gave the janitor a wimpish Jennifer Coolidge-esque smile before running up the stairs, feeling guilty for those stains.

"I fucking hate stairs," you said, legs going up and down, up and down, "why couldn't we use the elevator?"

"Because you broke it, remember?" he snapped as he ran up in front of you. His attitude definitely soured after that Kanye comment.

You suddenly recollected that catastrophe. Not your fault you underestimated the power of the gust from your sneeze. You hated allergies.

"Plus, stairs are better - since your fat ass won't do the stair master at the gym!"

"Watch it Timmy, the stair master is actually harder than it advertises to be!" You guys had hit the third floor, only two more to go. "You know, you talk a lot of shit. I can airdrop your stupid Statistics rap to everyone here, INCLUDING the Dean. Keep up the smack talking!"

You two had finally hit your floor, your class was now just down the hallway. Timmy Tim Tim stopped in front of you, almost causing you to topple back down the stairs. He was very serious. He leaned in to whisper.

"You know how sensitive that video is to me," he warned, before turning and going towards the class. You followed closely behind, feeling silenced.

You both entered the classroom, careful not to bring any attention on yourselves. But let's be honest you were both late as fuck and you also looked a little shaken up, as if you were two weeks into another one of your pink Benadryl benders. Which arguably, you were.

All your classmates looked at you two and as you took your seats. You noticed that your professor was absent, clear from sight.

"Um, where's our professor?" you leaned in and asked Timmy Tim Tim Tim.

He rolled his eyes and let out quite the scoff, "Y/N, sometimes I wonder how you even know how to  walk straight or chew food. Didn't you read the email he sent us like, two days ago?"

You thought back, scratching and searching in your mind for this "email". However, you weren't really sure, as you had forgotten your school email's password and every time you tried to log in, you were locked out and eventually the website blocked you completely. But you wouldn't dare tell this to anyone, this stayed between you and yourself and God.

"Um, yeah I did," you replied, defensive, "I, uh, I just wanted to see if you got the email. You know, testing you." you smiled, biting your tongue like a white mom, your favorite emote. He didn't seem amused.

"I'm kinda nervous, to be honest. He's like," he leaned in, closer, you smelled his wet breath but kind of didn't mind?, "like, a real actor."

It was hard for you to pretend you knew who and what the fuck he was talking about.

"So what? I've never even heard of him, to be honest," you said, fishing for Timmy Tim to reveal the name of your professor's replacement, "like, what's he been in?"

Timmy Tim backed up and gave you a long, blank face. "Are you serious?"

"Serious as cancer," you smiled.

"Pedro Pascal? Like, Pedro Pascal. Narcos, Game of Thrones, Mandolorian, that one Sia music video," he listed, "we literally binged-watched Last of Us, like, three times at your apartment because you said you wanted to take in every aspect of his face you might've missed."

The news caused you to drop possibly the loudest, hardest fart, but luckily someone dropped their textbook at the same time so the noise drowned out. What a good idea.

The door whipped open, slamming against the wall and causing a giant hole. The classroom fell deathly silent...

And then in he came...

There he was...

He was tall, big. He had blocky, black, and dog-chewed 3D glasses that looked like had its lenses popped out deliberately. He wore a grey cardigan that hung down below his butt. He gripped a Starbucks iced quad espresso in a venti cup with extra ice and six shots in his hand, as if it might fall like Jonah Hill's did. He had a patchy beard but a strong mustache. He gripped in his other hand a dark brown leather briefcase. And lastly, he carried the demeanor of an intimidating yet refreshing and real, Hollywood actor.

"Oh shit, will I get charged for that?" he asked the security guard that escorted him in, pointing at the newly formed glory hole.

"Take it up with Logan," the security guard shrugged and left, closing the door behind him.

He turned to the class and smiled. "Well, hello everyone! Sorry I'm late, I got lost. Couldn't read the signs. These glasses here," he pointed to them, "yeah, they don't work."

He set his briefcase on the desk.

"I can't do this", you panicked. "Mama can't handle this right now."

You really couldn't. You really did wish you saved your password to your notes app, because there would've been a lot of preparation needed for this that frankly you did not fucking have. How were you supposed to react to this little Trojan horse the school just dropped on your ass?

"Well, anyway guys! Thank you so much for joining me! Now, I first have to get this out of the way, but I've never taught a class before so bear with me!" he started, smiling. You were petrified. Frozen. You felt like the son from Hereditary when he got possessed in class. "So if you got the email, you know that your professor's out of town and I was somehow available to teach a university class for a couple of days! So here I am!"

"He's so cool," Timmy Tim whispered in your ear. You couldn't snap out of whatever trance you were in. Honestly it wasn't even a trance you were just stumped.

"So what do we call you, professor?" a student asked.

"Uh," he thought, "Pedro's fine, I guess. Or Mr. Pascal."

"Pedro Mr. Pascal, where'd you get that cardigan? It's so chic, no?" another said.

"Oh this ol' thing," he said, feeling himself, "Target!"

And then you saw it.

He did it.

He did the white mom tongue.

Maybe you two were more connected than you thought? Maybe you were prepared? Like, anyone who does that unscripted and unsolicited is automatically an ally, right?

"Well, anyway. I know this is an acting class but I wanna see how skilled you are in the writing department. After all, a show or movie is only as good as the writing! All those Writer's Guild protests aren't for nothing! So go ahead, whip something up! It can be about anything, as long as it is formatted like a script! None of that narrative writing bullshit because my attention span is not all that great!"

As everyone whipped out their laptops and began writing, you were still in your stump. Timmy Tim had to check in if you were okay.

"Uh, Y/N? The fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, somewhat disgustingly. "It looks like you're astral projecting."

You snapped back and looked to him. "Oh my God, Timmy Tim Tim. I didn't think HE'D be our professor!" you hushed.

"But you said you read the email -"

"- um, yeah, obviously I did," you interrupted, trying to save the lie your fat butt told, "I just thought, you know, he's a celebrity and he wouldn't actually have time for this bullshit. He's like, a big deal."

Tim Timmy looked over to the new professor. "I mean, look at him. He definitely has the time."

You looked over to Mr. Pedro Pascal. He was talking to a group of kiss-ass teacher's pet students.

"So are you guys #teamBarbie or #teamOppenheimer?" he asked, leaning against his desk in a true, professor-who-thinks-he's-Robin-Williams-in-Dead-Poets-Society, "I'm not your ordinary teacher, I change my student's lives!", professor fashion.

"Well, one nearly eviscerated an entire population and the other's just a girl who loves pink? I think it's an easy, obvious answer, professor," one student replied.

"No, no," Mr. Pedro Pascal laughed, "I meant which are you going to watch first when they come out."

"Oh! Well, in that case, I'm #teamBoffem!"

Timmy Tim (to the third power) looked back to you. "We should really start our work. We can't let these smelly theater kids beat us. I won't let them beat me."

And with that, Tim Tim grabbed his laptop, smacked it on his desk, hunched his back forward, cracked his fingers and started to type away, all whilst resembling a cartoon character. He was so serious.

"Shit, I forgot. This is school", you thought. "I actually gotta like, work."

You then went into your bag for your laptop, opened up a blank Word doc, and stared at that screen for about five minutes before you snapped back into reality. You looked up to the new professor, who was now writing on the board his name. You thought it was kinda weird, cause like, who the fuck would not know his name?

"What the fuck am I going to do?" you thought, feeling that breakdown coming in HOT, "what's a girl to write about?"

But anyway, he was so fine. You could definitely scope out his dad body under it, causing you to get overwhelmed with anxiety and not gonna lie a little hot down there. But, now was not the time for another shit, despite how much your body's immediate reaction was to do so. Not you're fault you have IBS. Imagine what he would think of you if you asked to go to the bathroom? Ew, gross. You'd much rather wake up to find a lizard stuck to your nipple pasty from the night before on your dresser again, that you had to set free and say sorry to than ever give him the HINT that you, a girl, pooped.

You looked back down to your screen. Because of your inactivity, the screen went black and you were left seeing your reflection.

And then it hit you.

Fuck him thinking how you poop....

GIRL LOOK AT YOURSELF! YOU STILL GOT THAT BENDER SHIRT ON! PEDRO SAW YOU IN YOUR CRUSTY STATE OH FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You began to fully panic, feeling your breath go short and the hysteria creeping in. It drove you crazy as you looked around you, freaking the fuck out that you were sticking out in the crowd of students, not only physically but emotionally. You did NOT want to be that one kid that cries in class. Or have a freakout. Like time and place. What ever happened to you doing it at her birthday dinner?

You felt yourself begin to black out. Why today? Why why why oh my god this is not good. Girl. This is not fun or fresh.

You tried to at least fix your hair. It was picked up in a hair clip, with two strands in the front hanging out. You ran your fingers over them to make them look at least presentable, but the more you ran your fingers the greasier they got. Now you just had two, greasy ass strands of hair hanging out in the front of you. Great.

BUT WAIT!

"Timmy, I need you to do me like, the biggest favor a girly can ask for."

He looked over to you, annoyed that you interrupted what he thought was going to be his magnum opus. You glanced at the screen - the man had already written eight pages worth of material. There was no way, you definitely got the vibe he plagiarized but whatever now's not the time.

"What? Don't you see I'm busy?"

"I need you to cough, like, really fucking loud, on some tuberculosis shit." You reached down into your bag and shuffled through, finding your Vanilla scented dry shampoo. You smiled, relieved.

Mama's gonna put this to work...

"What? Why?"

"Just fucking do it okay? Jesus Christ, you're literally an actor it's your job to fake shit," you held it up, as inconspicuously as you could, but let's be real the bottle is huge cause you just HAD to get the biggest one from Ross for eight dollars. "On the count of three. One, two, three -"

You had your fingers on those strands, and the moment you said 'three' you went apeshit. They were covered in a thin layer of white, the smell stunting you a bit in its power and it's cloud surrounding you like you hit an obnoxiously large vape.

At the same time, Timmy let out the loudest, thickest, most bronchitis-esque, cough he could. It definitely worked, since everyone in the class gave him heavy side eyes instead of you, who by that time had already dropped the can back into your bag and was already going to work by rubbing the white shit deep into those strands.

The cough must've been extremely powerful, as Timmy Tim Timmy's eyes welled up. He turned to you.

"Is that it?" he asked, his voice resembling the Breaking Bad man from earlier.

You smiled, biting your tongue. "That's it, girl. See? I told you, you're such an actor. It sounded very believable."

"Really?" he lit up a bit, albeit still looking sickly.

"Yeah, like, if you were in France during the bubonic plague era and you coughed like that, your ass would've definitely been, like, grass," you told him. "Trust me, I know a lot about that time in history." You felt so much better, not only had your anxiety seemingly slipped away but you loved hyping your girls up. It's what bffs are supposed to do, after all.

You looked back into the reflection of your laptop. The white had pretty much been dispersed, and now instead of it looking matted like it was greasy, it just looked matted as if you underestimated how much spray you actually put. Oops!

"Whatever, it'll have to fucking do", you thought.

You then opened that Word doc again, your confidence stirring a need to create! Now just what should you write about -  

"Hey! What do you have so far?"

And just like that - time stood fucking still.

You turned your head just a bit to the side and there he was. Tall, in his cardigan. coffee in his breath.

"Oh my God, hey professor! Yeah, let me just go ahead here and," you closed the blank Word doc and began to look through your other saved files. Anything. You need SOMETHING. You looked and looked, all while under the pressure of his presence.

You scrolled through all your gibberish, from late night questionable depression journal entries to your outdated resume, to your notes app, to your weird and obscure lists - you just needed something. And you needed it fast.

"Yeah like it should be here," your voice trembled, but you tried your best to mask it as you just being a giggly, happy girl, "I don't know why it closed! So silly! Soooo silly of me! So so silly -"

And then you found it.

You cringed, but it would have to do.

"Here it is!" you looked up to him. His face sent you chills down your entire conceivable body. It was really him.

"Great, what is it? And why does it smell sweet?" his nose scrunched up in the air, trying to find exactly what that smell was. He looked like a wine connoisseur.  

"Oh, the vanilla?" you said, "that's my body spray!"

He made an impressed face. "I like it. Strong. It's telling you it's vanilla, for sure. Anyway, what is it you wrote?"

You glanced at the open entry on the notes app. No how the fuck were you gonna explain this. You really would've just rather tell him you didn't have shit.

"Um, well, so I don't know if you're like familiar, but there are these things," you really tried. But now you've been caught. Caught in 4K like boys say. "Have you ever heard of POVs?"

"You mean, like fan fiction?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Exactly that."

Though you couldn't see him, you felt Timmy give you a look. He knew what it was. He knew exactly what it was. You saw the first episode of Last of Us when it aired and you just had to open your phone and go to town writing a fan fiction that was also never meant to see the light of day. Let alone the light of Joel himself....

"Okay, interesting. Even though I don't think it's what I asked you guys to do, I'll give it a shot!" he sat on the empty desk to the other side of you, turned your laptop to him, and you sat there, every bit of your self-respect and esteem draining out of you as you watched his eyes move side to side reading the lines.

Let's just say, it was a little NSFW! In fact, it wasn't safe at all. It was horned up and just bad. Unintelligible. Incoherent.

Some minutes went by and you were actually pretty surprised you managed to stay somewhat composed. Really it was your power and ability to disassociate in highly stressful situations to thank. You just fixated on the clock, reminiscing about how being in high-school had you reading the time in a matter of seconds, waiting for that bell to ring. But now, looking at it made that comment Timmy Tim made about being a blind Jackson Pollack hit home.

You clocked back to reality and looked to him. He was deep in thought, deep in the reading. His head rested on his hand and his finger was held at his mouth like those old TikTok's of "pov: you stopped by your English teacher's class during lunch and she's eating a salad" bullshit. His eyebrows were furrowed. It really wasn't that much so you weren't sure why he was taking long.

Moments later, a single tear ran down his face. He slowly and gently shut the laptop closed. He looked as if he had just seen an anal prolapse for the first time but was desensitized enough to not illicit a crazy reaction, but be completely numb as if he used to play the Reddit 50/50 game during his pastime when he was younger.

This actually made you somewhat hopeful. Was your work that groundbreaking it made him cry?

It was now just the two of you, you felt like there was no one else in the world besides you two, now sharing this moment.

"Oh my God, was it like, good?" you asked, in your bimbo self.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He then put them back on, stood up straight, and let out a deep breath.

"No," he said lowly, "it's fucking really bad. It..... it stinks," he pinched is nose.

You didn't realize but in your fixated daze on the clock, you had little to no sensation in your bowel area therefore no control of them and you let out some farts during his reading that now cumulated into a fart cloud hanging around y'all.

Your eyes widened.

"Sorry, it's my body spray!" you smiled sheepishly, instead you looked fucking psychotic.

"I thought you said your body spray was vanilla?"

"Bath and Body Works sometimes isn't all that good! Or maybe mine just expired, who knows!" you mustered up, "But anyway, what did you think, professor?"

He rose and leaned into your ear. "I think you and I need to talk about this in private. Let's rehearse in my apartment after class."

He then left your desk.

Your ass was left SAT! You still had goosebumps all over your neck and those hairs were standing - did he just invite you to his apartment to 'rehearse'? The fuck does that mean? Is this even ethical? Who knows and who cares cause you're not just gonna go ahead and say no.

"What was that all about?" Timmy asked. "Why did he cry?"

"Timmy, I think he just invited me to his apartment."

Your friend then did the most soyest face a white man can possibly soy face. "Y/N! What?"

You hushed his ass down. "Shut up, I don't want him to hear!"

You looked over to Mr. Pedro Pascal, now talking to other students. No way you just secured this. That dry shampoo was the best call you made in a while.

After the bell rang, you walked out of class with Timmy Tim Timmy at your side, back down the stairs. Just as you were descending, you heard that all too familiar voice.

"Y/N!"

You and your friend turned. Mr. Pedro Pascal was walking towards you. You swear you could hear Timmy's bones chattering from nervousness.

"Hey professor!" you said.

"Oh, you don't need to call me that. Pedro's fine," he looked to your Tim Tim, "hey, I know you - you were in, uh, what's that movie called?" He began snapping his fingers as he tried to think.

Timmy laughed, pretty modestly, as Pedro tried remembering, embarrassed. "Oh, don't worry about it. You've probably seen me in Lady Bird, Call Me By -"

"Oh, no wait! I remember! Interstellar! Yeah you were amazing in that," he turned to you. You felt a rocket of anxiety go up your ass. "Anyway, Y/N, I thought, since my place is like a couple blocks away, we could go there now together. I would really like to work on your story."

"Of course, Pedro! Let's go!"

You and Pedro left Timmy standing there, clueless. You didn't really feel bad leaving him. He had to know that right now, it was all about you. It's what a good wing-girl would do.

As you and Pedro were descending down the steps talking about whatever mumbo jumbo, you saw these two men dressed in black suits talking at the front desk. You weren't sure why, but something was alarming about them. You thought for a moment that since it's an acting school or whatever, it might've been two dudes recreating Men in Black. But, no. No, something deep inside you was telling you that these two men had no interest in Will Smith OR Tommy Lee Jones.

"Huh," Pedro said, also seeing them. "What's the IRS doing here?"

Oh. Fuck.

It all made sense. Always trust your intuition, honestly. And speaking of tuition - that's what they were probably here for. You taking off with student loans that you had no intention of paying back before you left to Colombia, your fraudulent GoFundMe page - your past was catching up to you. And now, they were here. Right here.

"Mama ain't letting no Uncle Sam ruin her chances with Pedro", you told yourself. "Mama ain't letting that happen."

"Hey, Pedro! Have you ever seen the back of this place?" you asked, stopping the two of you from reaching the landing.

He stopped. "What? Do you mean, like the alleyway?"

"Yes, exactly! The front doors, they're like, broken!"

"Oh, that's what I thought too. Remember, the glasses?" he pointed to them, "Can't see. But the people at the front desk said they're not you just have to press the button -"

You gripped his hand and yanked him down the stairs, making a sharp turn down the hall towards the back alley door. Pedro, too much in shock, just started running too. He then began to laugh because of how crazy and not like the other girls you were being right now.

You glanced behind and there they were - the men in black - high-tailing it after you. They were not playing around. You couldn't be caught, no, not now!

You ran faster, faster, faster! It was what you knew best! Your feet smacked that floor like crazy!

Once you two made it to the back alley door, you stopped and analyzed your surroundings. In the distance, you saw those two men - but you knew you had to make a decision.

You looked to your left and on the wall, you saw it. The fire alarm.

You gripped it, pulling the fuck out of down, causing the loud ass alarms to begin blaring. The sprinklers were now turned on, drenching everything in water. People began freaking the fuck out, running out the door but crashing into it as they forgot too, it was broken.

The rush of adrenaline fueled through you as you saw those Men in Black slip and fall on the floor. The makeshift little waterpark you just made just bought you enough time to officially make it out!

"Why would you do that, Y/N? Are you crazy, that's illegal!" Pedro yelled at you, still somewhat excited.

"Because, uh," you thought of something to say, anything but you possibly being labeled as a fugitive, "because the thoughts! The intrusive ones, you know?"

His worried face soon calmed down. He laughed, relieved, "oh, yeah. Man, I hate those. We should probably go!"

You pushed the back alley door open, and just like that, you were out!

You weren't completely sure how far you two ran, but it was definitely far enough from those agents. Though still drenched in water, you soon ran off a lot of the water off.

You looked to Pedro, who, frankly, you forgot momentarily was with you. He had a gleeful, fun smile on his face. The city was passing you two quickly, it felt like some climax to some dramatic ass movie. Very much so the end of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days-esque.

"You're crazy, Y/N, you know that? Like you're not well!"

"Yeah, so funny whatever," you rushed, "maybe we should go to your apartment now?"

You kept looking behind him, making sure the Men in Black hadn't caught up to you in their hyper speed, but it was hard to tell because again it's New York and everyone's in a suit? You literally just looked insane and paranoid.

"Yeah, I guess we just have to Uber there 'cause we're pretty far. Do you have the app?"

"Uh, yeah def," you opened your phone and realized you were shaking. You couldn't let Pedro see that so you turned your back to him. He was confused, but not offended enough to ask why you did that.

And then you forgot - the bottom half of your screen literally doesn't work. Every time you went to Apple they swore they fixed it but it would then bug out and stop working. It was a toxic cycle tbh and you really did need a new phone.

You turned back around. "Sorry, Pedro. I don't have the app, maybe we should just get a taxi instead? You know, support local businesses?"

He agreed and you two began flagging down yellow cabs, but none stopped. You hated when they did that. Ain't that your job?

One finally stopped, and Pedro opened the door for you like the gentlemen he is. You sat your big fat butt into it and closed the door. Just as Pedro was walking around on the other side to sit beside you, you looked up at the driver.

Ain't. No. Fucking. Way.

"Nathan?" you said, exasperated.

The Canadian named Nathan Fielder turned to see you, also exasperated. "Holy Crêpe! Y/N?"

"Na fuck this," you hopped back out and slammed that door SHUT! People outside the cab must've thought you saw a rat from how quickly you exited that vehicle.

"Y/N? What is it?" Pedro asked, just before he entered himself.

"Pedro, I actually just realized I'm more of a walker," you said. "Like, on some Walking Dead shit."

He shrugged, closed the door and you two began to walk down to his apartment with no questions asked. Jesus, what more could go wrong today? But no biggie cause you were literally going to Pedro Pascal's apartment!

As you two began down the sidewalk, you felt this force, this inclination to turn back. You swore you've felt this before, almost like deja vu. You weren't comfortable at all with it, but you also felt there would be some relief giving in...

You turned.

And there it was.

The Russian RuPaul furby. That was it, that was the rat.

He was sat in front of the back window of Nathan's cab as he drove it away into the sea of cars, waving its little paw at you, with nothing behind his drag queen eyes.

Fucking monsters...you thought, shuddering at it.

"Hey, you okay?"

You turned to Pedro. He seemed really concerned.

"Oh my God, yeah! You just always have to watch your back, you know? Never know who's an opp!"

"An 'opp'?"

"I forgot, you're a boomer. Can we stop by McDonald's on the way to your place?"

"Yes, I'm starving!" he said. You loved a McDonald's buddy.

Okay let's do time jump you're in the apartment okay it's a nice cute little New York apartment you get the vibes alright cool.

It was now evening, and the sun began to set, casting that golden hour glow into the living room. It had already been a couple hours in, and nothing had yet happened. Pedro was sat on the couch, now looking at a printed out version of your story after he had revised a lot of it, reviewing. You sat on the couch in front of him, and you two were deep in talk about the story.

"-so, I think besides some, you know, grammatical error and stuff, it'd be perfect!"

"Really? Aww, thanks, Pedro. This is a lot of help," you said. "To be honest, I would've never thought that this story would have been read by anyone else but me."

"What do you mean? This is way too good to just be closed off in that Notes app of yours."

There was some moment of silence, as he continued to read the story and you sat there wondering when this 'rehearsing' was going to take place. After all, a girl's had a rough day today. And it was about to get rougher. And not in the sexual way you perv.

"Buzz buzz buzzzzzz", your phone said. You shifted your butt to grab your phone, checking the new notifications. Since the bottom half no longer worked, you need to flip it from vertical to horizontal to back to vertical to access iMessage. It was from Timmy.

iMessage from My bff Timmy Tim 🍑

You clicked it open.

My bff Timmy Tim 🍑: Y/N, call me when you can. It's bad.

You typed back.

You: What is it? A girl's busy.

My bff Timmy Tim 🍑: Did you set off the fire alarm???

You thought to yourself. What the fuck was a girl supposed to say? You had to explain this in person, not through text. It could NOT possibly translate well that way. You instead opted to send a  GIF.

You:

My bff Timmy Tim 🍑: bitch tf???? Y/N, they're saying you could be expelled from the school! You're going to get kicked out of the dorm!

Your asshole tightened at the news. You grew so angry, like, why can't a girl just live? There's literal murders out on the street. Like, chances are someone's doing insider trading on Wall Street as we speak. So what if a girl got $30,000 of her own money and decided to pull on the fire alarm that LITERALLY says "pull" on it?

"Well maybe next time they should put "don't pull" fucking toads", you thought.

"Something wrong, Y/N?" Pedro asked.

You looked up and quickly put your phone away. You smiled again, trying in a reassuring way but again instead you looked manic.

You shrugged. "Ain't no thang but a chicken wang!"

He rose and stretched. "Hey, I have a dinner I need to go to. It's with my bff, Oscar Isaac? You know him, right?"

"Yeah, of course. Can I come?"

He stopped, froze even. He looked at your shirt then back to you. "Um, well, it's really just an actor thing, you know. Business."

"No of course! I get it! I'll get out of the way for you!"

You rose, grabbed the extra copy of your story and quickly walked out, preventing Pedro from seeing your face - as you were on the verge of having an entire breakdown. Your eyes welled up as you ran down the hallway, into the stairwell.

You hid behind the door, hearing Pedro's calls for you, but again you'd rather set another lizard free than have him see you.

You sat down on the stairs after brushing some litter off to the side. Tears ran down your face, you looked down at the paper. You dropped your head down, defeated. Why wasn't anything literally going right? You would've rather missed class altogether!

Some tears fell down your face and dropped onto the paper. You decided to look over it again, specifically the last paragraph, reading what Pedro read:

"Joel pushed the door of your Boston apartment open, exhausted as always. He plopped himself on the couch, hand to his head.

You walked around the corner, in your panties and vintage "Team Aniston" baby tee.

"Aww, are you tired, Joel? Long day?"

"Yeah," he said in his grumpy, low tone.

"Nothing a hug could've solve!" you said, before pouncing on top of him. You hugged him, and he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the hard floor and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your "Team Aniston" tee off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia," he says.

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from Texas in. This is it. No clickers, no Robert, no cordyceps, nothing - just you and Joel."

You stopped reading any further. You didn't realize, but you had a goofy little smile on. You really thought about posting it on Tumblr for the girlies. You got up, feeling a little better now all the tears were out and with a new task on your mind - get your shit from your dorm as you were now probably expelled, and get to work on that fanfic for the girlies!

You got another buzz buzz on your phone and pulled it out.

It was a FaceTime from Timmy Tim 🍑

You answered it.

"Hey Timmy!" you mumbled through boogers and tears.

"Oh my God, did you guys have sex?"

"Bitch does it look like it? I'm literally crying!"

"I don't know, I know you tend to cry after."

"That's sensitive information, Timothee. I'll crack you in half, right before Kylie's BBL ass does!"

"Yeah well that's for the Statistics rap threat, loser ass bitch! So what ended up happening? I don't like seeing my girls down in the dumps."

"He literally just revised my story. That's it. And then went to go eat dinner with Oscar Isaac, you know, your dad. He's such a fucking flake!" you whined, "what's a girl to do in this Big Apple? I just want a dilf sometimes that's it!"

"My dad?"

"Um, yeah. Star Wars or whatever."

"You mean Dune," he corrected.

"Man, you LOVE correcting me! Whatever. Anyway I gotta go, a girl's gotta keep her hopes up in all of this!"

"Come over, Y/N. We'll watch something to get your feelings back up and order boba! You win some, you lose some but what matters is that you'll always have your girls!"

"Oh my God you're the best Timmy I'm on my way as we speak!"

You hung up and bolted for the exit, the fan fiction will just have to wait you guess!

Hope you guys enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Kendall Roy’s Princess

Kendall Roy X Reader

Anonymous Request -

"Sam Saint Clair! Yes! Hello! Listen, I'll be quick and easy about this - Reader x Kendall Roy. That's it. Alright? Maybe she works at Waystar? Who knows. Create a lil power dynamic with it? Rags to riches? I don't know you do you like always! I know it's not completely morally right given it's the workplace but since when is Succession focused on morals?!"

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

Of all the possible careers in the world, with literally every single possible line of work, there was one you never thought you'd step into - and that one was corporate...

Corporate.

Like ew honestly. The word might as well carry radiation, because every time you heard it in passing it was as if you were a victim in the Chernobyl disaster and old radioactive wounds had just been split open again to fill you with a pretty bad fear and dread. Like who the fuck wants to work in a cubicle? Be real for a second.

But nonetheless, here you were - Waystar Royco in the Big Apple, New York City. Some say it's the biggest apple of them all. You personally felt that honey crisp apples were bigger than the average apple, but, New York was just no ordinary apple - it was a city. And a big, busy city at that.

You really thought about that saying, "don't knock it 'til you try it!" and how based the person who ever came up with that was. There was something so sophisticated when you put on those black heels, that white buttoned up shirt and little slutty plaid (or gingham, whichever you prefer!) skirt. You've never seen the show Mad Men but imagined that was the vibe.

"I'm just a woman in the workplace", you'd recite to yourself as you dressed up in the morning, hyping your self-esteem UP. "Just a woman doing some serious business."

You also had no fucking idea as to what that 'business' was, and in all seriousness you weren't really sure what Waystar was all about. You would Google it at work, but something in your eye receptors or whatever blocked your brain from processing the information. Needless to say, you're a bimbo.

As you fixed your hair into a messy bun, but not too messy because that's not work appropriate, you reminisced on your little rags to riches story. You were just a girl who dropped out of theater school for reasons not important. Some say you were expelled but honestly tomayto tomahto. Everyone will always have their own opinions.

It wasn't all that hard, now that you were knee-deep into the company. It had first seemed overwhelming and intimidating, but honestly, it was really just running around and giving people papers, coffee, other mumbo jumbo like that. What you learned pretty quickly, was that if you walked fast and made it look like you had something on your mind, then no one would bother you because you looked busy. Your leg muscles went CRAZY so there was no need for some stair master bullshit.

You were just an ordinary assistant, mainly for the Logan Roy himself. There was a sense of importance and untouchability with every step your heels took in that fat building, you were literally Logan's number one bitch, (that's what he liked to call you in confidence!). And no one could tell you shit and that's that. You were basically hands off and free from any critique by your peers, even if you sucked donkey ass at your job.

Honestly the only reason he hired you because he liked how kinda oblivious (and a bit dumb) you were, since you never really pestered him with questions about what he was doing and you just do what you're told. "You're not annoying as fuck like my goddamned kids," he'd say. He thought you always stayed in your own lane because you were being respectful and minded your own business, but in actuality it was because you had no fucking clue what they were talking about the great majority of the time. If they weren't speaking in weird riddles and metaphors and similes, they were talking something about numbers. And math wasn't your forte. You literally just found out that "pi" actually meant 3.14 and wasn't actually slang for pumpkin/apple pie.

No one knew how you got the job or what qualifications you even had, but it didn't matter. No, it was all just between you and Lowgie Bear <3 (that was you liked to call him in confidence and was also the name for his contact on your phone). Even if you were on your work laptop playing games like Papa's Pizzeria, no one would even dare to ask if you were actually working. You were so focused on those games it looked as though you were popping some fun big numbers on Excel.

That morning when you got to the office, you did your usual - said hello to the people at front desk, hoped inside the elevator, listened to the click and clack of your heels, got to your office, prepared some coffee, and while that was brewing you signed into your computer and printed out the daily report. While that printed, you lit up your TJ Maxx candle, played some ambient mukbang ASMR on full blast (you're low-key deaf) and looked out the window into that concrete jungle Alicia Keys called New York. You always got to work bright and early, and that was mainly because you lived in an extra mailroom on the last floor in the basement. Logan said it was because he always wanted to keep you close.

It was a beautiful, clear morning, free of any suspicious airplanes. One of your favorite things to do was recite to yourself "I built this." Even though you didn't have literally one thing to do with the construction and knew nothing about scaffolding, it was a good affirmation that helped give you the confidence for the day. You felt like a mother holding her coffee watching her children rip those gifts to shreds like gross little rabid gremlins.

You loved having your new office. It originally belonged to Roman, Logan's son, who you swore was the youngest of all his children but that was actually Shiv. Despite birth records, you still didn't believe he wasn't the youngest. It arguably caused some premature strife between you and Roman when you acquired his office, but you didn't really care. Even after you insulted him the first time you met him, saying he "looked like that Home Alone kid",  from that moment forward he had such a distaste and hatred for you, finding the comment extremely offensive. But like I said you didn't really care tbh. It was the truth and you wanted nothing to do with him, something Logan was also keen on. He always protected you. He was ride or die <3 Some might stay he was a stan <3

A knock came at your door. You whipped around in your rolling chair to see your girl - Gerri.

"Good morning, Gerri!" you said.

She smiled. She was so mother. "Y/N, remember - you can't light candles. It's a fire hazard." She smirked at your forgetfulness. She reminded you of a cute Littlest Pet Shop mouse.

You blew it out. "Yeah, I know, it just always stinks of an office in here. So what if a little a Vanilla Bean causes a little fire? A little fire never hurt anyone."

"I guess, Y/N. Until it does."

"Until it does what?"

"Never mind. Listen, Logan's in a meeting right now. Give him about a quarter to nine before you bring him his daily report or whatever."

"Sure," you said. Like what was previously said, math was not your forte. You only thought a quarter was for two things - a genre of coin and the quarter pounder, which was what you ordered when you resorted to McDonalds when Burger King wasn't available. Since when is a quarter involved in time?

"What are those daily reports about, anyway? I've always wondered," Gerri asked curiously before closing the door.

"Oh, Gerri, I would tell you. But Logan said he'll knock me off the side of a cruise ship like those women if I spilled."

Gerri didn't seem that content about what you said, giving what you know was a fake smile, and closed the door behind her as she left to the meeting. As you struggled to find out what a quarter meant, it just so happened you saw through the glass a tall ass man child limp by your room.

You got up and ran to the door. "Greg!" you called in a harsh whisper, but wasn't successful as a whisper since you saw everyone's head clocked towards you from their desks. "Greg!"

He turned and lit up when he saw you, literally like the child he is. He limped to your door. "Y/N, hey, good morning. What's up?"

"Why are you limping?" you asked, confused as to why he was limping.

"Oh, well, uh," he hesitated and looked around. "Tom and I were sitting at this like, ATN meeting, like across from each other? We started playing - well, are you familiar with the game 'footsies'? Well, we were getting pretty, I guess, into it? I mean, Tom a little more-so than me? And he I guess started to get upset because I was winning? But I'm not completely sure how to win footsies? So he got a little carried away, I guess? He started hitting me quite violently with his foot, like no longer in the playful manner? Anyway, my leg's all bruised -"

"- Greg I have a question. What's a quarter to nine mean?"

He thought for a moment. He needed to lean down a bit for your short ass to hear the whisper. "A quarter? You mean like the coin? Or the burger -"

"No dumbass bitch, a quarter to nine."

"Ohhhh," he said, "sorry, my, or - our separation, like our distance in height prevented me from hearing like, the rest of your sentence. I believe a quarter to nine is, if my knowledge doesn't precede me, eight forty-five."

"Okay great thanks!" you closed the door behind him soon after. You liked Greg, but was sure not to be around him for too long, as anywhere Greg was, so was Tom. And Tom was not your favorite to be around when you were sober. Greg was like a cub and Tom was the mama bear. Wherever there's a cub, the mama was always near. Cocaine bear proved that. #ripRayLiotta

Once that quarter to eight came, you grabbed Logan's favorite cup of coffee, (it was a mug that read "I'm Grumpy Without My Coffee" with Grumpy Cat's face on it #ripGrumpyCat) and the daily report that was freshly printed. You began to walk down the hall towards his office. He had his blinds down, so upon entering you literally didn't expect every fucking person and their mother to be there.

You barged in, "Lowgie Bear! I have you daily repor -" and you were shell shocked. Logan was sat at his desk, hands together like a villain, surrounded by literally everyone. Gerri, Frank, Karl, Stewy, Hugo, Karolina, Roman, Shiv, Greg (and next to him mama bear Tom) and - Kendall.

Kendall. Ken. Kenny.

What was there to say? You froze staring at his fine Mickey Mouse personified face.

You and Kendall - well, you two had history. Actually, it was barely history but there was some pretext. Basically, ever since the first time you met, there was tension. And the good tension, not that Roman type of tension...................................................................

You remembered where you were the day before you met Kendall - the day before you met any of the Roys - boxes in your arms filled with all your stuff from your dorm, standing on some New York street, something like a corner and third, lost like a rat who was kicked out from his borough. All you had to eat that day was a hot dog from the floor that you wrestled a rat for to get. You stood there embarrassingly as cars flew by you, splashing puddles of water all over your Juicy tracksuit. You hated being helpless on the street - the last time that happened a taxi screeecccchheeeddddd on the side of the corner. You didn't want that to happen again.

Then, you felt your phone buzz against your fat butt. You put one of the boxes down, but it actually slipped and some of your shit fell down the sewer drain.

"Motherfucker!" you yelled, ready to cry. Things were definitely not going your way. "What's a girl to fucking do?! Who the fuck is this?"

You reached to your pocket and pulled out your iPhone 4s. It was a number you didn't recognize, but you weren't about to just hang up. No, you were going to see who the fuck decided to give you a little ring and caused your fake Puka shell necklace, Medellín snow globe, pink Barbie Benadryl pills, and extra large tampons to fall into the sewers. Tampons were expensive in today's economy, after all that inflation business or whatever.

"What, bitch?" you snapped.

"Y/N! Hey, it's Willa!"

"Oh my God, Willa, girl, hey!" you smiled, your voice flipping into your true friendly self. Thank god it was her, because being a Karen wasn't your style. That lifestyle was for the Karen's. "Where've you been?"

"Y/N, what a couple of months it's been, you won't believe. I'm calling from my boyfriend's phone, I lost mine."

"Your boyfriend?" you thought, "oh yeah, Zachary, right?"

"No, Connor, actually. Listen, I wanna hang out with you! Connor's going to be out of town for a couple days, you know, work and stuff, but his family is having this little getty at his dad's house. Come with me!"

"Willa I would so love to! When is it?"

"Tomorrow night. I can pick you up at your dorm!"

"Actually Willa," you said, "that can't happen. I got kicked out. Long story. I'm actually homeless as we speak."

"Oh, really? Look it's okay, I can get you a hotel room until you find a place to stay. I would let you stay at me and Connor's, but he gets paranoid someone's gonna take his Napoleonic memorabilia."

"Yeah totally that makes sense. Thanks a bunch!"

Willa, being your girl, got you that hotel room. And that shit was nice as fuck like Scarface when Tony Montana was in that bathtub smoking that cigar. It made you so happy to know your girl Willa got her sugar daddy. You both met in a theater production you were forced to go to for school, but the experience was a lot less boring when you met her. From that day on, you two were destined to be just a couple of girlies. She was like a breath of fresh shy white girl that you couldn't find anywhere else.

You were sitting in the bathtub that resembles Tony Montana's and had accidentally knocked out the fuck out when your phone rang. Thank god it woke you up cause you were about three more minutes before you were completely submerged and could've drowned :/ . You jumped up and scrambled for your phone on the bathroom counter, suds of soap all over your head that blocked your vision. It was Willa.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N, you ready? I'm downstairs in the car."

"Uh, yeah I am! Just give me like five, girlie!" you hung up, catapulted your phone across the room, jumped out of the scorching hot tub butt ass naked and ran for your dress that laid out on the bed. You dried yourself of all the suds with the towel before catapulting that out too.

"We'll just have to go braless and pantiless. No bras, no panties! No bras, no panties!" you repeated in an effort to justify the lack of bras and panties. You then threw your dress over you, shoved your heels on, and picked up your hair in a clip. "No bras, no panties!"

Just as you were out for the door, you saw yourself in the mirror and wanted to throw up - the anxiety had built in you and you felt your butt clench. You needed to shit but there was literally no time for this.

"Move, bitch!" you yelled at a guest as you bolted down the hallway towards the elevator, slamming them against the wall. Guests must've thought you planted a bomb or something in your room with how manic you looked and how fast your legs were taking you.

"STOMP! STOMP! SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!", your feet said as you ran. It was the best thing you knew how to do.

Water was still dripping down your leg, and once you got outside the cold New York wind intensified the coolness of it so much so that it was basically stinging. It stung. You jumped over all five steps and landed on the ground, banging your hand on the tinted window.

"Let me in! Let me in! LET ME INNNNNNN!!!!!!" you yelled. The window rolled down, revealing your girl, Willa.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, what's wrong? Hop in!"

You jumped through the window feet first despite the door being opened moments prior.

You two were in the backseat, now off to the gala! "This is a nice car," you said. "Presidential type. Like, JFK would've loved this."

"JFK?"

"John Fitzgerald Kennedy? Like, it's so secretive. He would've liked it because it could've prevented his death, you know. No one can see inside."

Willa's stares lingered on you for several moments before she finally said something. You couldn't talk much after because you were too winded.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

You turned away from the window and looked to her. You tried to smile, but you were too tired too. It looked like a part of your face was melting. "Yeah girl I'm fine. You look great! Why do you ask?"

"Just, cause, uh," she looked you up and down, "you're dripping wet."

"Yeah it was raining."

"Raining? But it's been clear all day -"

"In the room. I mean my hotel room," you chuckled, "it was raining in my hotel room."

She was definitely confused.

"You know, leaks and all," you finished. You thought it best to move on. "Do you have any makeup on you? I thought I should go all natural, you know, no makeup. But now I'm regretting my decision."

"Yeah, I think I have mascara," she opened her purse and pulled it out, giving it to you.

"Better than Sex, oh my god that's like vintage. Like 2016 vintage," you said and used your phone as a reflection to put it on. Some bumps in the road caused the wand to jam into your eye causing it to go red but nonetheless your lashes were coated. You gave it back. You checked how you now looked in the reflection of the car - but it just seemed you had pink eyes in both eyes. Uh oh.

"That's all I have, Y/N, I'm sorry," Willa said, still shuffling through her ludicrously capacious bag.

"No, it's okay. Sometimes mascara is all you need! But sometimes it's not. How come you invited me? Not that I wouldn't have wanted to come, but like, what happened with Connor?"

"Oh you know, he's on this campaign tour thing and all that. I just didn't want to go alone," she chuckled, embarrassed.

"Sounds fun," you said. "Who's this family?"

"The Roys. They're a bit crazy."

You laughed. "What do you mean, crazy? I've seen crazy, heck - you've seen crazy. We were literally in theater together. I bet they aren't even that bad."

"No, they're pretty bad. They can all be pretty mean. And judgey. They're like, blood related but not actually a family, you know? So, like, don't engage with them too much. They don't like when you look in their eyes for too long. So where'd you get your dress? It's so pretty."

"Goodwill," you said confidently. "Isn't it pretty? It makes my ass look fat bro."

You shifted over to show her, struggling as you were still wet and inadvertently created a slip and slide on the leather seats.

She agreed it was fat. "Wow, that's from Goodwill? I wouldn't have thought."

You sat back down. "Of course, what, you think I was gonna buy a dress? I'm broke, remember."

"Well, wait, didn't you have that money from Colombia?"

"Well who says I bought it," you said, biting your tongue with a smile, "also don't bring up Colombia."

You two had finally made it to Logan's penthouse and pulled up outside. You both stepped out and entered, going into the elevator.

"Willa, this is like, rich rich," you whispered.

"I told you," she whispered back.

Once inside the penthouse, you knew you had to unlock your inner theater girl - not the annoying one, but the ACTING one. You had to unlock the Y/N self that belonged here - with the upper echelon of society. This was your debut.

You quickly lost Willa. One minute she was with you in the mess of all these people, and the next moment she was gone. But you couldn't let it throw you off - sometimes in theater, you know since it's live, mistakes happen! The show must go on!

You grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter and stood up straighter. You sipped, and despite it tasting like expired sparkling water, you sipped and sipped. You then downed three others - that liquid courage had now been activated and in full effect.

"Man this tastes like dick," you thought. Rich people really did have shitty taste.

The air smelled of expensive cologne and perfume, you wondered if their noses built a tolerance to how strong it was because it was extremely overwhelming and frankly nauseating. Maybe all the coke they do blocks sensory receptors? Who knows, but Jesus Christ it was as if there was an oil spill that actually smelled good but not too good when it's all mixed together. So yeah basically an oil spill in the water but there's no Dawn to save it.

You felt your tummy rumble.

Mama's getting hungry...mama needs to eat so the monster doesn't come out....

But it didn't take long for you to realize that it wasn't cause you were hungry. After all, you more than helped yourself to the snack bar, basically chilling there for like fifteen minutes fucking up everything they had to offer. Rich people didn't seem to like eating, because all the food was barely touched. How ungrateful. The last thing you had to eat was that hot dog you had to roundhouse kick that rat to the ground.

No, it was that very familiar feeling - the feeling when your bowels are incontrollable and on fire. Your body tensed and your heart began to race - you needed to shit. But when didn't you?

You darted (and farted) in every direction, looking for a door that appeared to resemble a bathroom. You felt that anxiety amp up as you failed to find one. You then began to walk around, essentially crop-dusting, still searching but keeping the composure of your rich socialite character you were playing tonight. Never mind the beads of sweat that ran down your face and the shortness of your breath that resembled an asthma attack.

"Y/N! There you are, I thought I lost you!" you turned and saw your girl, Willa. "I was looking for you, I even went to the food bar looking for you -"

"Willa where the fuck is the bathroom in this bitch? I'm hurting," you ordered. "I'm hurting bad."

"Oh, it's literally right behind you. Go in, I'll wait out here. I wanna introduce you to some people -"

You turned to find a door and pushed that shit open, revealing a beautiful porcelain toilet. You entered and shut the door behind you before Willa could even finish.

You hit that toilet and everything, and I mean everything, came out. You desecrated that once beautiful porcelain toilet. The formation was solid, meaning you were healthy! You smiled, you loved solid ones. It made you feel so healthy. Anyway you looked around the bathroom for any refreshers or sprays - you didn't wanna exactly leave your scent in here. But honestly you weren't scared if you did, their colognes and perfumes could overpower it.

Once you finished, you wiped front to back cause you're not a degenerate and flushed, then flushed again to rid any remaining skid marks to cover any evidence. After all, girl's don't shit. You washed your hands on the beautiful porcelain sink and took yourself in in the mirror - you always  looked and felt renewed after emptying yourself. Who needs coke when you have your natural bodily processes?

You noticed some q-tips that were scattered around, snapped in two, and some pieces of magazines ripped all over the floor. You looked below to the trash bin, and saw all sorts of broken decor, more q-tips and magazine pieces stuffed inside. There was also a broken hairdryer and smears of black on the cabinets. It appeared a lot of violence had went down.

"They must've had a crazy number two," you thought. You laughed to yourself, "Oh, how I've been there."

Once you washed up and after taking some grainy selfies on your iPhone 4s, you went back outside and saw your girl Willa waiting.

"Relieved?"

"Oh, girl, always. It's like spiritual meditation, you know," you said. "Anyway, Willa, you told me this was a getty - but this is like an actual party." You couldn't help but feel yourself smirk at all the possibilities - the champagne was hitting. Willa seemed to read you like a book.

"Y/N, no, I know what you're thinking. Yeah it's more of a party than a getty, but it's not a party party. You can't get 'faded' or 'off da juice' or whatever you like to say. Just don't embarrass me, please. These people are not fans of plus ones," Willa explained, sure to make sure that you got the vibe. You did and assured her. After all, getting fucked up wasn't a part of your character in tonight's script!

"It's okay, Willa, I won't. I thought these rich people would have good alcohol, but after having some to calm the nerves, you know, it's really not that good. Honestly I think I shit most of it out. Liquidated, you know?" you bit your tongue like a mom, but you didn't realize when you did since it was ingrained in who you were, "See? I'm fitting in just fine with these business people!"

Willa began to introduce to you to a bunch of the people there, but you honestly started to get overwhelmed. There was no differentiating between them, they were all old white people and you forgot their names the moment after Willa said them, so you just opted to referring to everyone as "girlie". Some didn't like it but some people don't like seeing a woman succeed.

"Hey, Willa, I'm gonna take a break. It's just a lot of people to take in right now, you know? It's a lot at once," you said. Willa understood and was going to talk to some others, leaving you back to yourself.

You got bored pretty quick. You weren't talking to anyone but the character you were playing was also getting bored. If you couldn't drink, then what fun was there to do? No one was dancing, no one was getting 'lit'. But there was one thing you knew - and that was that someone here had drugs. Like, rich people drugs. You weren't just about to do ketamine or bath salts, but maybe weed? You handled yourself well when you were high and maybe it could help this experience altogether?

You began to scope around for someone who resembled a stoner. It was pretty difficult because everyone was wearing nice outfits like suits and dresses, so picking out who in the building that looked like they skated and listened to Odd Future was proving difficult.

"My god, what's a girl gotta do to smoke around here?" you thought.

And then - you found him. He was abnormally tall and definitely looked like he might be a pothead. He was standing outside on the balcony, looking clueless like a puppy or some shit. Man definitely didn't belong here.

"These nepo babies", you thought to yourself as you b-lined towards him.

"Hey, can I smoke with you?" you asked. He turned and looked down at you. You didn't feel you were that short but brother in Christ this man was tall.

"Uh, I'm sorry? I don't think we've met," he extended his hand out for a shake. You shook it, but didn't like it, "I'm Greg, I'm, uh, I'm Logan's nephew. Well, great nephew, technically. But we've like, fostered a relationship, where I'm more of a nephew than a great nephew -"

"- Yeah that's great I'm sure you're great. I'm Y/N. Do you have weed? Mama - I mean, I could use some."

The tall dude named Greg the great nephew smiled like a little boy, "Yeah I do. I get you, it's a lot of people around. That's how I felt when I first got here, you know. Perhaps we should go to the other side of the terrace, perhaps a more secluded area?"

"Yeah whatever," you said. You followed him a little farther down the balcony, behind some shrubbery that blocked you from the sight of all the other rich old people. He stuck his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a small baggie of weed. He continued to shuffle through, but seemed to have lost something. "Oh shit, I forgot the wrappers at home."

There was no way you were going to miss out cause this dodo bird forgot wrappers. "That's okay," you spat. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

You walked back out into the balcony, then back to inside to the food bar. You grabbed some slimy slices of cheese and salami, then went back out to meet Greg.

"Here, use these," you presented him the slices of salami and cheese, but there was no thought behind his blue Miley eyes.

"Uh, what?"

"Roll with these. I've done it before, here, give me," you grabbed the baggie from his hands and began to scatter the bud in a straight little line across the salami and cheese. You then rolled it up tightly, licking the ends shut and presenting it to Greg, who was safe to stay, astonished.

"You really just crafted a doobie out of salami and cheese?" he said, in awe.

"It sucks being poor. You learn your way around things. I also saw this on a clip on YouTube from that show Extreme Cheapskates. Here," you gave him the deli spliff and began to roll another.

"Does this thing really work?" Greg asked you, inspecting it.

"Okay, Grav3yardgirl," you said. "It does. It's basically a life hack."

Greg pulled out a lighter and lit the end, taking in a drag successfully. He was still in awe.

"This is like, inventive. I mean, there is a hint of, uh, dairy and meat, but it's not actually that bad. It's like a true bodega joint. It's just missing the bagel and the salami would have to be bacon instead."

You lit up your joint and you were set - this was it. You looked over the balcony and taking in the city and those hits. You felt like Remy from Ratatouille eating the strawberry and cheese, all the flavors were coming together. It was disgusting at first, but tolerable after a while. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

You two sat in silence for some minutes, enjoying one another's company.

"So, would you rather be trapped in a pool with a shark, or with a tiger in a cage?" he asked. You looked over to him, his eyes blood red and glossy.

"Uh, honestly," it took you a moment to process what he was saying. You felt so slow and a little stupid. "Well, how about this instead - gay son or thot daughter?"

Greg took a moment before answering. You frankly forgot what you asked by the time he answered. "Well, uh, in terms of which I'd rather have, I honestly don't know exactly. Maybe like, whatever would come first, you know, if I had a son or daughter first, maybe the logistics of the situation would play a factor," he took another moment. "Honestly this question is kinda stressing me out. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Uh, heyyyyy Gregggguuhh! What are you doing out here, buddy? I've been missing my Sporus!"

You both turned your heads pretty slowly to your left, seeing a head pop out on the side of the shrubbery. It looked as if he was floating and your inebriated self thought it actually was. He resembled Horton from Horton Hears a Who.

"Oh, uh, hey Tom," said Greg. "Tom, this is Y/N."

You waved. He came out from behind and revealed his entire body. You were relived that he wasn't floating after all.

"Y/N, huh? And from where do you sprout from, huh? From what depths have you appeared to land a spot on this balcony?"

You stared at him blankly. You saw his eyes dart from yours to both of your joints. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Are those, are you eating the food bar's deli as if it was a cigarette? Why is it all rolled in that fashion, huh Greg?"

"It's, uh, it's weed. Do you want some?" Greg offered.

"Weed? What do you mean 'weed', Greg?" he inspected Greg's salami and cheese, also in awe. He scoffed, stumped. "Well aren't you just a little brainiac scientist? What are you going to do next, Greg, are you going to make a nuke out of the potato salad?"

"It was actually, it was actually Y/N that made these."

Tom looked to you. "Really?"

Though it didn't appear as so, you were getting overwhelmed as you had gotten used to just Greg's presence, and it didn't help you were still getting over the fact Tom wasn't actually floating. All you could muster up to do was a very lazy, slightly paralyzed-looking biting tongue in your white mom way. It was really your default response.

"Uh, what was that?" Tom asked.

"What was what?" you asked back.

"That tongue thing - right there, when you bit your tongue. Wait there - you just did it again!" he said, pointing at you. You didn't realize it but you did do it again. "How'd you do that?"

"Um, I don't know you said. You just do it," you repeated it again. He seemed to really enjoy it as he began to laugh in disbelief.

"That seems fun!" he said, and he began to do the same, "it's quite fun, isn't it?" He then continued, one after the other until he got the bite right, enjoying himself. You and Greg watched with dead faces. You weren't sure for how long that lasted (it was an hour).

"Uh, the fuck is going on here? What kind of orgy is this?" another voice boomed.

A small man came out from behind. You felt your anxiety grow more now that another person was added behind the shrubbery.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked you. His squeaky voice was one that you found extremely irritating.

"I'm me," you said, more sass in your tone to match his.

He looked to your salami cheese roll up. "The fuck is that? Wait, are you smoking weed out of what the fuck is even that," he looked closer at it, "fucking havarti cheese? I mean, how poor are you? Aren't my tax dollars for you fucking welfare checks to afford wrappers?"

Greg rose up. "It's actually, uh, pretty innovative. It just proves, I think, personally, that anything can be a wrapper if you want it to be. Like, if you set your mind to it."

"Yeah, how about that? Say can my dick be a wrapper if you 'set your mind to it'? And what about you," he turned to your direction, "what're you a fucking - a fucking mute? Who are you fucking, Helen Keller?"

You continued to stare him down. You didn't know what it was but his little presence was really starting to make you angry. A part of you had the strong urge to stand and use all your strength to knock this elf on the shelf motherfucker over the ledge. He seemed to be reading your face.

"Her name is actually Y/N," said Greg.

"Y/N, huh?" he looked to Tom, who this entire time had been practicing his mom tonguing. "The fuck is wrong with you? Why does it look like you're having a stroke?"

"Can you leave us alone," you finally said.

He whipped his head back to you, a daring look on his face. "Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do? Run to Twitter and cancel me? I'm Roman Roy, motherfucker. You can't cancel this," he motioned his entire petite body.

"You look like the kid from Home Alone," you shot back. "The one that got left alone."

Roman's face froze. He could not believe what the fuck you just said. Greg giggled but soon stopped once he realizes just how quickly and deeply Roman was made insecure.

You didn't want to linger for any longer in the awkward silence, so you quickly rose and bolted.

"That was the weirdest blunt rotation I've ever had", you thought. And you once smoked with Pablo Escobar's mom.

Fortunately, parallel to the other side the terrace was another corner covered on shrubbery. It was a perfect spot to finish off your joint, now in complete peace but not complete silence, as the party was still going on like ten feet away.

It was now nearing nighttime. The sun began to set over Alicia Key's concrete jungle.

"Hey, mind if I join?"

"Jesus Christ how many are there of you?!" you screamed, turning to your right to see who the fuck was it now disturbing your silence now.

And that was him. Kendall. You didn't know it at the time but that was Kendall Roy.

"Oh, sorry, I, uh, didn't mean to bother you -"

"No it's okay," you quickly switched up, sure to smile. "Come sit. I'm sorry, I just, I got stressed out." You giggled in embarrassment, sounding a little like Trisha Paytas.

He took the seat beside you. "No, I get it," he smiled, revealing his goofy fine ass smile, "it can get pretty annoying, all these fuckers here put in one place. Kendall."

"Y/N," you said. You then offered your roll up, "you wanna kill it?"

He took it. "Sure. I don't even know what the fuck this is, but fuck it," he placed the entire roll up into his mouth, the tip of it barely out from his lips as he took a hit. You watched, transfixed and taken aback. He began to blow out rings and laughed as he coughed. "Jesus, that's some strong fucking shit there."

You tried not to look too much at him, instead facing back forward. But you couldn't help it. Man was fine as fuck in the goofiest way. The way he blew those rings - I mean what that mouth do I don't know.

You remembered a quote you saw on a Pinterest board once - "Compliments are just the absolute best ❤️ ". Now was your time to shine and put that quote to WORK.

"Your eyebrows."

He looked over to you. "Sorry? My eyebrows?"

"They're like, thin. Like Y2K vibes. I have to use a Men's shaver to get mine like yours - but you just have them all natural."

He nodded. He didn't get what the fuck you were on about. "Thanks. So who are you?" he asked. "Who do you know here?"

"I'm Willa's friend," you replied. From then on, you two spoke the rest of the night, free from any disturbance as you two were hidden in the shrubbery. As time went on, you felt a strong connection with him, and despite him being attractive, there was somewhat of a sad presence around him, in his self-deprecating way. There was something helpless, something loser about him that you felt immensely relatable. You could tell that he lacked a mother (and honestly father) figure, something you felt immediately attached to. Not to say that just because you're a girl means you're going to have motherly instincts all the time, but it was extremely intense with this one. A part of you wanted to pick up your hair in a ponytail and let everything do the rest, but another part of you wanted to cradle this man and pop a boob out to breastfeed his ass like the mother from Barbarian did to Justin Long's character.

Later that night, he'd introduce you to his father, Logan, and that was it. You won him over as assistant when he asked you a simple question, "Y/N. What would you do with a million dollars?" he was trying to prove something to his kids but you didn't realize it then. Your answer was quick, simple, and to the point: "If I had a million dollars I would buy so many cheeseburgers and Big Macs in McDonald's. I would also go to sweet tomatoes during lunch hour and I would tell the manager I want to co-own the business. And then I would fly myself to meet harry styles and offer him some money (not like he needs it) and ask him if he can be my boyfriend. And he can't deny my proposal cause I own sweet tomatoes. And I can offer him McDonald's food and he'll love me for that."

He loved that answer. "Smart. Very smart."

From that point on, you pretty much secured your position that family.

Working at the office, you and Kendall flirted here and there, but it never became anything too serious, to your own dismay. You loved the adrenaline that came through you when you saw him at work, and weren't at all opposed to the little office romance you two had going on. A little Jim and Pam hurt no one. You'd even post on your Instagram stories a screenshot of the two and type out "me and who". Kendall hearted it every time <3

One of your favorite parts of the day was getting ready for work, where you woke up two hours earlier to do your makeup and hair, and mentally prepare yourself for when you saw him at work. You looked cute asf every time, so the days he wouldn't show - let's just say it was very difficult for you to go on. Those days always ended up being the worst and resulted in you going to an extra storage room by yourself and going absolutely ape shit and trashing the entire place to let go some of that unwanted tension from the lack of the wanted tension from Kendall.

Okay so back to the office. Again, EVERYONE was there.

You snapped out of your trance. "Oh, uh, I'll come back later!" You were about to turn around, as you were not mentally prepared for all of that, let alone Kendall. He hadn't been in the office for several days and it just so happened that you got self-diagnosed with depression at that same time. See the coincidence?

"The fuck do you want?" Roman asked. "Don't you see the adults are talking?"

"Watch it, Roman," Kendall said. He always came to your rescue and it made you all hot down there.

"Shut up," Roman said to his brother. Oh no. That was a no-no in your book, no-no.

"Shut up Home Alone bitch!" you shot back.

He glared at you. It was like a slur for that man. You saw the flashbacks from the party replay behind his eyes, it filled you with such satisfaction. "You don't tell me to shut up! What do you want? Why are you even here, huh? Wanna crack my dad's back again, huh?"

"Romulus, enough," Logan said. His voice had such power it made the room fall silent again. Roman, annoyed and upset with his father's picking of sides, gave up. He crossed his arms and turned to face the window, away from you. "I'm sorry, Y/N."

"No, it's totally okay!" you said to your boss, "I love a little office rapport!"

Logan smiled softly, his little white mustache moving upwards. He turned to Roman. "For the record, Y/N cracks backs better than any one of you morons in here can." He turned to you again. "What is it, Y/N?"

"I have the, you know," you motioned to the papers, "you know. The documents."

Logan's face lit up. "Oh yes, yes. Alright everyone, fuck off!"

Everyone looked to one another, clueless.

"Well, wait. Logan. What do we do? We need to have a decision for tonight, for the markets, before the stock closes," said Frank.

The moment the words "markets" and "stocks" came out of Frank's mouth, they were as if they were the secret code to turn your brain off. You zoned out the moment they began to blabber on, incapable of deciphering whatever the fuck they were talking about. All the big words were difficult for you to understand. In fact, you didn't understand literally anyone in this office but you did a pretty good job at pretending you did. Your usual rotation of responses were as follows:

"Oh my god yes we have to think about the numbers!" or

"Yeah, the shareholders won't be big fans of that!" or

"The stock! We need to think about how it'll affect he stock!" or

"Yes! Investors are investing!"

There were more and even though sometimes saying any of these would result you in getting pretty confused looks, playing the office bimbo was just, well, YOUR forte. Not math.

You knew they were finished talking when they all began to leave. You snapped out of your disassociation and opened the door for them as they all left. Kendall gave you a small nod (you blushed), Gerri said thank you, Tom did his little white mom tongue that he now completely mastered, and Stewy winked at you. All the others just left, except Roman, who left last. He stopped at the door, and in a whisper said, "Keep up your attitude and I'll personally hire a tech fucker to wipe all your Sims 3 files from your PC."

You ignored him and shut the door behind him, pushing and forcing him out. He couldn't do that. Do you know how hard it was to log into your computer? No one would guess your password was ImJohnnyKnoxvillesLittleTenesseeWhiskeyCowgirl123.

You walked over to Logan as he put his glasses on and inspected the papers you put in front of him. "The fuck is it today?" he looked at the papers carefully, then closely, but ultimately threw it down. "Can you read it, Y/N, the print is so fucking small!"

"Of course, Logan!" you smiled, you cleared your throat. "Okay, today's date October 13th! Today's horoscope for Libras are, (insert here an entire usual horoscope bullshit here that really doesn't mean or say anything despite having a shit ton of words and sentences that sound like they make sense but they don't)."

Logan took a second after you finished. He began to nod. "Sounds about fucking right. I'm surrounded by MORONS!" he looked to you, "Not you, Y/N, you're just a bimbo."

"Aw, thanks, of course! Do you need anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I don't know how to get that goddamned Alexa to fucking work! Can you turn it on for me, Y/N, or fix it. Whatever the fuck, just do something about it!"

You walked over to it, initially not believing you could even try to attack the root of the problem. But, it wasn't hard. It was plugged out of its socket. No biggie. "Fixed it!"

"Thank you, Y/N, can you play that uh," he sat, thinking in his old man brain, "that woman."

"What woman?" you asked.

"Erm, that woman you know the one. You played it last time."

"Oh!" you remembered, "Lana! Yeah sure, what song?"

"The one I liked."

"Alexa, play Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey."

The Alexa lit up blue and began to play. Logan nodded. "Nothing better than a woman who's proud to be an American woman." Logan put his glasses back on and began to look at other mumbo jumbo documents at his desk. "Thank you, Y/N. You may go now."

You walked over to the door, "anything else, Logan?"

"Actually yes, one more thing," he looked above his papers to you, "Go get your nails done. You need refills, 'girlie'."

You looked down to your hands. It was true. You really did need refills bad. It's literally been five fucking weeks and those acrylics were barely hanging on.

You were now at the nail salon, admiring your new set - they were a French set - Logan's favorite. You sat in the chair waiting for your nail lady to get a seat to do your feet. It was packed in there, but you weren't leaving until your patas were done.

"Well, well, look who's here."

You turned around at the bell on the door ringing. Stewy had just entered.

"Hey Stewy," you said, surprised, "what are you doing here? Picking up your girlfriend?"

He showed his well groomed hands. His nails were short and smooth - no cuticle in SIGHT.

"I always knew you were a well-manicured man." He took his own seat with his lady and began to create some rapport with her.

"Hey so listen, there's like no chairs that are going to be available soon, is it okay if we put you in the backrooms chair?" you nail lady asked.

"Yeah sure! Let's go!"

She took you to the back which resembled a photo from that liminal spaces Twitter account and sat you down on a lawn chair with an Orbeez Soothing Spa at the bottom. You put your patas in those rubber boba-esque balls, enjoying the weird sensation on your feet. She didn't realize, but as she was getting things to prepare, you kept popping some of those balls in with your feet. They were delicious. She then began to get to work, taking a little longer than usual taking off all your dead skin. It looked like parmesan cheese had been coated all over those rubber balls.

Mid-way in, with the first coat, your phone began to ring. It was no longer an iPhone 4s, you were able to upgrade now to an iPhone 7 rose gold! Though your nails were still wet, you struggled to grab it from your side with just the palms of your hands.

You gasped, wide-eyed at the contact name. It was Kendall.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" you worried. Your nail lady gave you a giant side eye. "Can you answer it? I can't, my nails -"

You passed it over to her, but before she could grab it your phone thought it would be funny to do a little slippy slip slip from your hands and fell into the Orbeez bath. "Oh fuck!"

Your nail lady grabbed the iPhone, drying it with a towel, answered the phone and passed it over to you. You scrambled to answer.

"Hello, Kendall? Oh my God," you called. His voice was cracky and static. You looked to the lady, pointing at it, "it's Kendall!"

"No, it's wet. There's water in your phone, it's broken."

"Oh no!" you cried, "Ken, can you hear me?"

"He- lo- Y/N - cn an - you - ear - meeee"

The line then dropped, and your phone screen went black. "He sounds like shit. Man. I missed my fucking chance. FUCK!" you catapulted your now broken phone across the salon, accidentally and effectively hitting Stewy in the face. He was not happy. It was a habit you really needed to break.

After you finished both your mani and pedi, you went back to Waystar ready to present to Logan just where his money had gone. It was night time by now, so the building was bordering on empty.

You went up the elevator and went straight for his office - but oh no he's not there.

"Aw, man," you said, saddened. You turned back around, back for the exit, with lack of pep in your step...

"Hey, Y/N," you turned over - oh fuck it's Kendall. "Hey, I called you earlier."

"Oh, hey Kendall. Yeah sorry, I was doing my nails and my phone slipped into the Orbeez Soothing Spa thing. Look at them," you presented your hands. He touched them softly, looking at them in the light. His touch made you SHIT.

"Wow," he said, admiring them, "why are they so long?"

"Uh, cause the longer the better, duh!"

"What's this white powder, under your nail? That white shit? Is that why they're long, you're snorting?" he began to giggle.

"Uh no," you took your hands away from his gently and inspected it for yourself, "it's baby powder. I chafe bad. Some must've gotten stuck. Anyway, you going to Logan's birthday dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, that's actually why I called you. Will you go with me?"

"Of course! I mean, I was going anyway!"

"Uh, yeah, I know, but, I meant to go with me?"

"No yeah I know what you mean. But, technically, me going is like, me going with everyone. But of course Kendall!"

He smiled his goofy smile, it filled you with butterflies (euphemism for anxiety) that made you all warm inside. It filled you with such satisfaction to know that you had that affect on him. But of course you did, you are you and that's just what you do!

The following morning, you had your usual routine - you left the basement, elevator, your office, coffee, sign in, print horoscopes, looked out to the city, "I built this", lit your candle before Gerri told you to put it out, whatever. You made sure to look EXTRA cute today cause girl this was going to be a very important night. Kendall literally asked you out. This is no fucking joke. It's like the D-Day of this World War II thing y'all got going on if no one was dying.

After reading Logan his horoscopes, he asked to look at your nails.

"They're perfect, Y/N," he smiled. When he wasn't scary he was just a chill old man. "French. My favorite genre of nail."

"Of course, Logan! It is your birthday today after all! I actually have a gift for you. Do you mind if I give it to you now, I just can't wait," you said. It was true, you couldn't wait. You handed him an envelope before he could say yes.

He began to open it, taking out your gift - a sticker of bagpipes you got from Redbubble. You waited excitedly for his reaction like a weirdo.

"They're bagpipes! Since, you know, you're Scottish, so they're like naturally your favorite instrument! You can put it anywhere, it's waterproof!"

Logan looked up to you, a dead-serious face he only sported during his seemingly important meetings. A part of you didn't read this Logan expression well - you didn't know what he was about to say next...

"Y/N," he began in a serious, low tone, "this is the most thoughtful fucking gift I've ever received that none of these moronic imbeciles have ever gotten close to giving me. Better than anything my own fucking kids have given me. Thank you. I'll put it on the side of my helicopter."

Your wholesome moment was then ruined by an all too familiar annoying voice. It was Greg.

"The fuck do you want, Greg?" Logan boomed.

"Well, uh, happy birthday Uncle Log, first off. But anyway, uh," he struggled.

"Spit it out!"

"Well, uh, Tom's asking for Y/N. Like, summoning her down to ATN. We're uh actually short of an assistant today, you know, for the debate."

"Debate? Oh yeah, yeah, Y/N, go on."

As you were leaving, you heard the faint and muffled start of what you recognized as "Million Dollar Man" by Lana Del Rey come from Logan's office. You began to walk down the hallway down to ATN, a place you rarely ever found yourself going to. If there was anything worse than numbers, it was politics. It just honestly sounded like a whole lotta nothing to you. But you weren't just about to say no to Logan, especially today - that would be illegal. Greg continued talking about potential gifts for Logan, but you had a knack for drowning people out.

"Hey buddyyyyyyy," another all too familiar voice called. You turned to see Tom's Horton ass face catch up with you and Greg.

"What, Tom?" you asked.

"Well, I'm sure my assistant briefed you," he looked over to Greg, with a little gay twinkle in his eye, "but we do have a guest today for ATN. A little debate, you might say. A little clinking and clashing of fine weaponry, perhaps, shiny swords of red and blue -"

"- Don't you think that's like, embarrassing?" you asked. You three reached the newsroom, where one of the anchors was getting her makeup retouched but looking extremely annoyed as if she was going to bite the makeup artist's finger Abby Lee Miller style.

Tom seem insulted. "Why? What do you mean embarrassing, Y/N?"

"Well, like, lowkey," you said in a whisper as to not get bitten by the woman, Tom leaned in, "anyone from the outside can debate anyone in here and like, win. I don't think it's that hard."

Tom backed up. He took a moment, and looked to the anchor for the day's debate, then back to you. "Well, I take great offense to that, Y/N."

"Yeah, whatever. What do I know, though? Anyway what do I have to do what the fuck am I actually doing down here?"

"The guest should be arriving soon, through the back, where the shredded papers are thrown away. By the dumpster, you know, where you seemed to appear from like a fairy. As if Tinker Bell was a homeless fairy and a slut. Go on, go, escort him up," Tom turned, arms now crossed like a child and refused to talk to you anymore. That was just Tom, though. You shrugged it off and went towards the back.

Once you opened the door, you saw that fat ass SUV of an Escalade pull up and out came the guest. But it wasn't just any guest - no no it can't be. It's not just any ordinary guest, not just your regular Joe - oh no, oh no oh fuck fuck fuck - it's your ex Hasan! Fuck!

His 6'4'' ass stepped out in his signature blue suit - the same he always wore for debates that you ironed (and burned multiple holes through that you blamed on overly-grown moths) yourself - and you both caught one another's stare.

Let's just say - you were stunned. Like, no fucking way. There's no way. But there is a way and this was the way exactly. You were pretty much at a loss for words. All that confidence from "I built this" had seeped out of your body like body oil and it fucking REEKED. Like it was impossible for this to happen. But at the same time it wasn't? Cause he's literally a political commentator. Oh shit this is real.

He laughed in disbelief. You were both in awe. You stood there, blank and still like your ass fucking froze like you computer sometimes when you signed in because of how overloaded and backed up it was from those Sims 3 files. You looked high key stupid.

"Really?" he said as he walked towards you.

"Bro what the fuck," was all you could say.  

"Wow. So ATN, Y/N? Really. That's fucking low, dude. I never thought you were THAT familiar with the political climate of America, but I also didn't see you stooping down to work for literal Nazi sympathizers."

You turned and began walking back, not caring if he followed or not. You needed a moment to take it in. Okay. Okay....Okay cool now you took it in.

"Um, actually, Hasan, I work for Logan. And he's actually Scottish. How can a Scottish person be a Nazi?" you snapped, basking in your sudden femme fatale attitude, oh how you loved being a woman in the workplace!, "Anyway, mind your business just like I did yours."

"Fair enough," you two now stepped into the elevator. He leaned down to whisper, "Do you think Logan likes Zootopia just like you?"

The motherfucker was a rocket up your ass. Too bad he was still fine as fuck. But alas not all good things last forever...

You didn't give him the satisfaction of replying to him. You tried to make it seem like you were being the bigger, professional person, but in reality you had nothing to hit him back with. He was just too perfect honestly.

Now at the panel, Hasan took a seat by the anchor and the two began to fix themselves. They didn't speak one word to another - not even a hello. You cringed. This is awkward asf.

You hid behind the cameras in the corner, to yourself like a kid in timeout. Safe to say you were startled.

"Y/N, what is wrong with you?" Tom asked, now at your side.

You swallowed a pretty substantial wad of saliva, gulping pretty substantially. You said lowly, "Yeah. I am. That's my ex."

"I'm sorry, wait. Hasan Piker, the Twitch streamer, the little fingers dancing on a keyboard while his buttocks gets sores from sitting all day until time calls for his little occasional wee in his two million dollar home, whore-for-Bernie, communist masquerading as a socialist, Hasan Piker?" he seemed to enjoy this sudden news, relishing in its irony. You were not finding it as amusing as him. In fact, you started to see red at his apparent enjoyment. You felt that rosacea take over.

"Your wife cuck-holds you, Tom."

His face immediately fell. He walked away. It really did seem easy to make anyone in this fucking family insecure. Either that or it was another forte to add to your albeit short yet expansive list.

The moment they went live, you knew you didn't have that strength to stick around. It looks like your work was done. You ran out and felt tears well and stream down your face. Thank god you stole that Milk Hydro Grip Primer from Sephora, because this makeup was NOT coming off.

Everyone seemed to avoid you, and you liked it that way. There was nothing worse than this!

Oh god, everyone's gonna see me crying! Fuck! They're not gonna take me, a woman, seriously! you thought. You felt the early symptoms of a psychotic break linger. This was definitely not the time and place.

But there was no doubt about it - girl you were spiraling. Flashbacks that you thought your little brain worked to forget started to appear. You remembered the beyblade. You remembered his love for beyblades. You remembered being HIS beyblade...

You felt your breathing quicken. Your chest was tight. You knew you had to retreat somewhere - there was no stopping the rain after the lightning or whatever Lightning McQueen said.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You turn to see who grabbed your arm, ever so gently at that. Oh my god it's Kendall! He couldn't see you like this!

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh my god Kendall I can't no it's that I can't bro what even is that?!" you said through muffled mucus.

"Come here, let's get you out of the hallway," he pulled you into the women's bathroom and locked the door. You admired he didn't care for gender norms. He began to rub your shoulders in a soothing way trying to calm you down. There was something wrong with him being the one to console you, because typically you'd think it would be the other way around. But whatever another time.

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

You started to regulate your breathing. "Okay, so like," never mind you started hyperventilating again, "my ex, that Hasan guy. He's my ex! I just wasn't expecting him, you know?"

"Wow, okay," now he started to process the situation, "wow, he must've really fucking hurt you."

"Yeah, I have a permanent bump on my parietal lobe just to prove it!"

You then began to cry in his arms, he held you in that bathroom and you felt all your problems not go away exactly but for the moment it felt good. There was no way a MAN could fix your ass.

"Hey, listen," he had you face him, "fuck that guy. Okay? I can fucking, like, ruin his life for what he did. Why don't we, like, fucking bail? Okay? Let's go to lunch, we can fucking, I don't know, we can fucking eat açaí bowls or some shit. Whatever."

"Really? Like right now?"

"Yeah. I'm dead fucking serious."

"Oh my god Kendall you're like the best!"

A toilet then flushed. You both thought it best to bolt out of there before you came face to face with whoever was just minding their business to take a shit. No need to call HR here!

You both stepped into the JFK dream car, the chauffeur turned to ask Kendall where they were off to. You licked some of the fallen tears on your face. There was nothing that hit better than the salty brine of those tears on your weather-beaten face.

He turned to you, "What do you want to eat? It's up to you. Anything you want."

You turned to the window to think, watching the droplets beginning to slam at high speeds onto the glass. You then turned to him, feeling flirty and sensual all of a sudden, "I'd honestly really fuck up Oui yogurt -"

"Actually, buddy, can you drive us to Texas de Brazil?" Kendall said to the chauffeur. He nodded and began driving, occasionally going on the sidewalks to avoid that rush hour traffic. Evidently there was no fine that Kendall couldn't afford.

At the restaurant, it was literally just your regular Texas de Brazil. You personally weren't a fan, but you weren't going to tell Kendall no. Telling him no would send him into a spiral, an two spirals together are not good. You know what two people spiraling is? Yeah. Exactly that. It's two people spiraling.

Basically Texas de Brazil is where people go when they have too much money to spend on scraps of fucking meat. Like a vulture would absolutely go berserk. (Authors Note! If you've never been to Texas de Brazil, it's okay! It doesn't mean you're poor, it just means you're smart with your money!)

Kendall landed you two a sweet secluded spot directly in the middle of everything. Men with skewers stacked with meat were running away and offering it to every table. Frankly, it gave you anxiety like why are we running? The meat is not gonna go that cold fast like chill out. You're not getting paid enough for all that.

You and Kendall weren't able to speak too much as every time you tried to the men with skewers with unreadable faces were speed walking towards your table at full  force, one after the other after the other.

Mama's getting overwhelmed...

They kept coming at all angles, not giving you a moment to breathe. In your peripheral, you saw them coming at you like fucking crazy. You wondered when it was the best time to let Kendall know you didn't eat red meat. It wasn't for religious reasons exactly, but it was because it made it difficult for you to shit. And since clearing your intestines was something of a spiritual practice, it could arguably be for those religious reasons.

"Ribeye?"

"Pork?"

"Sirloin?"

It's getting worse...

"Chicken Breast Wrapped in Bacon?"

"Filet Mignon Wrapped in Bacon?"

"Bacon?"

Mama's getting stressed....

"Ox tail?"

"Brazilian Sausage?"

"Lamb Chops?"

Mama's gonna blow.....

"Parmesan-Crusted Pork Loin?"

"Braised Beef Rib -"

"ENOUGH!" you finally shouted, hands on the sides of your head covering your ears, shaking, "STOP! NO MEANS NO! I KEEP TELLING YOU NO!!!!!".

The restaurant fell silent.

You opened your eyes as they were shut tight like gorilla glue. You peeked through, everyone stared at you blankly - you weren't just in the center of the restaurant but now the center of their world...

You and Kendall ended up leaving directly after that. He was pretty quick to get out of there. Now carless, you both walked the streets of New York. It was nighttime already. Neither of you had spoken yet to break the silence.

"I'm sorry about that, back there," you said, faintly smiling in embarrassment, "I just get overstimmied easily."

"It's okay," he chuckled, "actually I - I found it kind of hot. You know, like, telling them off?"

You felt yourself blush. He was for real a man who grew up without a mother figure.

"So where do you wanna eat now?" you asked. Your fat ass was still hungry.

"How about," he stopped on the sidewalk and you faced him. He had that delusional look in his eye. "How about we eat in like, real fucking America?"

"What do you mean Kenny Ken?"

"Like, I'm talking, you know, fucking, oily fries, injected hormone burgers, fucking - disgusting Sprite? Right, like? Type 2 diabetes on a fucking tray?"

"It sounds like you're talking about McDonald's."

"Yeah, sure whatever. Like, how about Outback? Huh? The fuck is that?" he started to chuckle a little manically with his goofy smile, it made you happy, "or like, P.F. Cheng's?"

"Well, if you want real America, we should go to a buffet!" Oh how you loved buffets. There was no rules, you could eat and eat as much as you want until you were bloated and backed up for days.

"So what like a fucking, uh, Golden Corral?"

"Jesus no," you gagged. The fuck was wrong with this man? He really needs guidance and you didn't mind being that for him. "Good heavens, no. Let's just stick to McDonald's, okay? If we were going to a buffet, I'd take you to Sweet Tomatoes."

"Well, why not? Let's go."

"We can't, cause an annoying fucking bitch named 'Covid' took her away. It wasn't just the lives of people that were lost."

"'Covid'?" Kendall asked, "I don't think that happened in Succession universe."

"What's 'Succession'?"

"I don't know. I guess I made it up. So McDonald's, then? Let's go!" He suddenly grabbed your hand and yanked you as he started running, you nearly tripped and tore your ACL. The last time you did that you busted your ass on a city bike in Miami Beach.

You two made your way to the nearest McDonald's using the directions on your new iPhone 8 Plus. You ordered your food, and unlike Texas de Brazil, at your own fucking pace. This was the only red meat you could eat and it went clean through. That oil and grease works magic!

You both had sat in the corner of the restaurant and had been deep on conversation. The ambience of McDonald's was very homey and nostalgic for you. The random beeping in the background was the best.

You were on your round 3 already, not your fault the burgers were small and didn't fill you up. You're still a growing girlie. Your favorite part were those little ketchup packets. They were so cute and small and red. It was your favorite thing that was red next to a tampon when you could afford them. Anyway dipping those skinny soggy fries in it was just the best! It was definitely your favorite activity, next to trimming your nails with scissor's, and after putting Kendall on, he agreed. You rarely shared that secret combo with anyone, so Kendall now knowing it meant that he was worth to know about the ketchup and fry crossover.

"Okay, so how about this," you took a great chomp outta your fry, "who's your problematic fave?"

"Hmm I don't know," he said, "Maybe my dad. What about yours?"

"Great answer! I think," you thought, but you really didn't need to think cause you already knew who, "Nicki."

"Khrushchev?"

"No, that's Nikita! Very close, though. I'm talking about Minaj. You know, Lewinsky. The Barbz. I don't blame you I get them confused too."

"I actually, uh, I actually really fucking like Nicki. No one else knows, but my favorite song from hers is Only, with her, Drake and Lil Wayne," he said as he munched on his own fries. It filled you with such joy to know he didn't credit the woman-beater in that sentence.

"Same! I love that song!"

"My favorite part is when Drake says, 'but I'm still staring at the titties though!'" he smiled after delivering the line. Had this been a frat bro, you would've (TW//purging) tried to voluntarily throw up your entire meal at his face because what the actual fuck was that. Your toes curled at the ick. But since it's Kendall, he always got a pass. He could kill a teenager and it'd be okay!

"Okay, what about your favorite song of ALL time?"

"Rich Girl by Gwen," he said, a little too quick. "But keep that between us, please. I put the Private Session option on my Spotify when I listen to it. It just empowers me before I make deals, you know? I just, like, blast her whole fucking discography in my huge bulky headphones. The JBL ones? Yeah, those. Her and Fergie. When I need a good like, fucking cry, I put Big Girls Don't Cry. It helps, my therapist says it's, like, a good way to let all the shit out, you know?"

"You know what you are Kendall?" you said, low but extremely flirtatious, "you're kinda cunt. Like, cunty. Like, you're Princess Diana was reincarnated." You bit your tongue like a white mom - now was a perfect time for it.

Kendall smiled softly but you knew he wanted to smile BIG. If he had rosacea like you he'd be beet fucking red. You loved seeing this loser flustered. "Well, Y/N, no. You're like, fucking my princess."

Your phone buzzed. It was a notification from Twitter. You clicked to open it and the link took you to a highlight from the debate with Hasan. It began playing loud, and thanks to Elon, the app began glitching and didn't allow you to get out of it.

"- and everything I do and say for my viewers is for the betterment of America." Hasan said.

"Well, didn't you wish for 9/11 to happen again?" said the anchor.

"Hey," Kendall placed his hand over your phone. You felt those tears well up again. "Turn it off, it's not worth it, okay? Hey, let's like - do you wanna, like, fucking hotbox or something?"

You shut your phone off. "Of course, Kendall. I'd love to hotbox with you. Let's go!"

You two left the McDonald's and Kendall was able to call his chauffeur. He told him that he needed to stand outside and wait for you and him to finish the hotboxing session in the car. The chauffeur simply said 'okay' and sat on a bench while the SUV was in park on the side of the busy New Yorkan road.

You and Kendall sat in the front seat, he pulled out his pen (the weed one) and began to take big ass, very long hits. He passed it over to you and you did the same, the smoke filling up the car and making it reek.

"So when are we going to hotbox?" you asked, voice barely hanging on from it's effects.

"Well, uh, what do you mean? We're hotboxing right now?"

You were confused. "I mean, usually when I hotbox it gets pretty smelly. Stinky maybe." He still didn't seem to understand what you were saying. He looked concerned as his eyes were swollen red and he honestly probably forgot who you were for a second.

"Huh?"

"My farts? I've been told it gives the same high. For the brief period I was homeless, before my girl Willa picked me off the streets, I got paid to hotbox cars. There's no real way of escaping it now. It's gonna come. Usually I don't eat red meat, so when I do I get pretty gassy."

He continued to look at you blankly. You were getting kinda uncomfortable for a minute as you were taking your own hits.

"Do you wanna go to the back?" he finally said, immediately regretting it. "Sorry for being, uh forward as fuck. But, like, I like walking when I'm high, I actually like going to the beach or any body of water when I'm fucked up, but -"

You put your finger to his lips, a little harder than either of you anticipated. "It's okay Kendall, you don't have to explain. Let's hit that back." You began to climb over to the backseat, accidentally flashing New York you pantiless bottom and kneeing Kendall in the face. You forgot you were wearing a business-themed skirt cause it's work appropriate, but your laced Victoria's Secret thong that you stole during your homeless era.

He climbed after you. You two sat and stared at one another for several moments, having temporary amnesia as you forgot why you went to the back in the first place.

"Y/N, can you be, like, my fucking assistant? I need help, uh, assisting."

"Oh my god, yes Kendall! That's like, my forte!" You jumped to hug him, he hugged tightly back, he then threw you on the hard leather seats and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your business skirt clean off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a fucking, uh, labia," he says.

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the boy from Manhattan Financial District in. This is it. No Excel spreadsheet, no Texas de Brazil waiters, no Elf on the Shelf, no annoying Jordan Belfort sympathizers/incels, nothing - just you and Kendall.

Thank god for illegally tinted windows!

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Javier Peña’s Klepto

Javier Pena X Reader

Anonymous Request -

"Hey hey hey Sammy Sammy Sammy! I've just finished my 5th rewatch of Narcos: Colombia and can't stop thinking about Pedro's slutty little waist in it the entire time! I was hoping to see if you could whip something up for me - maybe an enemies to lovers? Me and Javier being the enemies, then lovers? I am a self-admitted kleptomaniac, so maybe this could help me come over that hurdle in my life? You do your thing!"

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

"Play it again! NOW!"

"Again, Danny? We get it now, if we watch it again it'll be our fourth time today! I don't think so!"

"Pablo told us to watch it over and over until we are really able to immersive ourselves into the story, to BE the characters, BE in the setting, BE a part of the heists themselves," Danny stopped and turned his head aside, closing his eyes. His abrupt silence and failure to finish his sentence caused everyone in the living room to turn to him.

"Uh, hello? Danny?" Angelica snapped in his face.

"I think he fell asleep again." Adrienne said. "Go and shake him awake. I hate when that happens."

Angelica let out an annoyed groan before thrusting her foot into Danny's shoulder, quite violently, until he shot open his big blue, Miley Cyrus-esque eyes, giving Angelica the biggest and most bombastic side-eye yet.

"Oh my god, why did you kick me!?" he snapped at Angelica. Spit and particles of Glossier lipgloss flung from his BBL lips onto Angelica's red glasses, causing them to fog.

"We thought you fell asleep!" you snapped back, defending Angelica's and Adrienne's honor. "You were talking and then you just stopped!"

"I wasn't done talking!" he exclaimed, "I stopped because I wanted to leave suspense for what I was about to say next and you guys didn't give me a chance to continue! God!"

"Oh," Adrienne giggled, "then why didn't you just say so, silly?"

"Why the fuck would I say that if I'm supposed to be quiet for the suspense?" Danny asked, still spitting.

"Danny, just face it," you said, "you're not that femme-fatale enough to go silent for that long. You're just narcoleptic."

Danny turned to face you. His face was unreadable, but you could read it. He was seeing red. If there was one thing about Danny, he took suspense pretty seriously.  "And you are? Look where that landed you in Paris, bitch."

You shuddered at the memory. Paris seemed a lifetime ago. No help in remembering that!

"Fine," you said, sort of frightened from more aggressive humbling from him, "finish what you were going to say."

"I was going to say...I actually forgot what were we talking about?"

"How your ass thought we were going to watch Ocean's 11 for the fourth time!" Angelica said, cleaning her foggy glasses with her shirt, making a windshield wiper sound. "I think Pablo knows we get the whole point. After all, it is tomorrow. We should get some rest, it'll be a big day."

How you didn't know just how big of a day that big day that Angelica said was gonna be big.

Everyone rose from the living room and began to pick up all the garbage from the floor that accumulated slowly but surely after your six hours of watching the first of the Ocean's trilogy on repeat. It consisted of dried pickle chips, Elf Bars of all different flavors, Monster energy drinks, Costco Animal Crackers, laxative pills, SpongeBob ice cream wrappers, empty and half full water bottles and more that aren't too important to mention.

You and your girls (this includes Danny) lived in a high rise apartment in Medellin, Colombia. You kept forgetting the year was 1989. The year is 1989 and you're in Medellin, Colombia living with your girls. It overlooked the communes of the city - it made you feel high in the clouds like God. The apartment was bought and paid off by none other than Pablo Escobar, or as you all referred to him, "Pablo", his code name. Pablo is among the five most popular boy's names of all time. It can be any Pablo.

This free stay didn't come without a cost, however. You four girls (and Danny) worked for Pablo and consequently the entirety of the Medellin Cartel. It was pretty crazy, but nothing you girls couldn't handle.

It was you, Angelica, Adrienne and Danny. You four were known as the Five Sisters, or by Pablo's affectionate little nickname, Las Putitas. Yes, though it may be confusing to others that there were only four of you and not actually five, Pablo liked the idea because he considered himself the fifth Sister/Puta. He wouldn't actually tell you guys any of this, but word spreads fast among the Cartel.

What you four did was simple: steal. Whether it was the Dollar Store or Goodwill, or both, you four had some sticky fingers that just had a knack for snatching just about anything. And Pablo liked that. And for you all having ten fingers, that's forty fingers in total, which is quite a lot. And that doesn't even count your toes.

He first encountered you four when you were set to go on vacation to Cancun with your girls. You four had been in the Miami airport, ready for liftoff! Everything was packed and ready - the outfits, sunscreen and suntan lotion, carts (weed) stuffed in your shoes and bras but slightly leaking, and bikini regions waxed.

But all four of your spirits were rained on and dampened when you find out that your liftoff! was delayed until the next day. Shucks.

Waiting for your next flight, you four decided to kill time and wander around Miami and see what was up. You grabbed some virgin Pina coladas and Miami lifeguard hoodies before going over to the beach. You all laid on the sand feet out and perked up, enjoying that beach breeze. Angelica had sat in front of you three facing towards the sun. You three had to turn your back towards it because the glare was too bright, but Angelica's red glasses shielded her eyes.

She leaned into you three after some time of sunbathing.

"Guys, don't like, look now - but there's this really fine dude behind y'all. I think he might be Colombian. Cause I'm actually Colombian and I know, I sense it. Should I try talking to him?"

"Oh my god what does he look like? He's right behind me, isn't he?" Adrienne asked, sitting across the sand from Angelica.

"Yes, I already said he was behind you but don't look now you're going to make it obvious -"

Adrienne whipped her head around back the moment Angelica said yes. You and Danny also turned your little heads albeit not as harshly and obvious and saw a man smoking a cigarette with a mustache, yellow sunglasses and flat cap. He was dressed like a Cuban grandfather.

You had to admit, Angelica was right.

He turned and noticed you four. You faced back around.

"You guys are like, fucking morons. I told you not to look." Angelica said.

"It's okay, Big Ange!" Danny assured, tapping his toes on hers, "I'd go and talk to him if I were you. He looks lonely."

"Yeah!" Adrienne agreed, "just walk up to him and ask about his day! Easy peasy lemons have been squeezed."

"I'm too nervous, though. What if he turns out to be really weird, or like," Angelica moved her face closer, in a whisper, "a cocaine dealer."

"Are you assuming that since he's Colombian, he's a drug dealer?" you asked.

"Oh please, everyone today is! Colombian or not! It's 1989! And if you're nervous, just grab a brewski for some liquid courage!" Adrienne said.

As if a light bulb lit up above her head and red glasses, Angelica turned to her backpack and pulled out her three-day-old can of Four Loko Gold. She took a big swig before wiping her mouth and throwing the can out to sea. Apparently the can was bio degradable so you didn't mind the littering.

She walked over, feet sinking into the hot sand causing her to go slower than expected, but she finally made it to the man. You three watched them talk.

"I hope he's cool," you said.

"Of course he's cool, who smokes a cigarette with a flat cap at the beach by themselves?" Danny said.

After some time, Angelica turned back towards you three and walked back with a big big smile.

"What did he say?" you three asked excitedly in unison like a little choir.

"You guys won't believe it! He said he could get us to Cancun for free literally right now!"

"What? What are you talking about?" you three said again in your choir.

"He said he thinks we're all hot and his friends would love us, he said he's leaving to Cancun literally right now and has a private plane we could hop in!"

"Whoa, slow down." Again, in unison.

"Could you guys stop doing that the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

"Wait, hot like we're hot or hot like we're sweating dick and balls right now?" you asked. She shrugged.

Whether it was one or the other, it was too good to be true.

How you laugh at your naivety back then.

After some deliberation, you guys came to the agreement that a free flight to Cancun was better than one that wasn't free. You gathered your things and walked back over to the man, who later introduced himself as Gustavo. He explained to you three as he previously did to Angelica while you all walked down the pier to his car that he knew someone who was a pilot and was heading to your destination.

You all finally got to the landing strip after about ten minutes of driving. The plane itself was not what you imagined it to be. Instead of your usual airline, commercial plane - it was a small, janky and little private plane. Everything was very suspicious now looking back, because a bunch of men were pulling out loads of carefully wrapped packages out of it. The man who was the pilot had a giant Swastika tattooed on his arm which didn't appear to be a good sign.

"What's with those packages?" Danny inquired to Gustavo.

"Ay, nada, mamacita. No se preocupe!" he responded in his Colombian accent that sounded like he was about to cry. "Em, how do you say - como los pinguinos? Hear nothing, see nothing?"

"Oh, no. Those are the monkey emojis. What you mean to say is 'Smile and Wave boys, Smile and Wave' from Madagascar. Close though!" he corrected, with a smile on his face. "An A for trying, honestly."

You four hopped into the back of the cockpit and were off. The fun didn't last for more than fifteen minutes, as the rest of the ride was bumpy and the A/C was broken so you all sweated profusely to the point where you all were so stiff it looked as though you were doing the Mannequin challenge from Vine (that wouldn't be popular until like forty years later because we're still in 1989). Gustavo sat in front with the Swastika-tattooed pilot, talking all sorts of Spanish mumbo jumbo that you all couldn't bring yourselves to try to understand.

White dust was stuck under all the crevices of the interior that didn't look like normal dust. It looked like cocaine.

"You guys...I think this all this white dust is cocaine," you said, low in a whisper.

"No shit dumb ass look what type of plane we're in," Danny said.

You looked around. "Seems like a normal plane to me."

"Yeah I guess so." replied Danny.

You would later find out it was actually cocaine and you were in fact right. But later Pablo told you all with the same leisurely "Hear nothing, see nothing, no?" as his cousin Gustavo. He even covered his eyes and ears to demonstrate to you all. You all felt that you were being talked down to like you were children and he was something of a father figure, but you didn't find yourself complaining because it made up for your lack of one in the first place.

When you guys had finally made it to what you THOUGHT to be Cancun, you hoped off the plane into this villa out in the South American boonies.

To make a long story short you were actually up in the mountains near Medellin. And you know where Medellin is? Not Cancun.

Gustavo thought that kidnapping you all for work would be something beneficial to the cartel. Basically, no one would suspect a group of non-conspicuous girls (and Danny) to be working for Pablo. And what did Pablo want? Free Dollar Store and Goodwill merchandise. They were just too much for him to want to pay.

You met him that day and he laid out the ground rules for you after throwing some more threatening Spanish mumbo jumbo at you guys:

1. No contacting police/DEA.

2. Do what Pablo says and that's THAT.

3. Make enough money in stolen merchandise that's satisfactory to Pablo enough to where you could return back home to America.

4. No complaining! No negative Nancies or Debby downers get any job done!

5. No asking about how the cartel works or any details, you don't have to know.

6. Apply hear nothing 🙉 see nothing 🙈 say nothing 🙊 to anything that applies to rule number 5 that you happen to accidentally encounter.

And that's how it's been ever since. Living in the apartment, you all wait for Pablo's next order and you go to do your magic. He'd send his men occasionally to pick up the stolen goods and bring you all food, which were just bandeja paisas. (They were always good and never grew old so you all didn't mind it being your breakfast/lunch/dinner/dessert.)

You all had completely acclimated to the new way of life and had a system to it at this point, which made it more confusing as to why Danny was so dead-set on watching Ocean's 11.

Over the course of two months, you all had committed a total of 132 robberies, individually or as a group. Those forty+ fingers...

Though you wished to be back home, a part of you enjoyed the rush of the forced labor. You knew you were all protected by the Cartel, so if something were to happen they'd always be near. Once, Adrienne had actually gotten caught for stealing a Hello Kitty bag from Marshall's, and bailed out by Pablo for a grand total of $100,000. That's efficiency. And this is Stockholm syndrome.

It wasn't without trouble, however. The DEA and Colombian police were cracking into the entire Medellin operation little by little, being what Pablo described to you guys as "party poopers" and wanting to "rain on their parade" and "ruin the vibe". You agreed, you didn't feel there needed to be a reason for the government to feel the need to get involved. Just let a girl live, in this case, the girl was Pablo. You all didn't enjoy seeing his mustache go into a sad face.

There were specifically two DEA agents that were American assigned to the case. All you knew through word of mouth that one was a white guy and the other was Hispanic. Because of how broadly generic the descriptions were, it was very difficult for you girls to know what they'd look like if you encountered them. Pablo just told you four to just assume everyone was DEA.

And you wish you had. But you didn't.

"So, you still on Hinge?" Adrienne asked you as you all slid into your bunk beds. You all slept in the same room and across from a large window that overlooked the city. The sun was well beyond set by now.

You took out your phone to check for any new notifications. "Yeah, but no luck yet."

"Wasn't there that one guy?" Angelica asked.

"What guy?"

"That one guy, the one with the mustache. Remember? You two were talking, like a lot."

"Every single guy here has a mustache."

"He's the one with the slutty waist."

It clicked. His face suddenly appeared in your mind and it left you disappointed. You let out a heavy, tired breath. "Oh, yeah. Javier." It hurt you to even say his name. It was such a waste.

"Oh yeah. What ever happened with him?" Danny asked. "Didn't you two go on a couple dates?"

"Yeah, we did," you started to remember. The more you thought about it, the more it turned down your spirits and reminded you as to why you chose to wipe it clean from your memory and ignore it all like it was trauma. "But, nothing came out of it."

"Well what happened?" Angelica pressed.

You hesitated but then you remembered - these are your girls. You tell them literally everything.

"Everything was going great. He was really funny and nice and all around the vibes were good. We'd been going out and finally one of the dates he wanted to invite me over to his apartment. I was looking cute, Pablo let me borrow some of the clothes from one of our runs, remember the Bebe jeans? The Y2K ones? Yeah, well those. My ass was looking fucking fat," you smiled to yourself, thinking about how Pablo and Gustavo told you that when you wore them, "Anyway, we ate dinner then went back to his apartment, and he had these like, yellow sunglasses he wore all the time. I thought to be nice I should get him new ones, so I was able to talk Gustavo into letting me keep these yellow Bebe ones I snatched at Dollar Tree for him. When we got to his apartment, I saw the old ones on the table and thought I should surprise him! When he went to the bathroom I put the new ones on so he'd be, well, surprised. When he came out and saw them on me, he got all weird all of a sudden. I was like, 'look! I got you new  sunglasses that are Bebe's like my jeans!' Then I showed him my fat ass to show the Bebe emblem, and he was not feeling it at all. Those good vibes at the beginning? Yeah, they weren't there anymore. He like, ripped them off my face and told me it would be best for me to leave."

Though it was dark and you couldn't make out your friend's faces, you knew they were all confused. Just like yourself when he removed those yellow shades from your face. You felt tears well up in your eyes - it was so sad.

"What the fuck? Who cares they're just sunglasses." Adrienne said. "He really told you to get out?"

"Was he offended that you got him new sunglasses? Like, you're implying he can't buy new ones himself?" Danny asked.

"I know, that's what I thought." you said.

"Maybe his old glasses are prescriptions?" Angelica said, "maybe he was reminded of the fact he could be legally blind?"

"Well did you ask why? What happened after?" Adrienne asked.

"I did, he just said that he had work in the morning and shouldn't have brought me to his apartment in the first place. Anyway, I left after that. It just killed the mood, I really thought we were gonna like hook up or something. He even got pale when he walked me out."

"What an asshole. Who cares? There's like so many other people who would appreciate new sunglasses from you and wouldn't want you to leave." Danny said. "Like Gustavo."

You all giggled at the mention and went to sleep soon after...

The big day was finally here. And for time's sake, let's literally just skip to when everything became BIG.

You four had driven to the location - another Goodwill. This was your fifth this week, there had already been a bulletin put out among all Goodwill employees about missing items across every one throughout the city. It had been a hot topic among the staff, but you four didn't know and frankly didn't care. Pablo was behind your back at all times. And the industry was crumbling.

You all walked in casually, careful not to bring any attention all to yourselves. And why would any of you? You're just a group of girlies (and Danny) who just want to do some shopping fun! Women be shopping!

"Okay guys, remember, Ocean's team only got what they needed, that's it," Danny said, "so don't go overboard. Do you guys have your bags?"

You all nodded, tote bags glued to your side.

"Okay, great! I'm like the George Clooney of this little team we got going on here," Danny said, biting his tongue and doing that white mom expression, absolutely eating up his new title.

"Um, who said that you were?" Adrienne asked, brows arched in confusion.

"I just did."

"That's not fair. We should all be able to choose who we want to be!" she argued.

"Well you snooze you loose! I don't make the rules, but the Daddy Clooney in me does, therefore we must get started!" he roses his arm with his index finger pointed upwards, "Girls, to your stations! We'll meet back in ten!"

You weren't sure why Danny decided to yell this at the entrance of the store for everyone to turn their heads and see. It didn't seem that George Clooney of him to announce the heist to the world. But, Danny did share the same name as George's character in the movie, so he must have had a reason? You weren't sure where the correlation in that was.

You all dispersed like little ants, all having their own role in the mission. Before entering, you reviewed the list Pablo wrote for you to find and snatch:

1. Juicy Couture bag

2. Low rise Y2K jeans

3. P.E. shirt of the local school

4. Y2K Jewelry, (playboy bunny themed preferably)

5. Twilight DVDs (I only have Breaking Dawn Pt. 2 and Eclipse, that's embarrassing for me as a Twilight fan. Change that.)

6. Hello Kitty toys (check toy section, push the kids out of the way if you have to, or steal from them themselves idgaf tbh)

7. Borat DVD

8. Ed Hardy anything tbh

9. Cute trinkets!

10. Lastly, anything that reminds you of me <3

The list was extensive and specific, but nothing you all couldn't handle. This wasn't your first rodeo.

But your last?

Maybe...

You went straight for the clothing rack, trying to find the wanted items. You looked around and saw your fellow girls all seemingly in their own worlds. You chuckled to yourself. They weren't ordinary girls. No one here knew or had a clue what you were all up to.

You kept looking through, pushing all the clothes to the right quickly like a machine and scanning the designs and graphics of the t-shirts to see if they reached the requirements. You felt that undiagnosed carpal tunnel syndrome flow through your veins and bones - it only fueled you. Pain was for the weak. Pablo told you that <3

"What do you have so far?" Angelica asked, inconspicuously standing aside you and going through the clothes as well.

"Not much luck here so far." you kept rummaging through, and found one shirt that stuck out to you - sending actual shivers down your spine. It was black and in funky letters spelled "Make the Rich Pay Tax".

"Oh my god, wasn't that the same shirt one of your old boyfriends had? What was his name? Hussain?" Angelica asked, oblivious to its dense and deep lore.

You quickly pushed it aside onto the next. "No, I don't know what you're talking about," you moved on quickly, "what about you? Have you found anything?"

"Check this out," she whispered to you as she shimmied her tote bag off her shoulder and revealing to you its contents.

"Snowglobes?"

"Yes bro they're stacked! You think Pablo will like them for the trinkets category?"

The globes clashed together softly as she shimmied it bag onto her shoulder.

"I guess, but what's useful about a snow globe?"

"They're trinkets. Trinkets aren't supposed to be useful at all, that's the point. They're just pretty clutter." Angelica explained. "Plus, he can't leave the country, you know, extradition and all - so it'll give him a unique perspective on the places he'll never get to visit. He'll be able to imagine them with glitter sprinkling all over!"

About fifteen minutes had passed. You were able to find several items of clothing you thought Pablo would like, all stacked on your arm. It was so heavy you felt it get sore, but you couldn't bear to put any of it down.

You began to felt that familiar disassociation kick in, however. Your head felt light and that tunnel vision you entered with had died out, you were on auto pilot. Crazy shit could go down in front of you and you wouldn't bat an eye. Nothing was in focus. Your head began to bang with heat and you felt your tummy rumble.

Mama needs to eat, you thought. Mama needs to eat soon.

You cradled your stomach in hoping of soothing it to overcome the hunger. It rumbled and rumbled, soon you realized it wasn't just hunger - you needed to shit. And you needed to shit now.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! you cursed yourself. I haven't even had laxxies????!!!

You looked around trying to find the nearest Sister of the group to lend all your items to and you finally spotted one. Danny was in the toy section to the far end, so you made a beeline towards him, dodging all the people and their pesty children.

"Danny. Danny." you called harshly.

He turned to see you, with a pile of toy dolls in his arms. His curious faced dropped.

"I'm not supposed to know you, remember? You really didn't pay attention during the movie," he said, "you might as well blow my cover entirely."

"Danny shut the fuck up you're so annoying who gives a fuck listen I need you to hold all this shit I need to go to the bathroom bad."

"Hold all...that?" he gulped, wincing at your subtly shaking arm. "That's a lot of stuff."

"Yes that's what I just fucking said. Hurry up it's coming out!"

"Not with that tone." he waved his finger at you in a 'no no'. "What's the magic word -"

Without thought, you launched all the clothes at him so hard it knocked his back against the shelf of toys, sending them crashing down. He tumbled down, draped in all the clothing. He let out a yelp as the air was knocked clean out from him. The crashing sound rattled throughout the entire store, sending ripples of its sound waves out to deafen every patron's ear canal.

By the time Danny had fallen, you were already towards the bathroom door, which was fortunately only a few steps away. You gripped your butt from the behind in an effort to keep everything together. A teenager had been in your way to the bathroom ahead of you, and as if you had just been given that familiar bump of Pablo's dusty dust dust, you stepped on the gas of your adrenaline and caught up to him.

"Get the fuck out the way!" you yelled, pushing him from aside like a footballer who had that football for that touchdown. He fell flat onto the ground too like Danny. You didn't feel bad. All the nerve endings of your asshole slowly opened wider as more seconds passed, that shit literally creeping out ready to make its own ripples into the toilet water like those sound waves.

Fuck Dunkin' Donuts coffee, you thought. Fuck that Dunkin' Donuts coffee! Might as well be laxxies!

Your patas were slamming on that floor.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

But you made it.

The moment your bare ass hit that toilet seat, it was game over. It was the same effect as an oil rig exploding except in reverse.

"Oh thank god," you said to yourself as it burned through. "Thank god the almighty."

After about fifteen minutes, you exited the bathroom a new person. You had spent the most of those fifteen minutes wiping. But it didn't matter, what happened in that Goodwill bathroom would STAY in that Goodwill bathroom. You were a new girl. A new Sister. A bright smile was plastered on your face that resembled some creepy anime character.

Danny was still in the toy section, a little bruised and cut up but nonetheless alright. He had all your clothes in one arm, the dolls in another. The floor was littered with all sorts of the colorful toys, and the shelf had been broken with pieces of metal shards all over.

"Hey Danny! Thanks for holding my stuff!"

He turned and glared at you. "You're a real fucking whore for that. Here." He gave your items back and you took them gladly.

You noticed he had accidentally given you one of the dolls, it was a beaten and dirty American girl doll. You thought it might've been Kit Kitteredge. There was something oddly human about it, oddly uncanny valley about it. You didn't like the way it made you feel. It reminded you of a furby...

When you looked up to Danny to give it back and get it away from your vicinity, he'd been gone. Disappeared. Disintegrated. He was literally no where in the store.

That's creepy...where did he go? you thought. And why did he give me this doll? Pablo never asked for a doll...

"Uh, Y/N, you might wanna come check this out." Adrienne said, suddenly at your right.

You turned to her. "What? Do you know where Danny went?"

Adrienne gulped, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. You didn't understand what she looked worried about. She didn't even appear this worried when she was in jail for the Hello Kitty bag.

"What's with the long face?" You asked, still living off the euphoria from the mess you left in the bathroom at the expense of your own personal relief, "he's right behind me, isn't he?"

"Y/N," Adrienne turned straight ahead of you both. You didn't realize, but she had her arms up in the air the entire time. You looked forward.

Ain't. No. Fucking. Way.

Your group was all suddenly surrounded. You stood by one another, back to back - targeted. Random ass fellow Goodwill shoppers circled around you with AK's and pistols pointed directly at you. They were not too happy. You all didn't realize but all these regular patrons were just the police and DEA in disguise. It was deathly quiet.

You looked them up and down - at one of their feet they had Danny pinned to the ground with their foot. His limbs were spread out like a cockroach that got stepped on.

"Let them through! Stand aside!" you all heard one of them call. They all then divided like Moses parting the Red Sea, letting two tall (and fine as fuck) men walk through. It was a white guy and a Hispanic guy. They were also not too happy. They had their own pistols pointed to your direction, with bullet proof vests fitted on labeled 'DEA'.

And there he was - Javier. Your hinge date. You felt that your shit circulating through your intestines once again, ready for round 2 in that bathroom. It couldn't be, no - it can't. Well it is. Uh oh this is not good. What's a girl to do right now?

"Javier?" you mumbled out. It all that was you were able to even mutter since you were so flabbergasted. He didn't seem as shocked as you would think, it was as if he knew about your true identity and intentions this entire time...

The white guy who also had a mustache looked over from you to Javier, confused about you knowing his name. He leaned in a whisper but you were able to hear because of your super sonic hearing -

"She one of your little informants, too?"

Javier shook his head and was back to you. "You're all under arrest for -"

Before he was able to finish, Angelica attempted to make her escape. She started to run so fast in one spot like a cartoon character, the friction creating a grey dust cloud from under her before bolting through the police and agents, holding the tote bag of snow globes to her chest like a mother running with her child away from danger.

"Stop her!" Javier ordered, in somewhat shock that everyone just opted to watch her run instead of trying to catch her.

One of the men ran behind her and launched himself at her, tackling to the ground like some regular football shenanigans like from earlier. She fell hard to the floor, a hard glass shatter sounding as she landed. The snow globes had bursted and spilled their glittery water all over the floor.

"Angelica!" you all yelled.

The officer that chased after her was disgusted as he was drenched in the glittery substance.

"Fuck is all that glittery water?!" the white guy yelled.

"Um, uh," Angelica's mind was racing behind those red glasses for any possible answer. You could tell she was in shock about the destruction of the globes. "My water broke?!"

"Why is your water all sparkly?" Javier asked, more confused than concerned.

"She was pregnant with Edward! From Twilight! Please she's just a young girl trying to make her way through this dog-eat-dog world!" Danny cried from the ground, the foot cutting some of his speech capacity short.

"The fuck is Twilight?" the white guy asked Javier.

"I don't know. But we better get this group to the station for questioning, soon. Let's go," Javier said, starting towards the entrance with his hands on his waist, "good job team!"

You gripped that toy baby harder. But it wasn't for any longer as they confiscated all your incriminating tote bags.

Some hours later, you had been in a small, gray interrogation room, with a black glass facing you. You were handcuffed to the table and shit was kinda tight. You felt your circulation slowly getting cut off. It was not a good, fun or fresh feeling. It just hurt. And it didn't help your carpal tunnel syndrome.

You hadn't seen your girls since the sting operation. A part of you wished that Pablo was here to help bail you out, but chances are he hadn't found out yet. Word sometimes doesn't travel fast in the Cartel.

Your disassociation was through the roof, higher than it ever was before. You might has well been dropped in the middle of the Saharan desert with no food or water - you felt all your sense of reality slip away as time ticked and ticked on. You were slumped forward, bare face on the cold table. These bare walls gave you nothing to hyper fixate on.

What's a girl to do....I've been caught, you thought to yourself.

It seemed your string of luck had finally run out.

The door swung open, walking in the white and Hispanic guy (Javier). They shut the door behind them, and the sound of it sprung you up like you just took a bump of Pablo's pixie dust.

You reminded yourself - you couldn't show them that you were weak. But, let's be real - a girl was tired. How long could you keep the facade? But no, they can't - they need to think you're resilient! Like some random person said, fake it 'til you make it girl!

"Y/F/N Y/L/N, right?" the white guy asked. They took a seat in front of you, manspreading to the max. Buzzfeed would be livid.

I can't answer them without a lawyer, you thought.

The white guy stared at you with some dead tired blue eyes for an answer. Javier lit a cigarette.

You looked at him with dead eyes back. You thought you looked intimidating, but in reality you looked shell-shocked like a war veteran.

He looked to Javier.

Javier looked to you. He was also waiting.

"Okay, anyway -" Javier started.

"That's your name, right?" the white guy asked.

You took a moment to scan your vibe - is this too serious you can't joke or is this all just a test? Either way, you needed to outsmart these narcs. And quick.

"What's your name?" you asked sneering, biting your tongue to yourself in your white mom self, knowing you ate.

"Agent Murphy."

You didn't know how to expand after the question. "Alright, sweet."

"Why can't you answer the question?"

"I choose NOT to incriminate myself. Don't you know about Miranda rights? Mr. Lin Manuel wasn't playing around," you retorted.

"There's no such thing as Miranda rights in Colombia," Javier said lowly, somewhat embarrassingly. Murphy gave him an annoyed look.

"Whatever, c'est la fucking vie. I don't have to tell you guys anything," you shot back, crossing your arms as best you could since you were still handcuffed and looking to the bare wall beside you, away from them. "Like, no taxation without representation, honestly." you muttered, not as loud since you weren't confident if that applied to Colombian law or to the situation in general. I should really pick my battles, you thought.

"Look, you can make this easier on yourself and just talk. We don't want you," Javier said, "we want Escobar."

"See, this is the problem with you guys. You don't want to see a woman in STEM succeed, like me, because of others that are caring and giving, like Pablo," you covered your mouth - you'd just revealed the codename for Pablo to the DEA.

Fuck, you thought.

"Whatever," you rushed, trying to move on from the slip up, hoping they didn't catch on because they're boys and they're naturally slow, "anyway, I can't give into your demands. I'm no rat."

"Pablo has you captive. We can help you and your friends, if you help us." pleaded Javier. Murphy had his arms crossed and seemed to be getting impatient.

"Your friends already talked. They're all rats. It's just you left." Murphy spat.

"They wouldn't rat." you said.

"They did," Murphy sat up from his chair and got in closer, intimidatingly. "Your Danny friend spilled everything. You all work for the narcos."

"The 'narcos'?" you asked, pretending to play stupid.

"Yes, the narcos."

"Danny is no narco."

"Danny is a narco. He works for them, just like you."

"The only narco Danny is is narcoleptic," you said, raising your thin ass eyebrows, chewing your mouth as if you had gum in it, which you didn't. "Look, why don't we end this war we have going on, right here and right now? I can be the mediator. Let's end this once and for all."

"You're confident enough to speak on behalf of the entire Medellin cartel?"

"I've never felt more confident in my life," you smiled. You were lying.

"How do you suppose we do that, then?" Murphy asked, intrigued. You had him.

"Well, maybe we could start with some Co-Exist bumper stickers? I have some in my tote bag that's sitting pretty in the evidence room. Maybe we can all start by slapping them on our cars? It could probably end all conflicts, actually."

"Really?" Murphy scoffed, making a snarky laugh. "You really think that could solve all conflicts? What about Israel-Palestine? You think that could solve it?"

"Honestly, yeah. Maybe," you answered. You had no idea what that was, but it sounded important. "I'd just have to get a couple more stickers."

Murphy slammed his big hand on the table. "Control your informant, Javi!" He was not happy. He had snapped.

Got him there, you smiled to yourself.

"She's not my informant. Look, Murphy, let me handle this. Okay?"

"You want me to leave?"

He leaned in closer to his BFF's ear to whisper. But since you have super sonic hearing you heard him.

"...just go on back, leave it to me. She's kind of a, uh, a bimbo."

You smiled to yourself at the comment. You did love being called a bimbo. It was who you are. There was something so powerful about being a lil ignorant. "Oh, you're too sweet, Javi," you said. They both shot you a confused look.

Murphy then rose and stepped out, leaving now just you two. He shut the door behind you.

"And then there were two," you said, squinting your eyes and trying to give yourself that femme fatale persona. "So Javi, this is what you've been up to since our date? Since you kicked me out of your house?"

"I've actually always been doing this."

"Oh, so you've always known about me, is that it? Are you some sort of a stalker? And what have you been telling that Debby-downer, negative-Nancy friend of yours? That I'm an 'informant'?"

"I never told him about us, or anyone. When you gave away that you worked for Pablo, I knew I couldn't have a relationship with you. That's why I kicked you out. I don't sleep with criminals."

"I'm not a criminal. And what I do isn't even that bad. I literally just take from capitalistic greedy organizations and businesses and give it back to the public - what's rightfully theirs. Like Robin Hood shit. And plus, how did you know I worked for Pab -" you caught yourself, "I mean, for Escobar?"

"Only people like Escobar have access to Bebe jeans and sunglasses." he said, not giving you any eye contact as he let out a puff from his cigarette and put it out on the table, unbothered.

It then hit you - those stupid pee-colored aviator glasses had hung on his buttoned shirt revealing his lack of chest hair. That stupid gift you went out of your way to get him for, those stupid jeans that made your ass fat - they had done more than compliment your outfit - they were the catalyst the entire time.

"Honestly, that's kind of a relief. I thought you didn't think I was hot."

"No, you are, but being a criminal isn't. And what's uglier is being one of Escobar's criminals. It's actually an eyesore." he rose up and sat on the table beside you. "So why don't you say what happened, then you and your girls can go to Cancun," he leaned in to whisper like he did earlier to his BFF/boyfriend Murphy, "And you won't be an eyesore to me anymore."

You felt yourself get hot down there. If your genital region was a diesel powered car, shit would be hauling actual ass. But no, you couldn't give in. You had to stay true to what Pablo would do.

What would Pablo do? you thought to yourself, looking down to your W.W.P.D. anklet. It was pink, Pablo's favorite color. What would Pablo say?

"Or what, Mr. Agent Javier Pena?" you whispered back. You weren't sure if that's what Pablo would've said, but there was no going back now.

He leaned in closer, an inch away from your mouth.

"Come clean and admit to all those grand larcenies your naughty little big Bebe butt did," he brushed his fingers through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. "And your ties to Escobar and his cocaine operation."

"The only cocaine operation I know about is the one with the bear," you whispered back, eyes fluttering, "have you seen the movie?"

"No, I don't watch movies," he whispered back. You felt his breathe on your cheek, it tickled it. You felt your rosacea arise. "But I do watch Escobar's every move. That's like a movie to me."

Mama can't hold back any longer. you thought. Mama's getting hot.

You didn't realize, but the handcuffs weren't as tight as you thought, and you were able to slip  free from their restraint.

You jump up to hug him, he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the table and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your Bebe booty jeans and panties labeled 'Thursday' you got as a personal gift from Gustavo, (it was actually a Monday, but you liked breaking rules), off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia" he says.

You lift your leg as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from the United States of America in. This is it. No DEA, no grand larceny charges, no creepy baby dolls, nothing - just you and Javier.

You heard the agents on the other side of the door bang and bang, but Javier had actually locked the door. It made you more hot thinking this is what he had planned the entire time. He was always one step ahead. Maybe he wasn't so different from Pablo after all.

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

P.S. ~ Just a friendly reminder, DO NOT refer to me as anything else if it's not the following: Sam, Mr. St. Clair, Sam St. Clair, Clair, or St.. Hearing 'Sammy' makes me feel very violent. Next time, I won't accept any request that starts with it, just a friendly warning! :)

[samstclair]

Nathan Fielder’s Frenchie

Nathan Fielder X Reader

Anonymous Request - "Hello Sam! Okay, so this might be a bit weird, but I think you're the one that can take this on. I have this fantasy of meeting Nathan in Paris, and we're just Parisian lovers. It is the city of love after all! Could you make that work? Thanks, keep everything up!"

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

They say that there are seven wonders of the world, though you don't know exactly who the "they" that said it were, or if Paris, France, is even one of those seven. But in the end it's still something definitely said, it's definitely something you would say...

Or perhaps, would have said.

Of all the things you would've never expected in this wee world, you truly didn't expect to want to leave Paris. Because it's literally Paris.

You've known since you were a wee child that it's a place you were destined to go to - from those shitty Michael's French-inspired decorations almost every girl in middle school had plastered all over her room, to those buttery hollow croissants, striped mime-ass outfits, and red lipstick-stained cigarettes - you always knew Paris was the place for you...

Or was it?

Your experience had been anything but exceptional. You thought you would ditch all your problems behind back home. Oh, how you wrong you were. No hate to the city, but nothing seemed to be going right, it was always one thing after another and another and another and another and another and another.

First of all, you had a layover flight that would stop in London and then Paris, booking it literally the night before. But you underestimated the power of those little pink Barbie Benadryl pills you popped in your little pink Barbie mouth just moments before.

"London, and then Paris," you remember muttering to yourself, smirking, "here I come."

Click. Click.

Flight. Secured.

You then remember falling soundly asleep, thankfully not getting a visit from the Hat Man. Those pills were put to work.

But your dumbass inebriated self actually got a flight to London, Ohio. And you didn't realize this until you landed in that godforsaken state, (shout out Ohio, no hate!).

So that's one. Next, when you finally got to Paris, you got to your empty apartment, which had been advertised online to be a wee bit bigger. Instead, you got the full French experience of living in a replica of Linguini's home from Ratatouille. But where was your rat? Let's be real - you had no friends and you definitely didn't want little rodents around. A girl all alone in Paris? Oh no.

You moved pretty impulsively, deciding to spend your student loans on the trip rather than going back to school, which you were inadvertently dropped from for not showing up for an entire semester. Oops your alarm didn't work, who cares. Last you heard, something or someone called the "IRS" was at your apartment door? You weren't sure what that was, at first you thought it stood for "It's Ronnie and Sam" and that Jersey Shore was initially at your doorstep, but it wasn't. In a way you were glad, Ronnie and Sam were NOT something needed to come back.

Anyway it was something about applying for scholarships that you were well not qualified for, that they wanted to see you for. Apparently you committed 'fraud' by opening a GoFundMe for your supposed 're-contractment of the Bubonic plague'? You weren't sure, it was a lot of adult words being thrown around, too much for your little brain to comprehend, and to be quite honest, it's all in the past now. Those $30,000 that you were able to raise was all yours now, and now out of your old country, there's nothing they can do about it now. If this was the medieval times, that GoFundMe could've saved billions of lives. Plus, fraud probably doesn't even exist in France. So if you look at it that way, where's all the harm in that?

After leaving your apartment to get some of that croissant, you felt a deep craving, an itch, for yogurt. You weren't sure what it was, there was nothing around you that had anything remotely to do with yogurt, but you just needed it. It was something needed. You felt your heart race at the thought, mouth watering and beads of sweat dripping down, forming a puddle at your feet.

"Mommy. Wants. Her. Oui. Yogurt." you thought.

But alas, for it being French yogurt, every store employee looked at you like it was Covid all over again and you just coughed in their face - horrified. None of them had it.

"What's a girl gotta do to get some Oui yogurt around here, God!" you screamed at the French man. You then stomped out, ground shaking, searched for a curb not littered with cigarettes, found one and sat.

You looked around, trying to take advantage of the ambience like one of those four hour long YouTube videos.

But you realized - this isn't Paris. This is just some recreation of Epcot's France. No smell of baguettes in the air, no mimes harassing you in their silence, no escargot sliding along the pavement, no women wearing berets - nothing.

You felt water well up in your eyes, your head falling between your knees in defeat. Nothing was going as you planned, and you'd only been here for less than two hours. What more could go wrong? You picked up an old, squashed cigarette beside you. You placed it between your lips, trying to envision yourself as the Parisian you always wanted to be...

"Se vu me plah gyasoh pwezi cha que son gee."

You jumped up at the voice behind you, accidentally throwing the cigarette to the street, hitting a bicyclist in the face and causing him to topple over.

It was a man who came to you. A French man. He just spat some French jargon at you and had no idea what the actual fuck he was telling you. He looked a bit concern, and you probably thought he was checking in to see if you were okay. You didn't know how to say no thank you, you're a stranger and this is stranger danger, so you said the only French you knew embarrassingly exceptionally well.

"C'est la vie," you mumbled, through wet boogers and wet tears.

You rose up, as if those words brought a new life into you, and left. He stood there, still worried, watching you walk away.

But you weren't walking for long.

It was late. A little too late. You couldn't read French time but it was dark so that meant it was late. You needed to get back soon, so you did what you knew best, next to those three little words in French: you ran.

You started running, the most you ever ran you just ran. The tears morphed into sweat and your limbs began to ache not long after a couple blocks. The wind rushed past your eyes and it was so cold it began to make your nose numb. Fuck this running shit - you needed a taxi.

You called and called, waved down and waved down, but no yellow car would stop.

"What's a girl gotta do to get a cab around here?" you screamed again, this time at a pigeon. He didn't respond. "What's a girl gotta do to be a mere femme fatale?!"

And just like that, as if the pigeon was a genie, one finally appeared.

A loud, deafening screech came from your right. You whipped your head over, giving yourself whiplash.

Screeeeeeeeeeech.

While making a sharp, extremely dangerous turn at the corner, a busted yellow taxi hauled ass over to you and pulled over to the side of the pavement right where you stood, blocking traffic.

"Oh my god yes, finally!" you exclaimed, running around back to the back seat and plopping your booty in. Once the door slammed behind you, you were off.

You felt your body slump deeper into the chair, succumbing to the comfort and warmth. Before you knew it, you nearly strangled yourself from the seatbelt forming something like a noose around your neck because you went down so low. You sprung back up.

"No way I'm dying in Paris", you thought. You wondered if Jay-Z and K*nye would write about who was in Paris then if that happened.

The driver pulled up to a less busy corner, put that baby in park, and looked back to face you, hand behind the passenger's seat headrest.

"Where we off to, pretty lady?" he asked.

You looked out the window, admiring the view. It was a trash can overfilled with trash, little Remys and Emiles scattering around. Though not traditionally visually appealing, there was something quite coquette Pinterest about it.

"Home." you said. "I'm going home."

You turned to face him after delivering that femme fatale line, but all the femme fatale dropped out of your system like the opposite of constipation when you're shitting - it's Nathan fucking Fielder.

"Oh my god, aren't you Nathan Fielder?"

His face dropped so fast it was inhuman. He whipped around back facing forward like a dog who got caught eating toilet paper.

"No," he said lowly. He cleared his throat. "Erm, no." he then said more confidently, with a strange accent attached. "No, I am, um, I am jus taxi drive, no field. I, um, I eatta the baguette."

His accent was a mixture of Borat, Jacques from Finding Nemo, and just an overall shitty (and maybe offensive) Italian impression put together.

"No way that's what a French sounds like talking English", you thought. But, not wanting to be rude and offend the man's impersonation skills, you stayed quiet. This isn't America's Got Talent, and you're not Randy or Simon.

"Why are you working in a taxi? Why are you in Paris?" you asked as he started driving. "Wait, is this Rehearsal? Am I on the Rehearsal? Is this the 'IRS' trying to do a rehearsal with me?" you asked, butterflies filling up in your stomach at the thought. You began scoping out the car for any cameras, but instead you looked slightly mentally deranged with a big frightening Joker smile on your face and your head clocking it in different directions.

"I sorry, I don know who dis, dis Natan Field is, no? Um, c'est la vie? I'm just happy to be in Pari!" he chuckled nervously. His driving became more erratic as well as his breathing.

"Oh my god that like rhymed you should be a poet." you complimented. Your mother always told you, honesty is the best policy. Except for his impersonations that was dog shit.

He began to slouch in his seat, an attempt for you not to identify him. Every time you looked over, he got lower and lower. You didn't want to say anything, you felt it best to mind your own business. It wasn't long until he eventually stopped and stood up straight as he almost got into several mini collisions because he couldn't see over the wheel.

"So how long have you been working in a taxi?"

"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you," he said, now speaking with a regular English accent, "I am Nathan Fielder. I'm sorry I lied, I just don't want people knowing who I am. That's why I moved to Pari, because French people aren't that funny so they wouldn't know me, you know what I'm saying?"

"Of course, Nathan," you said, "I understand. I understand completely. Did HBO fire you?"

He didn't reply for some time. That some time went on for about forty minutes.

"They did. But I don't want to talk about it."

You were nearly in your REM stage when he finally answered, forcing your eyes awake. You forgot what you asked, and didn't realize how far you ran from your apartment as you two were still driving.

"So do you know any fun facts?" you asked, attempting to keep the conversation flowing.

"I do, actually!" he said, an excited smile growing on his face. He seemed to be bottling this in for some time, waiting for a person to ask. "Did you know OJ Simpson was nicknamed 'Stinky' in prison?"

"No I didn't. Where are you from?"

"Vancouver. British Columbia." he answered.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about the Queen. She was a queen," you said.

"Do you know this song? It's one of my favorites," Nathan asked, seemingly intentionally ignoring what you just said. He turned the radio up, and familiar whistles echoed through the car. It was Moves Like Jagger by Maroon 5. "I love this song, it just brings out a boogie in me that I've never experienced in my lifetime before."

"I actually don't like this song, can you shut it off?" you said. His excited face dropped, and he turned off the radio at your command.

Your eyes began to close again, but you couldn't help but feel another set of them on you. Something was watching, and it wasn't Nathan - he's watching the road, being a safe driver - no something was watching you. You crank your head over just a bit, still hurting from the whiplash from the screeeeeching. Your brain couldn't process what was in the seat beside you.

"Are those...." you gulped.

One was all white, had blue beady eyes, a yellow beak, and a long tail that went all the way down to the floor, cosplaying as the Pope.

Another was all black, had purple beady eyes, a yellow beak, piercings and a large pentagram necklace on its chest.

Another was modded out to look like a giant moth, like a final boss in some World of Warcraft shit, head too small for its torso that seemed to resemble the size of a medium-sized dog.

Another was covered and smothered in cold baked beans. It also had a yellow beak.

Another was also all black but eyes blood red, still with a yellow beak.

Another was molded into the body of a centipede, crawling all over the interior of the car.

And lastly, perhaps most disturbing, were two that had been sewed together to resemble conjoined twins.

You gulped again. Your body was in shock, immovable. You would've rather seen the Hat Man.

"Sweet furb collection." you were able to muster up.

"Ahh, yes, my customized furby collection! No ones noticed, you're the first!"

You weren't sure how that was possible. The only way of that being the case was if one of the customers he drove was blind.

"How have they not noticed? They take up the entire back row?" Before you knew it, you were pushing some extra furbies with your feet as they had taken up and overflowed the entire floor, pushing against you.

All their heads were facing you - their beady eyes making you the center of their attention, their world...

There was an uncanny valley vibe to them that made you want to incinerate them. It brought a sense of violence in you that you had never experienced before. They were unnatural and made you queasy.

"I don't know, they just don't. They've never complimented me. You know, they're hard to come by, especially the custom ones. During World War II, the Germans stole them, you know, it wasn't just those paintings they took, but they don't teach you that in history. They don't want you to know the truth,"

As he began rambling on about the seizing and burning of the historical documents on the Great Furby Siege of 1942, the staring contest between you and the modded out robots became intensified. Eventually, your ears started to ring. Those balls of sweat returned. Your hands got clammy and your chest started to hurt.

There was a presence to them, something that made them force your eyes onto them. They had the full authority of that back seat, and you were the next contender to challenge them. They dared you to keep staring, but you had no choice. Their magnetic forces and gravitational pulls towards their direction was too powerful. Your fight or flight mode was now on full activation.

"..And so that's how German officials actually got the baked beans one to be made, apparently they were a big fan of that cuisine, but weren't a big fan when they had to auction them off to pay reparations to all the countries they destroyed. Personally, I'm not a fan of baked beans, but I still needed to buy it. I mean, how could you not? Look at the little thing!"

Nathan turned over to you several times, looking for validation. But he hadn't realized that you were currently locked in a battle with the furbies.

Finally, from after what seemed like hours, Nathan pulled over to your apartment building. He fully turned to you, concerned like that French man.

"Hey, you don't look so good," he said. You didn't. You looked like you had just gone through a withdrawal.

Safe to say, you were able to break free from the chains of those furbies. You rubbed your eyes so hard you saw those little purple and pink stars. Your consciousness was regained.

"I'm sorry," you said. "They're just, they're just like, really strong."

He laughed anxiously. "Hey, do you mind if," he spoke lowly, "do you mind if I get some food from your apartment? I spent my last three hundred dollars on this furby from Russia, it's supposed to be RuPaul themed. I'm really hungry."

"Yeah sure, I actually didn't have any money on me to pay for the fare, so I guess me feeding you will call it even?"

"It's even." He smiled, extending his hand for you to shake. You wanted to, but your hands were too moist and clammy. You couldn't embarrass yourself in front of him by touching him with the state your hands were in. Gross.

"Um, uh, I don't know how to shake hands," you spat. "Anyway, let's go!"

You climbed out of the car and ran into your apartment. He did the same, sprinting.

You two finally got to your wee teeny apartment.

"Wow, this is pretty spacious," he said, looking around in awe.

"What do you mean, are you blind?" you asked.

"No, I can see pretty good. What do you have to eat?"

You started to realize that since you just moved, you literally didn't have anything in the fridge, instead hopeful for that crate of Oui yogurt. You checked anyway, as if a charcuterie board would just randomly appear.

You flung that door open and oh my god it's a charcuterie board.

"Perfect!" you thought. Nathan was gonna love you so much.

"Here, voila! That's French for a charcuterie board!"

You plopped it on the table, the only furniture you had. Nathan, without thought, started to rummage through, nibbling away at the cheeses and slices of ham and grapes and salami and olives and crackers. You watched, smiling to yourself all warm inside. Something about taking care and feeding him brought you such a sense of fulfillment, a sense of comfort.

"Is this what Gusteau felt like?" you thought. "Is this what Linguini felt like he when he literally triggered Anton Ego into a revelation he had back thirty years before into his childhood?"

As he made a little nibbling noise as he ate, holding the food with at the top of his little fingers, it resembled to you something of a mouse...

A mouse...

A little rodent...

A rat.

It hit you, hit you so hard you felt yourself light-headed and took a seat on the ground since there were no chairs in your empty apartment. You felt as if the furbies had casted their demonic spells onto you again.

Nathan was just that. He was your rat, your friend, your Remy.

He was that companion you needed, the little rodent in your life to live out the rest of it in Paris with. Something had finally gone right.

Nibble. Nibble.

He continued to eat, lost in his own world, half the charcuterie board empty.

Nibble. Nibble. Nibble.

You pondered deeper on the thought. If you didn't know this was Nathan Fielder and wasn't already comfortable with him, then getting into a taxi man's taxi and seeing an entourage of furbies would be pretty weird. But since it was Nathan, you weren't weirded out? Despite those customized furbies having a psychological grip on your subconscious and concept of what it was to be a human in control of themselves, they were separate from Nathan. He probably never experienced that from them. Or maybe he did? Maybe he's under their influence, that's why he spent his rent money on a Russian RuPaul? Because those furbies had altered his paradigm shifts. Those paradigms were shifting.

But, never mind that.

The point is, had that been any other person, you would've been alarmed at the niche and fear that commenting on it would result in you getting yourself on some girl's unsolved crime mukbang video on her YouTube channel. But you didn't fear that with Nathan, no, you had to let him embrace it. You had to be his safe space. And God so help you, you would be.

Nibble. Nibble.

"Oh my god, that was delicious, Y/N," Nathan burped, so loud and forceful the empty charcuterie board flew off the table.

"Wait, how'd you know my name was Y/N?" you asked.

"The furbies told me, silly," he laughed, lifting his shirt and rubbing his belly. "I'm so full, that was the best meal I've ever had!"

"I'm glad you liked it, Nathan. You're like my little Remy!"

"Thanks, Y/N! Can I live here?!"

"Of course, Nathan!" You jump up to hug him, he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the hard floor and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your "Paris, Je t'aime" shirt you got at the Ohio airport off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia" he says.

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member intro your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from British Columbia in. This is it. No furbies, no IRS, no college, nothing - just you and Nathan.

Your new life was about to begin. You were now sure, Nathan was that seventh wonder of the world.

Hope you enjoyed! xoxo, ~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Johnny Knoxville’s Valentine, Hasan Piker’s Beyblade

Johnny Knoxville X Reader

Anonymous Request - "Hi! Love your stuff so far! So this might be a little specific, but I know you'll make it work, Sam!

Okay, Y/N is an interviewer for the Jackass Forever premiere, but she's late, and Johnny finds her after and asks her to be his Valentine. Also maybe some history with Hasan Piker? Maybe she used to be Y/N's ex? You do the magic! Thanks a bunch!"

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

February 14th, 5:07 am Your eyes opened to the sun peering through your shades. You stretched, a big stretch, your bones cracking abnormally.

"Man, I should see a chiro today," you thought.

But then it hit you - it's today. Today was the day. Today had been just that - the day. It's the day. It was finally here, and no matter how much you dreaded it - there was nothing you could do.

"One more, oh, just one more and that's it! You're done. Through. No more of this corporate capitalism bullshit!"

Hasan taught you well. You smile just thinking of him, his thumbs. You missed him. After that night, it's been weird - the feeling of someone you were so used to, so closed to- just gone. You remember it like it happened only the night before.....

You and Hasan, your boyfriend of almost a year, lying down on your couch watching Zootopia. You loved that movie, maybe too much. He thought you had a "genuine problem", as he would call it, with your obsession to the animated furry film.

But, more specifically, Nick Wilde.

"It's not normal! He's a fox, dude," he would say. But you knew better. He was more than that. He's Jason. Jason Bateman.

Anyway, the scene came on with the main character, Judy, putting on her little police uniform. You loved this part, she looks so happy. You saw a little of of her happiness in, well, you.

"She looks so cute in her costume," you exclaimed, chomping on your soggy McDonalds fries, "she'd be a cute little officer. Just like Lil Wayne's song. Don't you think? -"

And just like that - you didn't even recognize him.

"You think she's cute? A cop? A bunny cop? That's much, dude. Actually, that's fucking disgusting," he rose, livid, his 6'7" body shadowing over you.

"Is this how Judy sees the world?" you thought. "Is this how she sees Nick? Sees Jason?"

"I can't believe you'd say that," he continued.

At this point, you paused, in shock - it was only a bunny, after all. You pressed pause on the remote, the movies gonna have to wait.

"Babe, calm down," you tried, mouth full of those soggy McDonalds fries, "It's just a Disney movie. You know, Walt Disney? I don't love cops, just like you I hate them, but I just think-"

And in the blink of an eye, he pimp-slapped the dangling fries from your mouth, so hard they broke through the window, like shrapnel. You couldn't believe it - he hit you.

Well, not you, just those dangling soggy fries. He couldn't understand you with a mouth full of soggy fries that were dangling. Or maybe he hated McDonalds?

You were so stunned, you couldn't move.

"He hit me..." you thought. "Well, not me, but the fries."

He continued "You're a bootlicker! That's why you like to be called 'bunker slut'? Huh? Tell me!"

His 6'10" body still towered over you. You had to admit, you found it kinda hot, but he surely didn't. In fact, he was outraged.

He grabbed your face and spat, "You're just a bunker slut who likes cops - bunny cops. You support the conglomerate that is Disney, who attempts to push the narrative of not all cops being bad to children. You know I hate that narrative - don't you even watch my streams?! My eight hour streams?!"

He was in your face now, his breathe reeking of the soda he always drinks. Maybe diet Mountain Dew?

You felt horrible, but felt butterflies in your stomach - you had to admit, again, it was kinda hot. But not now, not now!

"That's it! I can't even look at you, dude! You're disgusting! You're vile!"

And then, when you think it couldn't have gone any worse - he brought you closer, his mouth to your ear, and whispered,

"Nick Wilde was almost pepper sprayed by that cute bunny you like - he could've been a victim."

You were then launched out the window by your hair, and the last thing you heard come out from your boyfriend's mouth as he threw you was

"Beyblade - let it rip".

Then, it all went BLACK...

But never mind that. Today is the day. The Jackass Forever premiere. It was a new day, new you. A different you, perhaps. Though same apartment, same broken window you never fixed, it's all a fresh start.

"I'm not a negative Nancy, and I am not a Debby downer! I'm just, well....I'm just Linda Litzke!"

You rose from your bed, put on your robe and went into your kitchen to begin breakfast. The sky looked beautiful through the window, flies and other bugs crawling through the opening in the glass, eating the leftover $5 wednesday sushi from last night. Though there were no Publixes on the west coast, and certainly not Los Angeles, you made it a point to fly over back home to Miami every Wednesday, because $5 Wednesday sushi is just too good of a deal to pass, after all. Not your fault inflation exists.

Hasan taught you what that word meant too....

"Oh well, I'll clean it later", you said, snapping back into reality.

The smell of coffee lifted up your spirits even more as it brewed, and once it finished, you reached over, poured a glass and had you white mother moment - hugging yourself in your robe with the cup of coffee being sipped in your hand, looking out sunny Los Angeles. The land of opportunity.

You started to reminisce on that one t-shirt you used to have. In big, block letters it spelled -

ALL I NEED IS... COFFEE✔️ WIFI✔️ MY BED✔️

Oh, you missed that shirt.

Then, your phone call buzzed you out of your trance. it scared you so much in fact, you threw your coffee out the window.

"Again?!" You yelled. First the fries, then you, and now the 10 dollar Starbucks coffee from the Starbucks bean bag from Starbucks?

Rummaging through your couch, threw bits of crumbs and dusty hair ties - you got the phone. It was your boss.

"Awe, he's wishing me good luck!" You thought. Oh, how you were wrong.

"Y/N! Where the FUCK ARE YOU?!" He screamed.

"Omg hey, I just woke up? Why? What's up?" You smiled. He sounded pumped to hear from you.

"What do you mean you just woke up you fucking moron?! It's fucking five in the afternoon! Your stupid bone-cracking ass was supposed to be here two hours ago! I've been calling since 3! The premiere's starting in twenty fucking minutes! This is why Andrew fucking Tate is the motherfucking goat! W Tate! Cause women can't function outside of their kitchen!" And just like that, he hung up.

Your heart fell - everything slowed. Taking a double check to the clock - it wasn't 5 am, it really was 5 pm.

Like taking a hit of methanphetamine, you bolted. You put your hair in a messy bun, threw on your Forever 21 dress that you got at H&M, and bolted out the door.

You cursed yourself, you didn't have a car, so you just began to do what you know best - run.

You ran, as fast as you can run, the faster you ever ran, you ran. One thing the DMV can't deny, you didn't need a learners permit to run.

Passing through the crowded streets, running in front of oncoming traffic - you just ran. The sun beamed down harshly,

"Man fuck LA" you thought.

And then you saw it - the Chinese Theater - you pushed through and through the crowd, you went under the VIP belt looking desperately for your boss. All the commotion and body heat made you feel claustrophobic. You felt everything close in, your breathe tighten. Where was your boss? Where are your co-workers? And most importantly - where are my shoes?

You look down at your patas, and that would've been enough to take you out. The were dirty from all the running when you were running. Two words came in mind.

Dirty. Dogs.

"Those dogs....theyre.... dirty," you whip around and your eyes needed a moment to adjust - but you couldn't believe it. You've seen him everywhere, all the time, you just couldn't believe it was him. You breathe shortened even more, no, it can't be! You hear his raspy, southern voice all the time, but now, you realize, he's right in front of you. His silver fox hair stood up so straight like he got electrocuted, as if it were for some stunt he was so familiar with. His big glasses sat at the top of his nose.

It's your boss.

He grabs you by your messy bun and yells in your face, in a voice resembling Chucky.

"NO. MESSY. BUNS!"

He picks you up and begins swinging you like a helicopter - round and round. And just like Hasan, he whispers

"let it rip"

and swings you against the wall. The air lets out, and you're dizzy. He threw you ways away. You open your eyes, but instead of soggy McDonalds French fries on the parking lot floor beside you... it's a lot softer.

Its a red carpet.

THE red carpet.

It's silent. Your bones hurt. That Chiro. You needed him.

Suddenly, you see a hand come towards you. Who ever it is, they ask

"are you okay, pudding?"

Like when a veteran hearing sirens, your eyes flutter wide open. The silver.....its so familiar. The glasses....

"Hey, are you okay? That was one gnarly stunt you just did!"

Then, you hear who you swear is Whoopi Goldberg (its Steve o ).

"Get her up, she's bleeding she's hurt."

You rise and again - everything went BLACK.

Your eyes flutter open again, this time, no sun peering through the curtains. Instead your inside someone's house.

"Hey, sweetheart. How you feeling?"

You turn over and again...the silver the glasses oh my god is Philip Clapp. You jump up, embarrassed.

"Oh my god, what happened?"

He tries to calm you down, "Hey hey hey, its okay. Relax" Now you feel relaxed.

"Oh my god, the premiere!"

"Don't worry about that! Its all over youre safe."

"Thanks Johnny, honestly. Is this your home?"

He looks around trying to be modest, but he kinda starts to drift off. This must be that CTE you've been hearing all about.

"Hello, Johnny?" You snap in his face. He comes back .

"Yeah yeah sorry, yeah its my house. Say, do you have a valentine's?"

You feel your rosacea arise in your cheeks.

"No, no why do you ask?"

"Well because, I wanted to know, if you would be my valentine? Its February 14th."

"Oh my god, well, yeah of course!" You jump up to hug him, he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the bed and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your forever 21 dress that you got at H&M off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia" he says.

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breathe on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member intro your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from Tennessee in. This is it. No boss, no Hasan, no job, nothing - just you and Philip.

"Your...dogs"

"Sorry?" You say "I have no dogs-"

"Your - DOGS" he flings your leg away like its radioactive and it's Chernobyl.

You look at your dogs - theyre dirty - still dirty from all the running in LA. "Your dogs...theyre infected...."

"No Johnny, wait, please I was late to the premiere and I had to run -"

He raises and adjusts himself.

"Im sorry Y/N, I don't wanna be a negative Nancy or Debby downer but - I can't be with a broad with LA sidewalk feet. It's just not good for my public image. Im number one on WikiFeet. How am I gonna be number one with a girl with-" he gulped " those feet".

"Johnny! Please wait! I just need a little pedicure please - "

"I'm sorry. I can no longer be your valentine."

He gets his phone and dials a number while fixing his pants. He spits on the floor. At first you thought it was chewing tabacco, because he's from the south, but upon closer inspection it was shards of McDonalds fries and rice from the sushi earlier. You forgot, your rare disease (Klein's, as unofficially diagnosed by your Canadian bff Nathan Fielder) makes you shit out of your vagina instead of your ass

"You should've told him", you thought.

"Yeah hi, is Jason there? Yeah I need to speak to him. Yeah, okay. Yeah ill wait a sec. Oh hey Jason, you wanna be my valentine? Oh that's great! Yes, ill be there now! How's Nobu? Yes! Im stepping out the door as we speak" Johnny runs out of your room, like a bomb just dropped behind him. You being the bomb.

You scream, "but Johnny - we'll have breakfast! Ill make you breakfast! Like pancakes, eggs and bacon-"

Then, boom.

The house blows up. Bacon. Bacon was the last thing you ever spoke to Johnny, the last thing you ever said, period, as he ran out to Nobu to meet Jason Bateman for his Valentine's date.

Hope you enjoyed! xoxo, ~Sam St. Clair

[samstclair]

Aaron Taylor Johnson’s Butter

Aaron Taylor Johnson Imagine

Anonymous Request - "Could you please do an imagine where the Y/N knows Aaron has a food fetish, so she puts some on but maybe gets an allergic reaction? So maybe Aaron can take her to the hospital and save her? Thanks! Love your stories, Sam!

~~~~~~~~Imagine ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" Yew wont go on with it, will ya! Ya silly ol geeza yew!" He laughed, but little did he know - you would do it.

You first started with a small portion, just enough to cover your dome, but, it wasn't long until those scoops got heavier and thicker and oilier. The more you lathered across your skin, the more his face contorted from a joking, sly grin to one of a predator - who's perfectly in sight of his next prey.

"Yew really outdone yourself now, innit?!" he spat.

You chuckled mockingly at his disbelief.

"Oh what, now you've gone on and given me that silent treatment, innit? You silly ol thing you, I oughta teach you a bit of a lesson now, just like me mother would! Or, me first wife, that silly ol hag thing!"

If only he knew.

Though the silence you had given him seemed to work, as you saw the buldge in his jeans arise, making you, too, feel a sense of warmth and arousal down there, he hadn't known that the peanut butter's effects had started to settle. The more you layered on, the more you felt your throat swell, and the more he shuffled in his seat, aching for you, the more you kept adding.

More. More. More.

"Dont cha think that's enuff now, luv! You've gone and used up all me butta! I guess I'll have ta lick it clean off ya!" And just like that, he rose from his seat, making his way to you. He grabbed the jar and hurled it against the wall, a faint "yeet" he mumbled.

"Yeet."

He grabbed you, gripping hard, as the butter had become a makeshift lubricant and caused his fingers to slide on your skin, sliding like those big slides at the fair.

"Wait, luv, why - you've seem to gone a bit red? Perhaps a bit too much rouge, innit? Luv? Luv!"

And then you died of asphyxiation.

Hope you enjoyed! xoxo, ~Sam St. Clair