#gotta commit to the be cringe be free mentality

[sketchy-mf]

Me watching the Gaslight District when this mf shows up

Sir

M'am

Distinguished metal fella

👁👁 I AM LOOKING LIKE A HOE

[adonis-koo]

wish you were mine

Summary: in which you may or may not be secretly in love with your hybrid but you refuse to cross that line....except he’s secretly in love with you too

Pairing: Rabbit hybrid!Jungkook/Reader

Genre: hybrid AU!! fluff, smut

Word Count: 3k

Tags: jungkook is a giant flemish hybrid, so he’s ummm big, in more ways then one :’ ), masturbation, hinted subby Jungkook, talk of heats,

Note: y’all actually liked the lil blurb I did yesterday so here you go 😭 this is probably gonna be an ask based AU mainly so pop off in my inbox if y’all are curious on their dynamics after this. unless y’all really want me to commit to this as a series then 😳

~ unedited ~

Most mornings, especially when the colder weather came around, were like this. You’d usually say goodnight to Jungkook before going to your room. But more days then less, you went to bed alone and woke up with the admittedly warm hybrid practically crushing you beneath him. Soft fuzzy ears rubbing into your skin and you could hear his teeth clicking gently in a purr of contentment.

It wasn’t really his fault, hybrids often liked sleeping with their owners, bunny hybrids particularly were high maintenance, constantly craving affection and they were massive PDA lovers, it took the first six months for hybrids to become familiar enough and comfortable to sleep with owners so Jungkook living with you for three years made sense that he’d have no problems curling up against you at night no ask needed.

“Bub, I gotta go.” You groaned as you checked your phone, Jungkook shifted on top of you as you heard a discontented sigh from him, his body curling as if to make himself smaller, sometimes you’d wake up to a little bunny sprawled out on your back, not that you didn’t think it was adorable. But Jungkook preferred being human more than rabbit.

“It’s Saturday!” Jungkook slurred with a whine, nudging against you as his fluffy ears tickled against your skin, “Can’t you skip?” He whined again as he shifted to lay completely on top of you as you huffed. Most bunny hybrids were considerably petit in nature but Jungkook...well not your Jungkook, he was a giant flemish making him...well giant...You could still remember the way he used to loathe his size, making him unsaleable to many and unwanted to venders.

But after being with you his mindset slowly changed, suddenly with your job he was glad he was tall and naturally filled with muscle.

Jungkook was a very proud hybrid now, often going to the gym when you dropped him off, always standing tall and shuffling closer anytime he thought you could be in potential danger. He secretly loved it, loved being able to completely wrap himself around. He whined once more as he felt you shift beneath him, his nose nudging back into your neck, the soft smell of jasmine and fresh rain against his nose, he often associated this smell with home... it was your scent after all.

The only thing that smelt better on you was him. “It’s mandatory Bub,” Your voice amused, no matter how big and bad Jungkook might consider himself he was still your little whiney bunny, “Come on, I need to go shower.”

After a final whine he reluctantly rolled off you and onto his back, his temperature rising quickly as pain shot through his body causing a sharp whimper to escape his lips that caught your attention as you turned to face him as you stood up, “Are you okay bub?” Jungkook debated on lying and saying no if it meant you’d stay with him, putting a hand on his forehead you sighed, “You’re burning up, it’s almost your heat isn’t it?”

You silently berated yourself on how you had forgotten, not all hybrids had monthly heats- most didn’t. But bunny hybrids had a double douse, not only was the original dog DNA the reason for all hybrid heats but also the strong urge of rabbit DNA to procreate, Jungkook had it pretty bad with monthly heats.

Luckily your friend Yoongi has a bunny hybrid as well that served as heat partners to one another. Jungkook however was...stubborn...to say the least about mating with Hyuna. Until his heat hit at least. Jungkook only curled up, grabbing your pillow as he sharply inhaled your scent that always comforted and calmed down his raging hormones. Grumbling he roughly nudged the pillow, letting you know that his shift in hormones would soon pass from whiny and clingy to aggressive and broody. It wasn’t like he could help it, not really, closer to his heat he often got aggressive over you. Aggressive and protective, always brooding and leering over your shoulder and glaring at anything he thought was a potential threat.

Clacking your tongue you made note to call Yoongi later today as you grabbed a change of clothes and walked down the hall to the bathroom to start on your shower.

He would also be aggressive towards you, never in a violent way, but it was so jarring the first time he experienced his heat while living with you, he was nothing like his usual self. But after a short research you quickly found out that it was just his animal instincts coming out, often his aggressiveness was a way of asserting his dominance over you- not that he ever got far into it before you began reprimanding him.

During the week leading up to his heat there were a lot of outlandish displays of aggression, as you had read- it was usually in show of who you belonged too and who owned you. The article nearly made you snort. This was the same man who nearly cried every time you woke up to him rutting into your back until he came himself.

Sighing you ran your hands through your hair as the warm water poured down your back. Jungkook often whined about not wanting a heat partner, ‘Why can’t you just help me?’

Tension always ensued after questions like those before you’d give a string of excuses, work being the big one but also the fact that he was a hybrid and you were a human and technically he was licensed as your pet you didn’t agree by any means with the legal system. Jungkook was living breathing human who just so happened to have two long ears and a fluffy puffball tail, but that didn’t change the fact that...that...wasn’t that technically a form of bestiality?

You mentally cringed as you began to wash your hair. Hybrid human relationships weren’t unheard of, but usually it wasn’t consenting, and if it was it would get drowned in hate and be frowned upon. It wasn’t like you didn’t want too, but that was the part that frightened you, you wanted it. And you got Jungkook didn’t see it the way you did, heat partners were very casual and Jungkook had never not once mentioned Hyuna outside of heats but…

You didn’t even want to go there with him, boundaries were good, they were healthy. And more than anything, you didn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook, who didn’t have anyone to turn to or to go too if things went sour between you both. You would never put him in a compromising situation. It was already bad enough the days you woke up to him rutting against you that you actually entertained him.

You could feel your breath hitch at so many memories of drowsily pulling his throbbing cock from his sweats, it was so thick and heavy, his size was absolutely not close to a regular human, he was 6’4 after all.

And yet despite him being able to double your weight in bench press he’d be so teary eyed and dilated while rutting his cock into your hand, you can still remember how his head was weepy with pearls of precum, the base of his cock was so tender and trying to swell into a knot. His body thrashed and he was whining and crying about wanting to cum. You groaned as you felt slick arousal form between your legs, how did you ever have the self restraint to keep yourself from crossing lines you constantly toed?

Letting your hands run up your body you squeezed your tender breasts, pinching at your nipples as your breath hitched. You’d never forgot the way he’d twist and turn and help, his hips chasing the way your hand would stroke up his cock while you edged him. God you felt sick, the sadistic side of you getting wet at the sight of his tears and his begging, it was making you wet right now and without enough time to properly take care of yourself. Groaning you let your fingers swipe through your lips, glossy arousal coating your fingers as you carefully set your leg on top of the edge of the bathtub, the hot water making your mind fog as you let your fingers circle around your sensitive little bud.

You could remember clearly that morning, the way his thick imprint was snug against your ass, his hips rutting frantically and he moaned whimpers against your neck. You had woken up tired and asking for him to stop only to realize he was asleep. It wasn’t the first and it certainly wouldn’t be the last you turned to face him and sneak your hand inside his sweats.

Your fingers quickly swiped against your clit faster as they have a seeming thrust for something that wasn’t there as you bit your lip in frustration, the memory of his high pitched moan when your hand stroked his throbbing length in his pants, hips becoming more frantic before you pulled down his pants down his hips, his cock was thick and girthy, not massive in length but a good size that complimented his insane width.

No matter how big your bunny was he was so small when you poured a little oil in your palm and stroked him, the way he’d whine and whimper waking up to his hips rutting into your hand as he moaned relentlessly.

Your free hand quickly shot down your body, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit as pleasure throbbed but it wasn’t nearly enough, pushing two fingers inside yourself you squeaked out at the feeling of your walls clenching harshly. You still remember straddling his thighs and telling him how much of a good boy he was. The way he’d curl and strain, his cheeks on fire and tears trickling down his face when you’d deny him before ruthlessly stroking his tender base that was trying to swell so desperately.

Soft moans fell from your lips, your walls clenching around your fingers as you pumped them inside you, your other hand working your clit before finding your sweet spot causing a short yelp to escape you. Just the memory of his fat purple head leaking precum was causing your thighs to shake while you stroked down to his base, gently stroking the little bump on his base as you told your good bunny to cum for you.

The way his hips lifted off the bed in chase of your hand as he sobbed, cum spewing from his little slit as pleasure took over his body in ecstasy

You let out a squeal that was a little too loud as you harshly came, your walls wrapping tight around your fingers as you moaned, slumping against the cold wall as your hips rode your fingers in chase of your pleasure. One orgasm wasn’t even close to enough to satisfy you after vividly remembering the handjob you gave Jungkook last week but you were already gonna be late as it was because of your hormones. Feeling your walls relax around your fingers before clenching you sighed. God you hated yourself.

Little did you know the bunny hybrid who always had sensitive ears could pick up on every little noise you made while shamelessly jerking himself off outside the bathroom door before cum painted against the wall.

-----

“Have you confessed to her yet?”

Jungkook let out a sigh as he buried into his arms, the tickle of the hair from his ears against his skin at Taehyung’s consistent pestering, the dog hybrid’s nose wrinkling a little as he spoke, “What’s the worst that could go wrong?”

Jungkook could’ve went over to see Taehyung, but he had promised you he’d stay home today, always knowing how worried you got when he went out on his own. Hybrid walkways were made to keep them safe for passage but hybrid catchers weren’t uncommon. You’d know better then anyone given that was the cases you were usually working in.

Technology was wonderful though, being able to video call Taehyung who’s owner- Seokjin who just so happened to be your partner was also at this mandatory meeting, “Oh you mean other than ruining my relationship with her as is and how she’d kick me out and tell me I’m disgusting and that she never wants to see me again?”

Jungkook deflated, growling a little as Seokjin popped up in his mind again, grinding his teeth in annoyance, you better not let him scent you or touch you at all. Realizing what he was thinking he swallowed thickly, running a hand through his wet locks from his shower as he sat up in bed. His heat was getting closer, he could tell. It was a struggle every month, Jungkook had a hard enough time as it was keeping himself off you.

It was downright humiliating the way he acted towards you every month and every month you took it graciously but it was still embarrassing for him to cling to you and get pushy and sour. He couldn’t help it, it would be so much easier if you were the one with him during his heats. He wouldn’t be so aggressive if he could just mate with the person he wanted.

“She wouldn’t do that to you!” Taehyung objected in your defense, the german shepherd hybrid loyal to the very end, to be fair Taehyung had known you longer then he had, jealousy oozing in the back of his mind at the notion, “Look, it’s just better to be honest with her about it and you guys can go from there.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jungkook grumbled as he laid back down in bed, sharply inhaling as he felt his cock stirring once again at the moans he didn’t mean to listen to this morning, but he intended on going to the kitchen to make breakfast for you when he passed by and…”She should be home soon. Look, we’ll talk later okay?”

Taehyung frowned before shrugging, “Alright cool, isn’t your heat coming up though? Are you gonna spend it with Hyuna again?

So many fucking questions, Jungkook felt annoyance prick in him the imprint became thicker, the need to ruthlessly jerk himself off raising as he replied, “Only because I don’t have a choice,” He brooded, “But yeah, should start in a few days.”

“Just talk to her man, i’ll see you later.”

Jungkook gladly ended the call as he groaned, hand immediately pushing down beneath his waistband, talk to you about it, what a joke. Leaning over he poured a little oil into his hand as he groaned, pulling his cock from the band of his sweatpants as he gave a tug at his base, thighs stiffening as his jaw clenched.

The sweet smell of jasmine suddenly hitting his nose as he jumped up from your bed, the faint sound of jingling causing him to hurriedly tuck himself back into his pants and pounce into the bathroom to clean up his hands frantically to greet you. Had the meeting get done early.

Excitement lit through his veins and his cock tightening causing a sharp whine to escape him, tugging his loose shirt down to hide the embarrassing sight before quickly walking down the hall.

“Bub I’m home- Oh!” You had your back turned to shut the door when arms suddenly wrapped around you, a cute rounded nose rubbing into your neck as you let out a laugh, “Jungkook stop!” You grabbed the large arms that wrapped around you, the loud purr erupting as his teeth clacked, furry ears rubbing along your skin before a growl escaped him, “Why do you smell like Hoseok.”

He instantly demanded, turning you around as you raised your brows, your neck bending to look up at the tall demanding bunny, “He gave me a coffee when I got to the station…?”

Jungkook was immediately back against your neck as his lips twitched, “You smell like him.” He growled lowly as he roughly rubbed his scent gland along your skin. You gave an exasperated sigh as you paused, knowing any sort of movement would be taken as resistance and would earn you a snappy snarl.

After a minute he paused before pulling a little away from you and giving you a sniff before smiling, “Better,” That earned him an eye roll from you as he gave a semi sheepish smile, feeling a lot better now that your scent was drowned in his musk to ward off any competition, “Can you make some kimbap please.” His soft doughy lips tugged into a pout as if he didn’t just snap for you to be still five seconds prior.

Sighing you offered a weak smile, “Of course bub.” You reached your hand up, not even close to reach his head but Jungkook immediately leaned down a little, a purr of his teeth clicking as you rubbed your fingers into his hair, letting your nails gently dig against the base of his ears.

After making lunch you sat out on the couch, Jungkook immediately collapsed on top of you making you wheeze, grabbing your hand he placed it on his head as he gave a little whine, the way he often did when he wanted attention, “You left me all morning! Please.” He cried out, making you chuckle before giving in, yoru fingers slating through his soft dark locks of hair before stroking against the base of his ears.

His body melted into yours before you heard a thump against the couch, the smile crinkling on your lips as you watch his foot thump, Jungkook oftened hid a lot of his more bunny tendencies outside of home, he despised being treated like the tender stereotype that was often portrayed.

But in the comforts of his home he was relaxed, loved your fingers scratching along the base of his ears, his leg thumping in contentment and a toothy purr from his mouth. He absolutely preened for your attention.

His upcoming heat was only making him more needy than usually, wanting all of your time and affection, but luckily it was the weekend and now that your meeting was over you’d be all his for the next two days. Nudging against your soft breasts Jungkook sighed, closing his eyes as he let out a whine. He didn’t want to be with Hyuna, he wanted to share his heat with you.

Maybe, Taehyung was right, maybe he’d finally have that conversation with you.

[creativekat]

PTC : part ii

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader

[ gif by @pascalsky​ ]

Word Count: 1,563

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: unintentional body piercing play

A/N: The response to the first part of this story was so overwhelming and we can’t thank you enough! @the-purity-pen​ and I are having so much fun writing this! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged on the next one! THANK YOU! Also, you can read Part One here!

It was Friday afternoon and you found yourself at the local grocery store. Often you went daily to pick up the few things you needed each night for dinner, but on Fridays you liked to shop for the whole weekend. That way you had time for any home projects and grading that you had to do. The problem was you weren’t quite sure what you were in the mood for which led to you wandering the aisles, picking things up here and there. 

You had just turned into the aisle with canned fruits and vegetables and were considering getting some canned peaches to make a cobbler when you heard a familiar voice call your last name, “Hello, how are you?” 

You turned to see Marcus Moreno walking toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, seeing him wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, “Did you play hooky from work today? Your secret’s safe with me, if you did.” Then tentatively you added, “And, if I’m supposed to call you Marcus, you should call me by my first name.” You gave him your name and a slight smile. You couldn’t help but notice how well his jeans fit him, not to mention how the t-shirt lovingly clung to his upper body. You suddenly became very interested in the label on a can of pineapple.

Marcus repeated your name softly as if committing it to memory. The way it rolled off his tongue made your heart skip a beat but you were busy occupying yourself with the can of pineapple. “No, no hooky today,” he laughed and the sound was so pleasant. It was different from the nervous man that had sat across from you to discuss his daughter.

Maybe it was the change of scenery or the fact that neither of you needed to be “on” while grocery shopping. “Missy is having a sleepover this weekend so I gotta stock up on some junk food,” he told you and shook his head. Somewhere deep in his mind he was mentally cursing himself for allowing a sleepover of five preteen girls to happen in his house. That definitely would have been better territory for his wife.

But Missy was making friends and that’s what mattered to him. He knew she felt left out of so many things whether it was because she didn’t have her own powers or because of being the leader of the Heroics’ kid. So her having friends that wanted to sleep over was a big deal. You were glad to hear that Missy was having a sleepover. You remembered going to a few when you were her age. You never hosted, but not because you didn’t want to, but because your parents wouldn’t allow it. Looking back their reasoning made sense, but at the time it had just felt like another punishment for being different. 

You looked up from the pineapple label and smiled sympathetically, “You have my sympathies. What do you have planned for activities?” Keeping a group of pre-teen kids from getting bored, even in each others’ company would be important. When they got bored, they got creative. And that was when bad things happened. “I can give you some ideas if you want. I was a pre-teen girl once.” You bit your lip and looked away, slightly embarrassed at the fairly obvious statement. 

His eyes scanned the aisle a bit, feeling like the conversation was going a bit stale. “Fruit in a can or fresh fruit? What’s your preference?” he asked as he leaned forward to grab a can of apple pie filling that was right next to you. As he leaned over, his voice was soft and velvety in your ear. 

You glanced at the can in his hand, “For pie? Depends. Have you made pie before?” You didn’t want to make any assumptions. Just because he was a man didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled in the kitchen. You pictured him standing at the counter, mixing up some delicious concoction, biceps moving as he stirred, and your mouth watered at the image. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“Yeah but,” he paused to read over the can, trying to ignore his desire to look you over. “It’s been a few years. I’m not much of a cook,” he mumbled with a nervous chuckle before turning to put the can in his cart. He turned back and moved closer to you and you felt a spark of desire run down your spine. You swallowed hard as he reached around you again, quietly apologizing for the intrusion.

But his eyes on you made him miss which can he was aiming for. His hand swept at the empty spot on the shelf and ended up knocking off three other cans in rapid succession. “Shit!” he cursed under his breath as his hand reached out, his powers manifesting to stop the metallic can from falling. 

You sucked your lip between your teeth fighting the urge to gasp or making any sounds revealing the pleasure his power had just elicited in you. Not only had his magnetic ability affected the cans on the shelf but it had pulled at the nipple piercings concealed beneath your shirt as well as the silver barbell that decorated your clitoris. Your nostrils flared with the effort to suppress the moan that nearly escaped your lips. 

Marcus looked at you questioningly at your obvious stress, but you merely smiled in return, your eyes blazing with unanticipated need. When you finally found your voice, it was higher than normal, “Something tells me you know your way around. A kitchen, I mean.” Your face bloomed with heat and you finally had to turn completely away. You leaned into your cart, faking the need to rearrange the items in your cart. 

Holding the caught can in his hand, he watched as you turned around towards your cart. He took a moment to straighten up at your words. “Uh, yeah a bit,” he said as he turned and put the can he had caught but not really wanted back onto the shelf. “My wife she, uh, she did most of the cooking and I know Missy misses it so I thought maybe a little cooking activity for the sleepover could be fun,” he rambled. When you didn’t turn around right away, he furrowed his brows and moved closer to you. “You okay?”

Your breast and clit still tingled from the stimulation they’d just received. But, of course, you couldn’t tell Marcus Moreno that. Taking a moment, you breathed in slowly through your nose then exhaled through your mouth. Finally you turned to face him, a smile on your face, “Oh yes, I’m fine.” After a moment of thought, your eyes brightened, “You could have them make their own personal pizzas!” Now that you were face to face again, you were reminded of just how handsome he was. 

Marcus was eyeing you, trying to figure out what had you so flustered. He cleared his throat and nodded at your admission of being fine. He figured he’d have to take it for what it was. But the way you brightened actually took him by surprise. You were standing a lot closer than he realized and for a moment his breath was taken away.

His brain fog finally cleared and he nodded slowly. “Personal pizzas? You think they’d like that?” he questioned and you were more than happy to give a strong nod of an answer, trying anything to quelch the burning deep in the pit of your stomach. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking, again, about the brief moment of pleasure he’d given you. Your mind ran with the thoughts of what other things he might be able to do. Distractedly, you grabbed a couple cans from the shelf and placed them in your cart causing Marcus to smile. You glanced down at what you’ve just dropped in there and cringe “I bet you thought people only used mincemeat at the Holidays." 

You looked at him, feeling like he could see right through you. After all, you were acting bizarre. He gave a small forced smile, trying to hide how confused he was at this interaction but laughed off your comment anyways. “It’s delicious,” he commented as he watched you. “Do you, uh,” his hand came to rub furiously at the back of his neck.

“Do you have any free time this afternoon? To, uh, I don’t know, help me find a recipe that would be easy for them?” his head dropped down as he asked but he pulled his hand from his neck and looked up at you with earnest puppy dog eyes. He figured since you were a teacher, you’d know what would be easy for their age group to follow as far as instructions.

Your eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but then you smiled, “Uhhh … I think so … I mean, yeah, I can clear my schedule.” You didn’t want to seem too eager to spend time with him. He was still Missy’s father. But, he was asking for help. There wasn’t any need to read too much into it.  You arranged a time to show up at his place and tried not to stare as he walked away. Once he was clear of the aisle, you reached into the cart and put the disgusting can of fruit back on its shelf.

[rena-rain]

The Shortcut Home ch. 1

I totally forgot to post this on tumblr! It’s also posted on my AO3 under rainforestgeek.

“Marinette!” Alya wrapped her roommate in her arms as soon as she came through the door. “Are you okay? Are you still feeling sick?”

Marinette nodded. She’d been having dinner at her parents’ house, but was hardly there for fifteen minutes before she vomited in the kitchen sink. The smells emanating from the dining table had sent her stomach into a mutinous upheaval even though she normally loved her parents’ cooking. They’d wanted her to stay to take care of her, but settled for escorting her back to her and Alya’s apartment. “Just a little nauseous. Did you get my text?”

Alya pulled away and handed her a paper bag. “I got you three just in case. You know I have to grill you about this, right?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Marinette sighed. “Just please get me something to drink first.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette poured herself her second glass of orange juice while Alya sat frozen on the couch.

“You’ve been sleeping. With Adrien.”

“Yes.”

“Adrien Agreste has been having sex with you. And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not together, Alya.”

“That’s what I don’t get. I never took that boy to be a fuck buddies type.”

Marinette cringed at the term. Yes, she and Adrien were having sex alongside their platonic relationship. But it sounded too crass. Too casual for their close relationship, lack of romance aside.

She got up. “I need to pee.”

“Don’t forget the tests!”

 “Okay, but this one says it’s negative?”

Alya rubbed her back. “False negatives happen, Mari. False positives don’t. These two are positive you’ve got a mini-Agreste in your belly.”

Marinette groaned and left the bathroom. She flopped face-down onto the couch. “How – ”

“If you say ‘how did this happen’ I’ll smack you with this pillow.”

“Alya, how am I going to tell Adrien?”

Alya sat down, Marinette flipping over to rest her head on her best friend’s lap. Alya stroked her silky black hair contemplatively. “Let’s take this one thing at a time. When was the first day of your last period.”

Marinette counted in her head. “Nine weeks and five days ago.”

“Okay. Do you want to have a baby? Because you have two weeks to decide.”

Marinette’s immediate thought was yes. She’d always wanted children and now she had the chance to have Adrien’s child. Her infatuation may have died down over the years, but no matter what, she did love him.

But was she prepared to be a single mother? She and Alya had to share an apartment just to avoid living paycheck to paycheck. Marinette’s savings weren’t impressive, and that’s money she’d been saving to open her own boutique someday. Yes, she wanted kids, but this was risking her dream career. She still had plenty of time to have children.

She peered up at Alya. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Do you think I would make a good mom?”

Alya grinned at her. “Girl, you’d be an amazing mom. Nobody’s ever ready for a baby, that doesn’t mean you’d be a bad parent. But it is your decision and you have no obligation to tell Adrien before you make it.”

“I think I need a few days to think about it. God, I wish I could have some wine.”

“I could drink two glasses tonight if it makes you feel better.”

Marinette laughed. “That actually makes it worse.”

--

Nino met his girlfriend at their favorite café. The weather was nice, the sun out and only slightly chilly. He greeted her with a kiss and sat down across from her.

“Babe, I just wanna start out with saying I wasn’t doing anything weird. I accidentally kicked the trash can over.”

“Why would I think that’s weird? It was an accident right?”

“Yes, totally, 100%! So I did not mean to look at anything private, I was just cleaning it up, and…”

Alya touched her boyfriend’s cheek. “Nino, what’s going on?”

“Are you pregnant?” he blurted. Both of their eyes went wide. Nino rushed, “I swear I’m not trying to corner you or anything! I saw a couple positive tests when I was cleaning up the trash in your bathroom, and I couldn’t not tell you that I saw them, so…are you pregnant?”

Alya sighed and looked around the café. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I’m not pregnant. Now I need you to promise me you’ll keep this under your hat. The tests weren’t mine.”

Nino gasped. Alya dove to put both hands over his mouth, accidentally knocking over a glass of water. “Ugh! Dang it. You don’t say a word or make a sound, okay? Marinette’s not ready to tell anybody yet and I don’t even know if she’s keeping it so you’re sworn to silence.”

Nino helped Alya mop up the water with a pile of napkins. “Of course, I’d never betray her like that. Just gotta, like, process for a minute.”

The waiter came out to take their order, effectively ending the conversation.

--

A knock came from the front door. Adrien told Plagg to hide before opening it to reveal a very anxious-looking Marinette. Her eyes darted to and away from his face rapid-fire, and she fiddled with her purse’s shoulder strap. “Marinette? Are you all right?”

“I – ” Her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or if I wanted to tell you but I haven’t decided anything yet, I really need to talk to somebody and I want to talk to you – this is big, but I need to talk to you as my friend right now.”

Adrien took her hand and coaxed her inside, closing the door behind her. He pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him tight, so he hitched both arms around her back to bring her as close as possible. He felt like he was absorbing her anxiety like a sponge, making his own blood jitter along with her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Marinette lifted her lips to his ear. She murmured two soft words to him.

He froze for a moment. They were still hugging, so hopefully she didn’t notice his shock. Adrien gathered himself, gently untangled their limbs, and held her face to look in her eyes. “Why don’t you go sit down, okay? I’ll make us some tea.”

She nodded. He went to the kitchen and filled up the water heater. While he waited for it to boil, he leaned against the fridge, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

Marinette was pregnant. He’d gotten her pregnant. She was probably here to talk about whether or not to stay pregnant. Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Hold your horses there, kid, he told himself in a mental voice that sounded alarmingly like Plagg. Gabriel doesn’t have to know if she decides not to keep it.

Adrien pushed the thought aside. His father didn’t matter right now; he’d burn that bridge when he got to it. Right now, his pregnant friend needed his support.

And her tea, he realized when he heard the water heater beeping. Adrien prepared and poured two steaming mugs and reminded himself that while he was culpable in creating this situation, Marinette had a lot more at stake here.

When he came back to the living room, Marinette had a ball of yarn out and was crocheting in the round. He was glad she’d brought something to do with her hands. It seemed to help keep her nerves in check. She set the project aside when he handed her the cup and took a sip. Adrien sat down on the couch next to her.

They drank in silence for a minute, neither sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, Adrien gathered his nerve. “So, how long have you known?”

“Four days. I’m about ten weeks along.”

“Okay. You…you said you wanted to talk about it?”

She puffed out a sigh through her teeth. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should keep it or abort it. I tried talking to Alya about it, but she’s so stuck on not influencing my choice that she just refuses to give any advice. But I need to talk through it.”

Adrien drank a hot sip of tea, letting himself think. “Thank you for trusting me. Let’s start with what you’ve been thinking. Feel free to word vomit.”

And word vomit she did. Marinette babbled about her career, her body changing, not being ready to take care of a kid, the money she didn’t have, the fact she wasn’t married – all in no particular order. Her stream of consciousness sentences ran together, making Adrien focus hard on keeping track of what she said.

Once she’d run out of breath, he asked the question she hadn’t addressed at all.

“Do you have any ethical issues with terminating the pregnancy?”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “Do you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Adrien didn’t love the idea, but he’d thought a lot about what it’d be like to grow a human inside him and then push it out of his ass, so yeah, he figured it was okay to say no to anything or anyone using your body as a house-slash-IV bag.

(Plagg says he’s too morbidly curious for his own good. Plagg doesn’t get to judge, he’s a cat and once caused a mass extinction.)

Marinette looked him straight in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

Adrien chose his next words carefully. “If money and single parenthood are your main concerns, you’re not alone. I’m here, I have a good job, and a trust fund that’s just gathering dust. Only if you want to. Whichever you decide, I’m all in.”

He took her free hand. “We’re a team. I promise.”

The words rang jarringly in both of their ears with a familiarity that didn’t belong in this context.

She smiled at him. “That was quite a speech.”

“Yeah, that came out cornier than I intended. I meant it, though.”

“What are you trying to say, Adrien?”

“I’m saying it’s not a matter of what we can do. It’s about what you want to do. You don’t have to give up your dreams for this.” He gazed at Marinette’s face, wished he could read her better. “Do you feel ready for a kid?”

“I feel scared,” she said quietly.

“Me, too.”

“But I…I think I want to. But only if you commit to being a dad.”

Adrien’s heart pounded. “Like I said, Marinette, I’m all in.”

She nodded and stood, wrapping up her yarn and putting it in her bag. “I don’t think I should decide tonight. I’ll tell you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

He stood as well to see her out. “Good idea. Sleep on it, take your time. I’ll just be here freaking out where you can’t see me.”

Marinette let out a little laugh. Her eyes crinkled adorably. “Thank you, for talking with me. And for the tea.”

“Do you want to stay over?” Adrien wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask that without thinking. Was that inappropriate? Did their relationship change after she got pregnant? Did she think he meant he wanted to have sex? Was it okay to ask your pregnant friend with benefits to sleep over after an emotionally draining conversation? Okay, come to think of it, that does sound kind of suspect.

“I’m too nauseated to fool around tonight.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay over.”

Marinette gave him a long, searching look. He wondered what she was looking for. He wondered if it was there. “I should go back to my apartment. Where my pajamas and toothbrush are. Goodnight, Adrien.”

They both ignored the fact that he kept a toothbrush for her here anyway, and she’d slept in his clothes more than once.

--

Plagg was being insufferable. “Baker girl’s got a bun in the oven!”

“You’re not funny, Plagg.”

“Screw you, I’m hilarious. It’s not my fault you decided to mix your milk with her eggs.”

Adrien groaned. “You’re really not funny, Plagg.”

--

Marinette fiddled with a lock of hair while the dial tone sounded in her ear.

“Mari?”

“I’m going to have the baby.” All at once. Ripped off the bandage. Besides, Adrien had to know why she was calling him, and he was surprisingly okay with when she cut past the pleasantries.

There was a pause. “Okay. I should tell my father soon.”

“My parents, too. Maybe we should have those conversations alone, so my mom and dad don’t grill you about not being in a relationship.

“Am I a dead man?”

“I’ll throw my body in front of yours. It’ll be better than a bullet-proof vest.”

“Is it too much to ask you to tell my father with me? I know he’ll stay calm, just…”

“Cold,” Marinette finished. She should’ve known Adrien would want emotional support when he told his dad he was about to become a young, unmarried parent. “Of course I can. Just tell me when.”

“Thanks. Have you gotten a doctor’s appointment yet?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. She was looking at six to seven more months of this fretting.

Chapter 2

Ko-fi

[therandomfics]

Anniversary: 16

“Peter told me that you pressed charges against him, Y/N. That is unbelievable. I just don’t understand why you two can’t grow up and get along.” Your mother, ever the well of wisdom, had called and decided to give you a lecture on marriage, free of charge. Ever a source of inspiration, you’d had to stop yourself no less than three times from hanging up on her mid-sentence. “He’s such a lovely man, so successful with such a bright future and past. You’re being selfish by holding one indiscretion against him.” 

You laughed, sharp and bitter - it almost sounded like a bark. “One? Sure, if it was one, maybe. But it’s more like one every two or three days - and that’s actually being really generous because I’m sure it’s one a day. He takes women like vitamins. Of course I don’t expect you to understand, or your perfect daughter either, seeing as you both have zero experience when it comes to hardship in relationships.” 

“That’s not true at all, and you better watch your tone,” your mother warned. 

“Or what, you’ll ground me? I haven’t lived with you in over ten years. Try again,” you scoffed and hung up, shoving your phone in your pocket. You had ten minutes before your adult class of ballroom was coming in, and you wanted to be mentally prepared.

The group finally arrived, a few stragglers trickling in at 5:30 though you requested they show up a few minutes early to make sure that their dance clothes were right and so that they could stretch and warm up on the mats normally reserved for your tumble class. The last woman that walked in arrived alone, which wasn’t a problem, but you had an uneven number of partners now even though she’d signed up as a new student with a plus one. Apparently her plus one was busy. 

“Alright everyone. Pair up - feel free to mix and match. Remember, multiple dance partners is a good thing,” you explained as you walked across the room, your heels clicking rhythmically. You turned on the music and smiled to yourself as it filled the room. Ten different couples began a very basic but beautiful waltz, while your new comer stood by the door. 

“I’m just waiting for him to get here,” she explained as you approached. 

“Sure. Make sure you stretch first, since you’re waiting, alright?” 

You approached the twirling couples and stepped in periodically, helping with form and dominance. “Perfect, but remember he leads,” you had reminded one woman, who was very clearly the one who normally gave orders in her relationship. 

By the time the next song started, you had eleven couples on the floor. Your new comer and her dancing partner: Peter. Your face fell immediately as you realized who he was, but you attempted to keep it together as you continued to weave in between dancers and give pointers on the best form. 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Stone,” Peter called out, making you cringe. “Do you think you can show us how to do the Kizomba?” 

“That’s more Salsa. This is Ballroom,” you answered flatly and turned to face him. He was partner-less as you watched her retreat to the building’s facilities. He held his hand out to you but you ignored him, knowing that normally you were happy to step in when a person’s partner stepped away, but this time it was out of the question. 

He didn’t take no for an answer, though. Closing the space between you, he pulled you into his arms and guided you with a close precision around the room. You regretted ever teaching him how to waltz because he was such a good student. “So you got your boyfriend to press charges against me?” he asked, pulling you close against his chest and whispering into your ear. “You know you can’t live there forever, Y/N. You’ve gotta come home at some point, even if it’s just to get your shit.” 

You tried to keep your smile in place as you knew your other students were watching the two of you. You made a beautiful couple, even if you were only dancing. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you did something stupid - and I’m sure you did - then you deserve whatever the consequences are,” you replied through a pearly while smile. 

Peter’s date return a moment later and gave you an excuse to spin from his arms and not return. It felt like ages before the class was over, but once you finally turned the music off and thanked everyone for coming you finally felt relief. It was short lived, though. Peter had decided to linger behind and watched as the last couple left the building; his date, apparently, had left, too. 

You slipped your heels off and replaced them with socks and sneakers, tying the laces tightly with a knot. “Please leave.” 

“We need to talk,” he insisted as he crossed the room and stood in front of you, pointedly making you uncomfortable. 

“There’s literally nothin’ I need to say to you,” you replied and side stepped him, heading for the door. You pushed it open and waved your hand towards the street. “Goodbye.” 

“You forget that this building is in my name, too,” he warned, standing still. Apparently he wasn’t going to leave. 

“That’s fine, then. Lock up when you leave,” you said with a shrug. You grabbed your bag from your office which was thankfully near the exit and walked out onto the street, zipping your Cubs hoodie up to your chin. The door to your studio had a sensor that played two chimes when it was opened. You heard it as soon as you’d gotten twenty feet away, and turned around to see Peter walking towards you. 

“Listen,” he said as he got closer and grabbed your arm. He pulled you back towards the studio and shoved you inside, locking the door behind him. The lights went out a moment later and he walked you backwards towards the alley exit of the building. “I don’t care who you’re with. It could be Sonny, it could be that asshole you dated back home before we met, it could be anyone.. but if it’s not me, then it doesn’t matter. If I can’t have you, and I will have you, then no one can. You’re not free to whore yourself out all over New York.” 

His grip on your arm was painful and it felt like your bone could have snapped at any moment, but you kept with his pace and continued to let yourself be lead backwards. To resist would be to cause a fight, and you didn’t have any desire to endure that in the dark, alone. “I’m not whoring myself out, Peter. I swear to God, you’re the last person I’ve had sex with and that was literally what, like 8 months ago?” 

“It doesn’t just take sex to be a whore,” he countered and pushed the alley exit open. His car sat in the glow of the security lights out back and he reached in his pocket to find his keys. 

“You’re a real testament to that one,” you muttered unintentionally, only further angering Peter. 

He opened the passenger side door and shoved you in, slamming the door in your face. When you attempted to open it you were greeted by child locks. “Are you serious?” you screamed and quickly reached into your bag. You had mere seconds before Peter got into the car and you called Sonny, tossing your phone bag in your bag but keeping it open so that the sound wouldn’t be as muffled. 

“What are you doing, Peter?” you questioned, raising your voice slightly. 

He laughed. “Taking you home. You’re my wife. You belong to me. I told you, if I can’t have you then no one can. Now it’s time that you get it through your thick fucking skull that when you married me you committed to a lifetime with me, regardless - for better or for worse, remember? You’ll get it eventually. Plus we’ve been married a year, don’t you think it’s about time we start a family?” 

The thought alone made you nauseous. You were so disgusted by Peter that the idea of him kissing you made you sick, let alone having sex with him in order to get pregnant. “Hard pass,” you replied and shrank away from him as he reached out to touch your leg. “Let me out of the car, please. I just want to go back to the studio. I have shit to get done and I can’t do it if you’re gonna kidnap me and keep me hostage in that prison you call home.” 

“Honestly, Y/N. You’re my wife. Do you think anyone’s going to believe I forced you to come home?” he asked with a snort. He was repulsive. 

“I want to get out of the car, Peter. I don’t want to go home with you. I want to go back to my studio, so please just stop the car and let me out,” you said slowly, hoping that if Sonny had answered, he could hear you. If nothing else, he would have one hell of a long voicemail. 

Peter only continued to ignore you and kept driving until he reached the underground garage of your apartment building. He normally parked on the street, which would have been perfect because you knew the moment that you drove under the concrete of the building, you had lost all signal. It was one of the reasons he stopped parking down there in the first place, because it was interfering with his late night pleasures. He couldn’t claim to be at the office if he was hooking up with whatever Alyssa or Miranda he had met and driven around in his luxury bullshit car. 

When he parked, he killed the engine and sat quietly for a long time, his hand holding a firm grasp on your thigh. The silence gave your phone the opportunity to make noise when it rang, even if it was only a low vibration. 

“Who is it?” Peter asked, his grasp on your leg growing stronger. 

“I don’t know. Let it go to voicemail. It’s fine,” you replied dismissively. Peter clearly wasn’t buying it, though, as he dug his nails into your skin that was covered only by thin leggings. You winced and pulled away, but he refused to let you go. “Please, Peter, that hurts..” 

He released you and got out of the car, coming around to your side and opening the door. He stood in between you and the open space of the garage as you exited the vehicle and waited for him to shut the door. There were very few ways to get away from him, and you were scoping them all out as quickly as you could. From your bag, your phone rang again, and you prayed it was Sonny. Peter took hold of your arm and gave you no time to get away, nearly dragging you to the elevator. 

“Don’t give me a reason,” he murmured into your ear, kissing your cheek. 

You cringed and tried to keep a straight face, but as the doors closed and the elevator began to ascend towards your floor you felt the suffocation setting in. If the elevator stopped on your floor and you got off with Peter, it could be the last thing you ever did. 

Thankfully, the elevator stopped on the ground floor and a man and a woman got on, pressing the button to the floor just below yours. 

You couldn’t breathe but you were trying to find the courage to cry out for help. It was almost as if Peter could tell that you were gearing up to scream, because he pushed you back against the wall of the elevator and silenced you with his lips, pinning your hands down at your sides and muffling your complaints until they sounded like moans of pleasure. He had alienated your would-be saviors and given them the impression that you were if nothing else feeling lustful. 

They exited on their floor and he finally let you free, keeping you pinned to the wall. “I told you not to give me a reason, Y/N. I don’t know why you’re so incapable of understanding the simplest of tasks,” he groaned and pulled you forward as the doors opened. 

As you spilled out into the hallway, the door to your apartment came into view and felt like nothing more than a death sentence. “Please don’t do this, Peter,” you whispered, trying to pull away from him. “Please.” 

“Please, what?” he inquired and fumbled with his keys. 

“Please don’t give me a reason,” you replied and slapped the keys from his hand, sending them flying over his head and into a decorative potted plant in the hallway. He cursed your name and pulled you with him as he bent down the retrieve them from the dirt, doing exactly what you’d hoped for, finally. Your knee was able to connect with his mouth, sending him spiraling backwards and to the floor with a thud and gasp of surprise. He held his mouth and then tried to stand up, but instead of allowing him the chance to come for you again, you shoved him back down and kicked him in the stomach. Memories of being a child and falling from the jungle gym, the lack of air and panic as you lost your breath and cried, came back to pay a visit as you saw Peter in a fetal position on the floor. 

As you ran for the elevator again, you slammed your fist against nearly every door you passed and changed your mind at the last minute; you took the stairs. Maybe someone would open the door and see him on the floor, maybe someone would finally wonder what was going on with the couple in that apartment that was always empty as of late. 

Once you were outside of your building and sure that Peter wasn’t close behind, you grabbed your phone and saw that Sonny had called you 4 times. 

“Hey,” you said breathlessly as he answered. 

“Where are you? Are you okay? Where is Peter?” 

“I’m..” you gasped for air. “I’m fine. He’s somewhere in our apartment building. I’m going to the court house now. I’m filing a restraining order. I won’t get you involved, so I’m going to leave for a while until I can get this figured out. I’m sorry. But, I promise, you’re my best friend.” 

You hung up and hailed a taxi, set on heading for the courthouse. If nothing else, you had to be on record about Peter’s behavior. Maybe someone out there would believe you and you would begin to close the book that was Peter Stone. 

Tag List: @halloup @glimmerglittergirl @sasbb23 @thebeckyjolene @babypink224221 @cecilyjmorgenstern @braincandyreads @juliie-isabel @enthusiastic-french-toast @inlovewith3

[desireesroadtrip]

Episode III: Return of the Jetta

It is now July 2018. I have gone on two major road trips in my life thus far. I am about to embark on the third. But before I tell you about that, let’s reflect on those first two I’ve taken…

Hello, all.

My name is Desiree Echevarria and I have wanderlust.

I’m 27 years old and have lived in Southern California my whole life. I’d like to get out immediately please, if only for a little while. And here’s why.

Every day, I go to a job that, admittedly, I like a whole lot. I have family and friends that I like a whole lot. I have a life that I sure do like a whole lot.

And yet…

I gotta get the fuck out of here.

At the end of every day, in order to get home, I drive east on one the many freeways in Southern California that are in a perpetual state of apocalyptic clusterfuckery. I sit in traffic. I dodge assholes who are seemingly using their BMWs to try to commit vehicular manslaughter on everyone else on the freeway. Sometimes, I’ll admit it, I’ll add to my own anxiety by being the asshole who’s trying get ahead in traffic using my clearly superior weaving skills. OUT OF THE WAY, JERKS, I HAVE TO GET TO MY HOUSE BEFORE YOU GET TO YOURS. I NEED THAT EXTRA 2 MINUTES TO SIT AROUND AND BE TOO LAZY TO SHOWER.

I look out the car window and see the same scenery every day. If it’s not the crumbling concrete of the rough, grey L.A. freeways, it’s the boring, well-manicured, strategically landscaped, but grotesquely artificial, ambiance of Orange County. And every day, while sitting there in traffic, I think to myself: “What if I just kept driving? What if I didn’t stop at my exit and I just kept going east? Who would stop me? No one, that’s who.”

That’s what I wrote five years ago in my mission statement (you can re-visit that lengthy manifesto here) prior to embarking on a three-week road trip across the country and back. It was a trip that, when I returned, a friend of mine referred to as a “walkabout.” I liked that. So that’s what I call it now.

I drove my Volkswagen GTI (R.I.P.) from Los Angeles through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada.

Pictured: Black Magic the GTI, the most beloved of all my Volkswagens.

I didn’t have any deadlines or any real destinations. I went just to see what I could see. I stopped and pulled off the road to take photos whenever I felt like it. I talked to strangers. I blogged a lot. And it was fucking awesome.

(I won’t rehash the happenings of that first trip because literally every post on this Tumblr prior to this one chronicles them in detail. I created this Tumblr specifically for that trip and am reviving it for this next one. Scroll back to read about my exploits if you’d like.)

That first trip was a major turning point in my life. It got me out of my lifelong comfort zone and made me a little more fearless in general – and that alone has had far-reaching effects. That trip shook all my shit up, in a good way.

Today, I’m 32 years old and a lot has changed since then.

For starters, I don’t like the word “wanderlust" anymore. Makes me cringe. Please forget I ever used it.

But also, I don’t live in Southern California anymore. I live in Austin, Texas – a place I encountered on that very first megatrip.

This might seem surprising because in my post-roadtrip recap back in 2013, you may recall I returned from that trip with grand plans to “kick down Hollywood’s door and take the motherfucker over.”

Narrator voice: She did not take the motherfucker over.

So how did I end up in Austin? (I get this question a lot. So, finally, here’s your answer. *Clears throat.*)

Throughout my twenties, I worked in Hollywood. When you work in Hollywood, your friends and family love to hear stories about the most glamorous parts of your job. Everyone loves hearing a story with a famous person in it, even if the story is simply, “I got an email from Jennifer Lawrence today. She seems nice.” See, there’s a famous person in that riveting story about a work email. That makes it a good story. It’s very cool to come home from work and tell people that you spent the day with Clint Eastwood or that Jay Leno showed you around his fancy car garage or that Bradley Cooper asked you for a bottle of water and you handed it to him and you will both cherish that moment forever.

It’s very cool to tell people those parts of your job. But those aren’t even the everyday moments. Those are the sometimes moments. They’re awfully cool, but what happens when the day-to-day of your job is in no way fulfilling and, in fact, sucks so much ass? That’s much less cool.

It’s a tough trade-off. Because you like being able to tell your family and friends your Hollywood anecdotes. It makes you seem interesting. You like being able to watch a movie and see your name in the credits. It makes you feel important.

And it’s a hell of a thing to have to admit to yourself that it’s not actually what you want at all.

But that’s exactly what I did at the end of 2015.

Hi, I’m Desiree Echevarria. I’m sure you remember me from The Hunger Games. I played Katniss.

Here’s where I was: American Sniper was finally finished. I worked through TWO releases of those DVDs, one per year. So I had SOMEHOW been working on American Sniper for a damn year and a half (looooong after the film had left the theaters and lost all the Oscars). So I was bored and ready for something new.

My boss came to work one day and very excitedly told me that the next movie we would be working on was Clint Eastwood’s new film, Sully, starring Tom Hanks. It was our job to produce the bonus features for it, as per usual. The film would likely be a hit, like anything else Clint Eastwood or Tom Hanks does.

And yet I felt nothing. I did not feel excited. I did not feel awe. I did not feel that Hollywood magic that I know I felt at some point in my life before.

A Clint Eastwood/Tom Hanks joint walks through the door and I feel nothing.

I was burnt. out.

Sorry, Clint. 

It was time for a change, and not just on a three-week walkabout to recharge my mental batteries this time. For one thing, I was broke af (because the thing everyone loves to downplay about working in Hollywood is that the pay is shit and if you don’t like it well, fuck you, there’s a line of about a thousand suckers right behind you just BEGGING for a shot at your gig). But also, I didn’t want to have to come back to this place — not just this production company, but this Hollywood. It was time for a REAL-ASS CHANGE.

Austin, Texas was about as much of a 180-degree shift from my status quo as was possible. So that’s where I set my sights.

I moved out of my expensive-but-still-somehow-in-a-bad-part-of-town Los Angeles apartment and into my parents’ house 50 miles away in Orange County for a few months to save what little money I could (and braving the 4-hour round trip commuting to the production office in Glendale daily as a trade-off).

I remember the day I put in my two weeks’ notice at that production company. My boss, a producer who had done pretty well for himself, had gone on vacation (he went to his vacation house at least once a month, otherwise he would “go stir crazy!” he often said). I remember I was alone at the office on a Friday. And I mean ALONE alone. I had no co-workers. It was just me and my boss. Though, most days it was just me. All alone. In a small room. My boss liked to work from home mostly, and he had the freedom to do so.

On this particular Friday, I asked if I could work from home. Doing so would save me four painful hours of driving in L.A. traffic. We weren’t a busy office. People didn’t stop by. People didn’t call. We seldom got packages and if they were important (a delivery of assets from a studio or something) I sure as shit knew if they were coming. But my only project on that day was writing research reports for Sully. So, yes, I could have done my job from home. My boss could have done me a HUGE solid by just saying yes to my simple request.

Still, my boss said no. He didn’t feel “comfortable” with me working from home even though it was 2016 and the internet had been invented decades earlier. Besides, what if an office emergency came up?!

Narrator voice: An office emergency had never come up.

I said, “Okay.” And I spent that day in the office. By myself. Pouting. Lamenting my lack of freedom and control over my own life. All while my boss was sitting in a hammock, strumming one of his many vintage guitars at his vacation cabin in the mountains. This seems like a relevant time to add that this job did not come with health insurance.

I put in my two weeks’ notice that day.

I was 30 years old. And this shit was no longer worth it.

Two weeks later, I packed up my Volkswagen Rabbit (R.I.P.) with everything I owned. I didn’t own much. A friend would later call the fact that I was able to fit my entire life into a car “romantic.” I call it “poor.” I then embarked on the second major road trip of my life: the move from my home in California to my fresh start in Austin, Texas.

I didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen, but at least I was free.

Pictured: Tibor the Volkswagen Rabbit, named after the German man who sold him to me (and who replaced the Rabbit decal with a Golf decal for some reason).

Road Trip 2: The Great Escape

I drove from California to Texas in two days in a car that I wasn’t sure would even survive the trip.

The trip HAD to be two days because I didn’t want to blow what little money I had staying in hotels over the course of several nights. I didn’t have a job waiting for me in Austin – in fact, all that was waiting for me there was just one friend from California and a cheap two-month sublet to share with a stranger from Craigslist.

On Day One, I drove from Orange County, CA to Flagstaff, AZ because my friend Camille lived in Flagstaff and I stayed at her house. However, Flagstaff was nowhere CLOSE to being the halfway point between California and Austin. So my first day’s drive was just 7 hours. Meaning my second day… well, my second day was 15 hours and 1,026 miles of pure hell.

For one thing, the aux input in my car was broken and the only CDs I had with me were five Taylor Swift CDs. I know on the surface, that doesn’t seem THAT bad (after all, it’s better than silence, right?), but I listened to those five Taylor Swift CDs over and over and over again throughout the course of 22 driving hours, pushing myself to the brink of madness and back again several times over.

I tried listening to the radio, but when you’re driving through endless zero-population towns in West Texas, you can’t put a lot of faith in radio stations that play music even EXISTING. (Though, there are plenty of radio stations with loud preachers yelling about how most things are The Devil™.) So even though I was on a tight schedule, I made the time to pull over at a Wal-Mart and buy a CD – ANY CD – that wasn’t Taylor Swift. I purchased a Luke Bryan CD.

By the end of this ordeal, I would come to hate Luke Bryan as well.

(Note: I have since forgiven both Taylor Swift and Luke Bryan for what they did to me that day.)

But deeper than that, my Road Trip 2 lacked all of what made that first road trip great. I didn’t enjoy it the way I had before. This time, I didn’t take the trip slow and stop along the way to smell the roses and take pictures of interesting rocks I saw. This time, the trip wasn’t a walkabout. It was a mission, and a scary one at that.

What if I failed? What if I got to Texas and hated it, or couldn’t find a job, or ran out of money, or became a Republican? There was a lot for me to worry about on that drive.

After 15 hours, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I thought the drive would never end – especially in the late hours driving down endless empty two-lane roads in the pitch-black darkness of West Texas, with what I still maintain to this day were UFOs in the distance. I showed up at my Craigslist sublet at midnight, immediately rolled my sleeping bag out on the floor, cried for the 90 seconds I remained awake, and then passed out.

Pictured: my first Austin apartment. I slept on a mattress on the floor for longer than I care to admit.

The first thing that made me feel better after that sad-ass moving night was waking up the next day and being able to see some familiar faces. My friend Krista, who had moved to Austin not long before I did, swung by my empty apartment, picked me up and gave me a tour of the city. That helped make the transition remarkably easier. 

Pictured: my first meal on my first day in Austin at the now-defunct restaurant Bacon (R.I.P.) courtesy of tour guide, @kristadoyle​.

Also, as luck would have it, my friends from back home, Kyle and Iris, happened to be on vacation in Austin during that very weekend and we were able to meet up and do some touristy shit together. And again, that familiarity in a strange new place calmed my nerves immensely. I value my friendships above pretty much everything in the entire world and things like this are why. I like to think I’m pretty resilient on my own, but I’m far more resilient with help from my pals. I highly recommend friendship A+++ 11/10, 4 stars.

Pictured: Kyle, me, and Iris during my first weekend in Austin in the quintessential tourist destination -- Dirty 6th.

But once that introductory weekend was over, I had a lot of hustling to do. I didn’t have a job AND I only had enough saved to live comfortably for two months — which meant I had two months to make it work in Austin or I would have to crawl back to my parents’ house in California with my tail between my legs. The clock was ticking.

That Monday was the first day of SXSW, Austin’s major annual music, film, and tech festival. I had decided to move to Austin in time for SXSW because people on Reddit told me that if I wanted to network in Austin and find a job, I needed to be at SXSW. But badges to get into SXSW run upwards of thousands of dollars (which I did NOT have). So I got in the only way I could – by working for free. I volunteered for a week at SXSW and got a badge in return.

And for once, Reddit was right. I got two job offers that first week.

I knew then that everything was gonna be okay.

Still, the offers I was able to get weren’t ideal. I took a job doing customer support at a website in Austin while patiently biding my time for the job I REALLY wanted to open up: a content writer position at the startup where my friend Krista worked (also as a writer). She raved about how awesome it was and how, someday soon, they would probably hire more writers. So I waited all spring and summer for that probably. For six months, I looked something like this:

Then, finally, a writer position opened up and I pounced on it. I got the job and can honestly say, it’s one of the best things to ever happen to me.

This sounds pretty anticlimactic, I’m sure. There was this thing I wanted and I was patient and then I got it. But to me, it’s been pretty life-changing.

Working as a writer at a great company (Aceable – we’re hiring) is what I wanted all those years in Hollywood. And I just never quite found it. Sometimes I worked on projects that didn’t inspire me, sometimes I was doing work I was capable of, but not passionate about (hello, post-production), and more often than not, I worked for companies that didn’t challenge me or offer an actual career path. It wasn’t their fault necessarily, but a symptom of the small-production-company-grind that plagues much of Hollywood.

But by sticking around that kind of environment, I would always be doomed to this cycle of burning out and getting out, burning out and getting out, repeat times infinity. I’d always be looking for a temporary escape and it would never be enough – because I would never truly feel like I have control over my life.

Getting my job at Aceable was the validation I needed to finally stop feeling as though I was moving backwards rather than forwards.  

I never would have imagined as a kid who was OBSESSED with making a name for herself in Hollywood that I would find everything I was looking for in a career in the middle of Texas.

Oh yeah, and now I get to work from home WHENEVER I WANT.

There’s a saying that goes: Don’t cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it.

I won’t say that my time in Hollywood was a “mistake” because, in reality, I HAD to do it – all of it. If I hadn’t, I never would have learned that it wasn’t what I wanted. Some alternate universe Desiree is out there, writing a blog where she laments never having taken the chance to pursue her film and TV dreams and then leaves behind her job as an astronaut to make it happen (what an idiot).

Besides, I had my fun. I did work on cool stuff. Working on the first film I co-produced, The Hopeful, gave me some of my all-time favorite memories and left me with some awesome friends that I still have today. I got the chance to work on my favorite show of all time, The Simpsons, and for that I’ll always be grateful. But all those pursuits had significant drawbacks and, ultimately, weren’t sustainable, like a lot of film/TV career paths (but that’s a whole OTHER conversation for another day). It turns out my heart just wasn’t in it.

I also want to say, as I’ve said many times before (and y’all are probably sick of it but this is my blog, get your own) Austin is a really fucking great place. I like it here. I feel a sense of community and pride in my city for the first time in my life. My list of restaurants to try in Austin is NEVER-ENDING.  It’s gotten to the point where I feel guilty going to the same restaurant twice now because I’m always thinking, “Shit, I could be trying a new place instead.” Put simply: it rules.

So I’m in a uncharted territory going into the third major road trip of my life…

Road Trip 3: The Everything’s Actually Pretty Okay

For the first time, I’m not using a road trip as a motif for some kind of escape. Progress!

I’m packing up my Volkswagen Jetta for a trip across the southwest that will be part walkabout, but also part of it will include some much needed quality time meeting up with some good friends from California. It’s a regular, good ol’ fashioned vacation. And I’m super pumped.

As always, I’ll take the time to be alone with my thoughts because while I’m at a place in my life where I feel pretty settled in a lot of ways, let’s never lose sight of the fact that I am an always-buzzing ball of anxiety and need these little jaunts as a way to reset my brain. It’s for this same reason that I like to go camping a lot (though camping in Texas seems abysmal DON’T @ ME.)

I’ve always appreciated road trips for the head-clearing they allow me to do.

I’ll take little weekend trips here and there for a breather.

There was the time when, on a whim, I drove from L.A. to the Grand Canyon because I had spent months pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into writing an awards show that turned out ABSOLUTELY AWFUL (read aaaallllllll about it here). 

There was the time I drove from Austin to Scott, Louisiana (the boudin capital of the world!) to clear my head after a summer on the dating apps broke my brain – damn you, Bumble!

And then there was the time I spent an entire day driving aimlessly through the rural areas outside of Austin the weekend after the 2016 election (ugh) to calm my nerves with the sight of pastoral landscapes and the taste of out-of-town BBQ before the impending unraveling of American democracy began.  

Road trips clear your head, man. They’re underrated. Whenever I tell people I’m going on a road trip, they tend to say things like “Oh no, all that driving! Hope you have plenty of audiobooks all lined up!”

And I’m like… no.

I don’t want to distract myself. The whole point is the solitude. I like the solitude.

I like that there is NOTHING to see sometimes.

I LIKE THE NOTHING.

I really believe that being in new places forces you to think differently than you normally do, and from those departures away from your normal thought patterns come your best ideas and your inspirations for growth.

My life is definitely FAR from perfect and I still have about a MILLION flaws that I have to constantly work on, but with freedom comes the time, energy, and ability to do just that.

So I guess that’s what makes Road Trip 3 different – I’ve got some freedom in my life and with it, I just want to see some cool shit and spend time with people I love, relax out on the open road, take some pictures of some interesting rocks I see, and know that when I get back to Austin, I’ll be happy to be back in Austin.

I can’t say that things will always be like this (who can?), but this is how things are right now.

Also I wish to purchase one (1) marijuana when I arrive in Colorado. IT’S LEGAL, MOM.