#force myself to cute ties and have only two fucking friends left which eventually turns into one friend because of communication problems

[tiredsadpeach]

My other friend saw one of them

#but not him #why am I so upset by this #why can’t I just move on #I just feel unimportant #especially because he was added to a monkees gc and like normally would ask if I could join #but it took me freaking out for him to ask #one of my biggest fears is losing all my friends because that almost fucking happened #granted those ‘friends’ were abusive and manipulative and just bad but when one of them traumatizes you and the others take his side and I #force myself to cute ties and have only two fucking friends left which eventually turns into one friend because of communication problems #it’s fucking scary either way like I felt like if I wasn’t careful I’d lose my last friend and be alone and I’d already been assaulted and #lost and idol and pets to death like I don’t know how I made it here #tw animal death #tw death #so when a best friend who claims to read every tweet and love me so much suddenly seems distant and hasn’t even seen one of my tweets from #last night but saw his other friends tweets? I get sick to my stomach and get scared as fuck! #he’s home now too so like he very well could go look #it just hurts I can’t lose him we’re so fucking close he’s the only person that knows who is my delusion of grandeur so in turn their only #friend they can talk to atm and just hhh I somehow got closer to him than to the friend that got me through high school #I just hhhh I can’t I can’t

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting it Back Together Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn, touch starved

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere

This had not been part of his plan, Adam thought as he switched on a lamp and cringed at the disaster that was his livingroom. Instruments and musical equipment were strewn all over the place, wires and amps just waiting to trip the unwary or uncoordinated. Which, by everything he had observed so far, definitely included his companion.

"Sorry for the mess," he mumbled, clearing a path to the sofa with his foot.

"Don't be," Lilly smiled, looking around with avid interest. "It's exactly how I envisioned it!"

"Great," Adam rolled his eyes.

"Not that I've been envisioning it," she blurted out, face turning scarlet. "I just meant... well, if I thought about it at all, which I only did because I could hear you so clearly over here... and what with all the clattering around..."

"You expected it to be a wreck," he finished for her as he swept a collection of books off of the ancient sofa and onto the floor.

"It's cozy," she said lamely.

"If you say so. Sorry I don't have anything to offer you except water to drink. I don't entertain. Ever."

"Water would be perfect," she smiled encouragingly at him, as though he were a toddler displaying acceptable manners in company.

Which, he supposed, was about right. Fuck, he wasn't even sure if the water here was potable. He had never drank any of it, of course. He only used the kitchen sink to wash the cordial glasses from which he drank his blood. Fetching a slightly larger cup that he had found in the cupboard when he moved in and giving it a quick clean, Adam let the water run for a few minutes to help clear out the pipes. It didn't look too contaminated; he hoped he was not about to poison her.

"Here," he walked back to the livingroom and thrust the glass into her hand. "No ice, freezer doesn't work."

"I'd say you should call the super, but I guess that doesn't work if you're the owner."

"It doesn't really bother me," he replied with a shrug. "I'll fix it myself eventually."

"After all, you don't have guests," she said impishly.

"Right."

"Perfectly drinkable," she judged after taking a sip from the cup.

"Good. Now, let me see if I can find that tape player."

That was what she was doing here, after all. Why his invitation had popped out he could not fathom, much less how he had ended up bringing her back here that very night. At least this way he could limit the time he spent with her, he supposed. It was already two in the morning; not long until the sun began to approach the horizon and he would be forced to show her the door whether he wanted to or not.

Glancing over to where she lounged on his sofa, he was not so sure what the decision would be on that one. Her legs, stretched out on the cushion, were quite shapely despite her petite stature, and the red top just invited one to run their hands over it to feel the silky material and the lush curves underneath. And then, of course, there was her neck, long and white and begging to be bitten.

Adam swallowed and turned away. He  could not help but think of the last time he had had a mortal in his home, though it had not been this one. Ian, his supplier of instruments and all around procurer had been almost a friend, if a zombie could ever be thought so. He was sweet and harmless, and Adam had a genuine affection for him in a distant sort of way. It had been a horrid shock to walk into the room one night after sun set and see the young man sitting lifeless on the couch, blood drained from his body and drying on the face of Ava, Eve's feral sister.

Adam had always hated Ava, and that night had been the last straw. It was also the beginning of the end to life as he knew it. Within hours he had tossed her out on her skinny ass, disposed of poor Ian's body, and was on a flight with Eve to Tangier, where she was destined to drink tainted blood and die. All because Ava had sucked Ian dry. All the more reason to hate his late wife's bitch of a sister.

Still, looking at Lilly stretching herself out, he could understand a little better how Ian had come to die. Ava had whined to them about how cute he had been, how she couldn't resist. At the time he had scorned such a thing as a pathetic lack of self control. He still did to a large extent, but at last he knew the urge. Not just the urge to feed, an impulse they all shared, but an urge to take a human in such an intimate embrace. When Eve was alive it would never have occurred to him, he had had her for such connections, he needed no one else. Now though, alone and untouched for years, he longed to feel Lilly's smooth skin against his mouth, to hear her gasp and sigh as he ran his lips over her neck.

Not that he would ever drain her, of course. He was not such a monster. He would not even drink from her. To do so would expose his true nature, and that would mean relocating again, as well as putting her life in danger.

No, he would do her this one favor, and then he would return to seclusion. He would make sure that he left through the basement when absolutely necessary so that she did not hear him, would otherwise stay inside so that their paths would cease to cross. It would be better for them both.

"Here it is," he mumbled with satisfaction. "Give me a moment to set it up."

"Take your time," she said happily.

Glancing over, Adam saw that she had given up lounging and was now coiling up all of guitar cables into neat rounds. He had to admit that she did a good job - they were neither too tight so as to damage the wires nor too loose so as to unravel as soon as she walked away. With a shrug of his shoulders he allowed her to continue. The cables could use sorting, and he was certainly not inclined to the task.

"Sorry," she said with a blush as she caught him staring. "I warned you, I fidget. I seem to always need something to do with my hands."

He could think of several things she could do to keep her hands busy, he thought. God, what was wrong with him? Was he really so touch starved?

"Where's the tape?" he finally asked

She leapt up from where she had been sitting, breasts bouncing as she did, and almost reverently handed him the box containing her Grandmother's recordings. Adam turned back around, discreetly adjusting himself as he did. He carefully placed the spool in his machine, grateful for something to occupy him until he got himself under control.

After a short series of clicks and static while the tape began to unreel, a scratchy blare of a trumpet began to waft through the air, soon joined by a piano and soft brushes on drums. Adam was taken back to a different era. A time when he had circulated more among the general population of humans. Women wore dresses and hats, men suits and ties, and a sophisticated style permeated the music scene. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed that era, the end of the 40s and beginning of the 50s. Between his excitement at the recent technological advances and his nostalgia for the old days of the height of classical composition, Adam sometimes forgot the joy and sorrow, the feeling that jazz could evoke.

When the voice, low, smooth, and heavy with emotion, slid in like honey, he looked instinctively to Lilly. Her mouth was open, shaped with a hint of smile at the corners. Her eyes blinked quickly, struggling he was sure to hold back tears. This would be the first time, he supposed, that he had heard her Grandmother sing since she had died. Even without the connection to the woman, Adam himself was moved by the song. He was struck by how strong Lilly was being, listening and holding back her tears.

Moving one step towards her, Adam opened his arms. With a catch of indrawn breath Lilly took two steps of her own and for the second time buried her face against his chest. It was so different thought, he thought as his arms came around her. That first night on the roof, she had been some annoying zombie woman, pushing herself in where she was not wanted. Her blubbering all over him had been almost violent in the way she sobbed and clutched at him. Now, she simply melted against him, and he gently stroked her back as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

The song ended and another began, this one he remembered. It had been a huge hit, still was sung every so often, covered by lesser vocalists. Lilly's Grandmother was not one of those. She was a true artist.

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be Someone to watch over me..."

As the music continued, Adam found himself swaying to it, bringing Lilly along with him. She was stiff at first in his arms when he began to dance with her, but when she realized what he was doing she relaxed and allowed herself to feel the rhythm. She would never be a natural dancer, and she was clearly still in her head, but there was something sweet about that. She tried so hard at everything. Tried to be strong, tried to keep busy, tried to learn, tried to be happy.

When was the last time he had been happy, Adam wondered. When was the last time he had even tried? Not since Eve, certainly. Before that, he was unsure. There were moments, of course, even at the end with her when he had been so. He loved her with an enduring passion. But he had been going through the motions for decades, shutting himself off from the world around him. Ian had been practically his only connection to it.

Pulling back a bit, he spun Lilly about and half smiled at her. It felt strange to smile even that much. Muscles he had not used in forever only half remembered how to work. He had always had a brooding nature, but of late it had become harsh even for him.

They kept dancing until the tape ended, adjusting to the tempo and style of each song. It felt so good to lose himself in someone else's music for a change. To hold someone, to connect with someone. She was right, what she had said earlier that night. Music required no discussion, no messy dialogue. You could just feel it, let it move through you. And where there was someone else there, someone who even if not a musician herself clearly had an ear and more to the point a soul for it, to share it with it could be a profound experience.

When at last the song ended, Adam and Lilly's eyes met and something deeper than a smile passed between them. It was sad and joyful and required no words. They both collapsed on the sofa, Adam pulling her into the crook of his arm as he sat sprawled and tired. Lilly's legs were curled under her and she rested her head against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall of breathing, fast at first from the exertion of dancing, begin to slow. It was some time later that he realized she had fallen asleep on him.

How strange, he thought, that she should be so comfortable with him that she could so easily drift off. He had perfected the art of scaring people off, and yet this tiny woman had tenaciously refused to be run off. She seemed to trust him, even, had shared something deeply personal with him.

The sun would be up soon. He should wake her, he knew. Yet, looking at how peaceful she looked he could not bring himself to do so. Gently, Adam slid out from beneath her, lowering her head down onto a convenient throw pillow. He foraged about until he found a blanket on an armchair and draped it over her, tucking her in. Lilly sighed and burrowed deeper into the sofa, a light sigh escaping her lips.

Taking one last look, he made sure the curtains were drawn, turned off the light, and headed to his bedroom. Things would go back to normal tomorrow; they had too. But let them both sleep peacefully today.

***

Lilly scrunched her eyes and stretched a bit, trying to wriggle away from a hard lump she could feel under her left side. What had she left on her bed that was poking into her with such insistency. Feeling under her blindly, she pulled out something long and wooden. A drumstick? How on earth had that ended up in her bed? And why did the mattress feel like velvet?

As she emerged from the fog of sleep, Lilly came to the sudden realization that she was not, in fact, in her own bed.

Sitting up, she felt a smile cross her face that was lit from within. Last night had been a good night. She had reconnected with some old friends, and maybe even made a new one. Twenty-four hours ago Lilly would have thought the possibility of a friendship with Adam a fantasy at best, delusion more likely. And yet he had approached her, he had accepted her invitation to the club, and he had issued an invitation of his own that led her back to his apartment.

Oh, not that Lilly was crazy enough to think that he meant anything more by it than friendship. She was not the type of woman that brooding musicians stayed up composing love songs for. She was the type who hounded them with her insistent chirping until they finally relented and occasionally allowed them inside, like the mangy cat you gave milk to once who would forever after haunted your door. She was fine with that, she told herself. He had been a friend when she needed one, lending her an arm to dance with and a shoulder to lean on when she needed it most.

He had also, it seemed from the blanket draped around her, tucked her in. Her grin widened. Despite how hard he tried to cultivate his grumpy persona, Adam had could not hide the sweet kindness in his nature from her any longer. She had felt it as he had held her last night, and later when they danced.

That had been something she would not soon forget. Lilly was too tense as a rule to be graceful, but Adam was such a strong leader that she had stopped worrying about his poor toes and let herself simply enjoy. His body had been a continuation of the music, feeling it to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair it seemed. All loose and yet firm where his hand lay on her back, he had guided her flawlessly, swaying to the sound.

All in all, it had been a far better send off for her grandmother than the stuffy funeral planned by her father. The old woman would have enjoyed last night, Lilly knew, and she would have enjoyed Adam. Beyond the shared love of music, his sharp tongue and kind heart would have been just to her liking.

Not wanting to send her mind down fruitless paths, Lilly stood up to get a better look at the room. It really was exactly how she had imagined it, if not more so. Every flat surface from the floor to the mismatched furniture was covered in instruments, sound equipment, mechanisms for which she had no names, and the odd notebook or staff paper. Three of the walls were covered in sound proofing foam, the third in an odd collection of portraits. Looking at them, Lilly found scientists, authors, artists, philosophers, all sorts of creative and intellectual types. She made a game of naming them all, only coming up blank on two (although three more were guesses), and trying to decipher meaning from who was present and who absent. Somewhere in there, she was sure, was the secret to his mind's inner working.

Part way through her perusal, Lilly realized that nature was calling. Assuming the layout to his home was similar to hers, she made her way as quietly as she could up the creaky staircase. Once at the top, she was greeted with a long hallway, three doors on each side.

The first door she tried opened into a room dominated by a large drum kit. Scattered about around it were a music store's worth of other percussive instruments. Some day, she thought, she would like to come back and play in here, to see if she could bang out some of her inner frustration. It must be as good as therapy in some ways!

As she opened the second door an avalanche of what she thought were rugs or tapestries of some sort threatened to come spilling out and bury her. She quickly leaned all of her weight against it to close it shut again, hoping she hadn't disturbed anything expensive and moved on to the third door.

Lilly forgot how to breath as she opened it. There, spread out on a large bed covered in pillows, lay Adam, completely naked.

Lilly knew she needed to quickly exit, closing the door behind her, but she could not seem to make her limbs obey her. If Michelangelo had wanted a model for his David, he could have used him, she thought. Adam lay on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. While this luckily or unfortunately (she could not decide) preserved some of his modesty, there was still quite a bit on display to appreciate.

Broad, well muscled shoulders and back gleamed pale, contrasting against the dark of his hair where it fell. His waist segued gorgeously into a pair of slender hips and - dear lord, there should be a law! - a perfectly firm and round ass that Lilly would have given her right hand to squeeze. Long, lean legs seemed to go on for days, and actually fell off the bed before reaching his gigantic feet. A mischievous part of Lilly felt the urge to reach out and tickle them, and she actively clasped her hands behind her back to keep from acting on this awful impulse.

Had she really tried to convince herself, just moments before, that she was perfectly happy to just be his friend? If so, she had been deluding herself. Oh, she would take what she could get, but Lilly knew in that moment that she would go to her grave ruined for anyone else.

As she stood staring unabashedly at him, Adam mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow. Lilly started to make for the door, but his head turned towards her and she realized he was still asleep. Cautiously, she lingered a moment longer, watching as he reached out to the other side of the bed, as though searching for something not there.

"Eve," he said, clearly this time. "Baby, I miss you."

Someone had reached into Lilly's chest and crushed her heart between their fist.

She had no idea why it had never occurred to her that he might have a lover, or even a wife. He was beyond gorgeous, brilliantly talented, and obviously had money. Anyone would want him. Why should she assume that just because there was no woman here at this moment he was single?

And yet, clearly, she had. The raw emotion in his voice, the need as he called the woman's name had been all it took to destroy her heart.

Following the direction he was facing, Lilly realized that in this room of dirty laundry and bedding, one picture stood out like a beacon. Placed on the table next to the bed where it could clearly be seen was a photo of Adam and a woman of ethereal beauty. She was not "pretty" in a conventional way, but had something far beyond that. Almost as tall as he was, and perhaps even paler, she was stunning in a cream colored suite with yellow gold hair. Adam had his arms twined around her center, and looked at her with such love in his eyes that it was unmistakable.

Forgetting her need for the bathroom, Lilly bolted out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to get out of here. Away from the perfect man who she was afraid she had already fallen for and the perfect woman who was clearly everything Lilly was not. Including it now became clear, the one that Adam wanted.

#olla #olla fic #Adam OLLA #Adam/OFC #fan fic #tom hiddleston #Angst #healing #romance #eventual smut #I swear there will be #but not yet #naked Adam though! #touch starved #grief #moving on #mention of death #bad dreams #mourning #longing #mutual pining #dancing #music

[streetlites]

The house is small concrete box in the middle of a neighborhood filled with small concrete box houses. Bolivar stops the car at the stop sign and turns it off. “Do you remember my number?”

“I've got it,” I assure him. “Just stay here until I call.” The street is empty now, there were people sitting on the stoop of the house we parked in front of but had since retreated inside. I guess nothing good comes from unfamiliar black SUVs pulling up at 3 AM.

My ears are hot and there’s butterflies in my stomach from nerves. Every step I take closer to the house intensifies my nervousness; Am I walking correctly? What will I do if he doesn’t answer? If he does answer, can I pull it off? I swallow and take a breath before knocking. The sound is loud on this quiet street.

“Who the fuck is it?” a voice comes from inside.

“Omigod, please, please let me use your phone!” I beg, trying as hard I can to emulate the Bay Girls from school. “My car broke down and this is, like, the fourth house I’ve been to!” I whine. I hear the man on the other side grumble but he tells me he’s coming. I clap my hands, “Yay!” When he opens the door, I twist my body before standing straight, popping my chest out where he takes me in, “Thank you soooo much!”  

His brown eyes meet mine and he looks sheepish, “Yeah, uh, no problem.”

“So, do you want me to wait out here, or can I come in?” I ask, smiling.  

He’s still feeling cautious, looking behind me to make sure no one else is hiding. “Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry,” he apologizes. “Come in, I’ll go get my phone.”

I look around the kitchen and into the living room; no one is in there, which is good. “Thanks for helping me out,” I coo. “You’re pretty cute, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Ah, nah,” his voice comes from a bedroom. He appears a few seconds later with a phone in hand. “Here.”

“Cool.” I let my eyes wander his body, biting my lip and winking. He smiles back, relaxed.  

I dial Bolivar’s number and it rings once before he picks up, “Buenas noches, bellisima,” he purrs. “Is he alone?”

“Yes? Gabriella! Omigod you need to come and get me! My car broke down and I’m all alone!” I whine.  

“I’m coming,” Bolivar says and hangs up.

I keep talking, “What? No, this nice guy let me use his phone. Please come and pick me up! Alexis went home with some rando and left me at the club and I’m freaking stranded out here!” I sigh dramatically. I shake my head, acting like it’s tragic and the man laughs. “I can’t use the bus! God! Didn’t I drive you around that week your car was in the shop -”

The door creaks open and the man curses when he makes eye contact with Gabriel, his pistol drawn. I drop the phone but the guy is quick; he grabs me and has me in a headlock before I can reach for my holster. “I fucking knew it! Put the gun down or I’ll snap this bitch’s neck,” he warns.

Gabriel stops and slowly begins to lower his pistol to the floor, “You don’t want to do that. That girl? Her people will come after both of us and we’ll wish for death when they’re done. Let her go and we’ll leave.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’m going to be the one that leaves.” He tenses, “Put it on the ground now!” He yells. Bolivar places the gun on the floor, his hands up. “Good, now kick-”

I use the split second of relaxation in his grip to bite down hard on his arm. The man screams as my teeth rip through flesh and blood pours into my mouth. The slight recoil gives me enough space to bring my head back and crack into his nose and break loose. I use the momentum as I’m turning to swing my leg around and catch him across the face, bringing him down. His head smacks against a desk and he lands on the floor, motionless. There’s a flare of fury as I’m trying to calm myself down – I need him alive, if possible. I spit the skin and blood from my mouth onto his body.

Gabriel whoops, “You beat his ass!” He laughs, “Damn, girl!”

My body throbs with pain; My teeth ache from how hard I bit his arm, the back of my head from the headbutt, and my leg from the too wide kick. “Shit,” I groan, half from pity for myself and the other half afraid that I’ve already killed him.

Bolivar assumes it’s from the latter as he checks the body, “Oh, don’t worry, he’s not dead. I’ll tie him up. You go start to look through the house.” He says, rolling a desk chair to the middle of the living room.

There isn’t much house to search – the bathroom is small and appears clean. A small altar is lit; Jesus looks mournful as shadows from the flame flickers across his face. I shut the door and go to the other across from it into a sparsely decorated bedroom. “I found a safe,” I tell my partner.

“Shit, I’m not good with those,” he says.

“I am,” I tell him, looking over the lock. I started getting interested in picking locks when I was young, after hearing people tell stories of my mother when she was in the LA-13. She encouraged it and eventually started me on safes; leaving little lock boxes with presents or money inside for me to crack. This one is cheap and the locking mechanism is simple – if I had a drill or some medigel, I could brute force it in a minute or less.

Sighing, I pull two bobby pins from my hair and bend one into a pick and straighten the other to push the pins in place. It is slow going because the pins reset every small turn of the lock and I have to keep pushing them back in until the lock has gone all the way around. When it finally opens, I’m rewarded with the sight of stacks of cash, a gun, a vial of ruby with dab sheets, and about a kilo of coke.

I go into the living room, where Gabriel stands with pieces of mail and receipts littering the floor. “I bricked the phone trying to guess the password,” he says when he sees me.

I stare at him with disappointment, “You could have used his fingers to unlock it.” That was basic!

“Too much blood, it couldn’t read it. But, I’ve got this guy’s name! Jesus Ignacio Soto Ortiz, you can get his phone records later.”

“Gee, thanks,” I complain. “He’s got coke, ruby, and a lot of cash in his safe. Did your contact say he dealt those?”

Gabriel shakes his head, “No, just said the guy was an enforcer.”

“That’s probably our guy’s stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was 20 thousand in the safe.”

My partner whistles, “Why that much?”

“They only allow you to take up to 10 on planes. Whoever he is, he’s already gone.”

He looks like he’s thinking it over and nods, “Explains the airport parking receipt I found. Let’s wake him up and see what his friend’s name is and where he ran off to.” He walks off toward the kitchen and I hear the water running as I try in vain to wake the guy. “That won’t do it. Watch,” he instructs and takes a bowl of water and shoves the man’s face in.

Chuy’s body thrashes, rolling the chair side to side. Gabriel takes the bowl away, leaving the other man wide-eyed, gasping for breath. “Good morning, sunshine,” he smiles coldly. “We’re looking for your friend, goes by the name Jay?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” the bound man coughs.

“Which do you know him by? Because we found his things in your safe. You give us a name and I’ll take five thousand of that cash and let you live.”

“That’s my money,” the other man insists.

Gabriel sucks his teeth, reproachfully. “He’s worth 30 thousand to the LA-13, 100 to Marin. And you? Not worth anything at all. I got your address just by asking for it. Free.”

“Fuck you, goddamn Kings,” Chuy spits.

“We’re not with the Kings,” I tell him. Bolivar grins when the realization dawns on the other man’s face.

“That’s right, we’re, what do you call us? Phantasmas?” He turns to me and laughs, “I love it, I do,” he says as an aside before continuing with the other man. “And we’re going to get your friend; it might take longer than we’d like, but we will. You decide whether you’re going to die for him. All we want is a name.”

Chuy shakes his head, “Not from me, no. Never. And I’ve never heard of any Phantasmas wearing no goddamn space suits so, fuck you there, too.”

“Shit, off-world.” Gabriel complains.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll log it. He’ll come back eventually,” I tell Gabriel, screwing a silencer on the end of my pistol. “I don’t need him because I’ll have his phone records.” My partner nods. “We’ve got him at the apartment when it went down so it’ll placate Marin.”  

“Wait, wait! I didn’t - I only,” the man sputters.

I shake my head at him, “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. You were a good friend. Shame you can’t say the same about him.” Despite the silencer, the shot is loud and my ears ring. The man’s head slumps forward, the ties on his arms and legs keeping his body upright.

“Well,” Gabriel sighs, “I guess that’s it. I’ll call Dito out here and he’ll take the arm off and make it presentable.” He takes one of the small bricks of coke and a 5K stack and shoves them into his jacket pocket.

“Didn’t you tell your contact you’d leave the money?”  

“I left most of it. And a dead man can’t argue that he didn’t already spend it. Shall we?”

#ts4 #sims story #fault lines #fl: aftershock #fla chrono #this is not the original chuy... I couldn't find him #it's possible he already died... but I most likely didn't save after I made him #ugh #whelp it doesn't matter #goodbye beautiful #big block of text #that ended up longer than I thought #violence #ts4legacy

[carmintros]

@rowanfelixgreen​     /     ❛   ｡   ✩   ﾟ my eyes are probably playing tricks on me again, but is that really  brianna hildebrand? oh, wait, it’s just  rowan felix green. yes, that  seventeen  year old  shop attendant  & computer repair person, who i am pretty sure is a  local. according to the talk of the town, he is incredibly  wild & always ready for a fight, yet undeniably  smart & unafraid to be different. that is precisely why  leather jackets, the haze of alcohol just starting to set in, bloody knuckles, stuffed animals pouring out of every space & the clack of noisy keys on an old laptop  remind me of them so much, but then again you know what they say about  aquarius, we’ll see how that one turns out !   penned by kit  /  mst & they / them

ooc note: rowan is non-binary/transmasculine. He uses he/him pronouns because he says they/them is confusing and neo-pronouns are never going to be taken seriously, he also likes the fact that he often looks femiminine in his dress but acts masculine and uses he/him pronouns.

introduction post . TW: self harm, abuse, rape, substance use ooc information: kit, mst, they/them. ic information: Rowan Felix Green Age: 17 Gender: Transmasculine, he/him [Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - ”Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14

“Why the name Rowan?” “So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Relationship Status: single “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0 Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seemed to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels and fishnets under cropped tops and t-shirts are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby. She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died of suicide when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to suicide. Rowan was only 6 months old. Before Melissa’s death, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t killed herself because she was isolated from the world. Nor had she killed herself because the mental illness that ran in her family was untreated. Instead, according to Frank, she had killed herself because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day has left Rowan, extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to ‘teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visibly bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was placed into the Green household temporarily, as at the time the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after. It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The greens were a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 15, they owned their own business and baked their own bread. Mr. Green was a carpenter and Mrs. Green ran the little gift shop + bakery. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the treefort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies: Robotics Singing (he actually has a really good voice) Collecting stuffed animals Programming Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it) Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth momentos, and learn sloth facts. Trivia: Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.” He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it. He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes. He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a little stuffed dinosaur every night who he’s named Kelvin and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Franklin).

Health - Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The intense physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain. At 8 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help. He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with things.

wanted connections . Band members. Rowan is cool with being a singer or a guitarist but he needs music in his life. Names are open for discussion but the genre should be reminiscent of either riot grrrl or post punk. His biological dad. I love the idea that his dad has been in his life from the sidelines since he was adopted and would love to explore that relationship.

#carm:intro

[rowxngreen]

18 years old from tucker, atlanta and has lived in atlanta for 18 years . currently working as a computer repair person/staff at his family’s store in marietta [ kit , 25 , mst ] | @atlanta-rpg​

tw: self harm, depression, sexual assault, substance use

Age: 18

Gender: Transmasculine, he/him

[Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - “Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14, 2001

“Why the name Rowan?”

“So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Enneagram: 8

Relationship Status: single - “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure  “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0

Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seems to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels paired with crop tops and t-shirts layered with fishnets are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby.  She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to run away. Rowan was only 6 months old. She initially swore she would be back for her baby when she had a safe place to stay. She never came back. Before Melissa left, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t left because she was isolated from the world. Nor, apparently, had she left because of the intense abuse she faced. Instead, according to Frank, she had left because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day, has left Rowan extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to 'teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visible bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under-competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was given a temporary placement in the Green household, because, at the time, the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after.  It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The Greens are a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 11, they own their own business and they bake their own bread. Mr. Green is a carpenter and Mrs. Green runs the little gift shop + bakery in Marietta. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones when the younger ones were little. To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. 

Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the tree fort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies:

Robotics

Singing (he actually has a really good voice)

Collecting stuffed animals

Programming

Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it)

Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth mementos, and learn sloth facts.

Trivia:

Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.”

He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it.

He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes.

He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a build-a-bear every night who he’s named Floyd and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Oscar).

Health:

Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain.

At 7 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help.

He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with the things expected of you.

Connections:

Bandmates: Rowan can either be the lead singer, guitar or bass/keyboards but the band should definitely be punk/post-punk influenced. I’m super broad within that. Want a sound closer to Pale Waves? Cool, sounds good. You into The Smiths and want that dance depression? kk, you got it. you into old school punk and want melvins vibe? coolcoolcool, love to live hard dude

Friends: Rowan might be a little shit but he’s a little shit who has a handful of friends. Because he’s the youngest sibling in his household, he gets along with older people really well.

Mentors: This lost teen needs people to look up to. It takes a lot to break through to him but he needs someone who’ll try.

Adversaries: These are people who rowan Does Not get along with. This can be for personality reasons or just simply because they try to keep him out of trouble and he wants very much to be in trouble.

Biological Dad: I love the idea of Rowan’s dad watching from the sidelines and watching Rowan grow up but not being able to legally reach out until Rowan is an adult. NOTE: Rowan’s dad needs to be hispanic. Rowan himself is half hispanic and it’s not on his mom’s side bc I wasn’t about to make the brown people abusive and add to that stigma.

Reluctant Romance: Rowan doesn’t want to date. He really doesn’t. BUT! I love the idea of him falling for someone and someone falling for him. I’m even down for an uncomfortable age difference so long as that’s acknowledged in plot. ;)

#atgaintro #atgaooc

[morbidly-queerious]

So how was your weekend?

Oh boy

Wow

How was my weekend, huh?

Well, I have been ordered under no uncertain terms to give a completely honest and comprehensive answer to this question, so look out for some serious nsfw…..

So I currently have two partners in residence at the moment, as my Mistress arrived on Friday night. They banned me from cumming since Monday, and from touching myself since Wednesday night, because it would make me all hot and bothered and desperate. Then they handled me nice and rough the whole drive home, giving me kisses and teasing me about how worked up I was. It barely took ten minutes to get home but I felt like my brain was gonna leak out my pussy.

When we got home, I got Mistress settled in and a snack, but they decided they prefered to move on to the next activity which was shower blowjobs and jacking off onto my face, telling me l looked pretty on my knees, and then letting me rinse off after they’d rubbed it in a little.

The next morning, we slept in, and Master got home from work and hung out with us. We chatted and had a lovely morning over Chinese food, before Master decided it would be funny to demonstrate to Mistress the kinds of noises I make when they hit me with the flogger.

This is the part where the world goes fuzzy.

I think I remember Mistress forcing my legs apart so Master could hit me easier. I think I remember Master explaining various techniques to Mistress and both of them giggling over my responses. I think I remember having clamps pinched onto my nipples and tugged until I screamed. I think I remember wanting to cry when the clamps were taken off and trying to curl into myself only for Mistress to slap my thighs and tell me to take it. I think I remember snatching the flogger out of Master’s hands thinking “this will be a cute funny joke” and only realizing as both of them stood up what a mistake I had made before I turned and fled up the stairs. I think I remember Master and Mistress pinning me to the bed with one of them on either side of me as I looked back and forth in terror and they whispered to me about what they could do to me and how silly it had been to think that I could play them against each other, how silly it was for me to think at all. I think I remember them hurting my nipples over and over again while I screamed and shook and begged to be allowed to cum.

I know that I had a bachelorette party that evening with some professional friends, and by the time I needed to get up and ready for it, I was shaking, fully sub dropped, and my panties were completely ruined. I know they told me that I had better go to my party and do a good job pretending to be anything other than the useless fucktoy I am, or I’d have to be punished, really punished, not just play punished. I know that they told me that when I got home, if I’d been good, they would reward me, and that they’d plan for my return together the entire time I was gone.

I know I spent that party in a haze, terrified that every waitress, guest, and other customer could smell my dripping pussy, barely able to hold a conversation because I was half mad with need for them. I remember driving my coworker back home to her place and flying in the door a full hour and a half later than I’d promised to return, petrified that this would mean punishment and suffering (a fate which Mistress had previously informed me would mean denying me that which I was so desperate for - punishment would mean being tied down, ignored, and forced to watch them jack off, not even getting to feel them come on my face, as only good sluts deserve cum or to be touched) and I couldn’t stand the thought of that.

But when I got back, Master and Mistress were drinking beer together on the couch and having a great time playing video games and chatting. I settled in and felt both relieved and terrified. They were so calm and I was so wet and I felt like if I didn’t get something soon I was going to fall to the floor wailing and sobbing for them. Maybe that was the point.

Fuzzy again. I think I remember Master putting their fingers in the tear in the thigh of my leggings and just tearing. I think I remember having my shirt pulled off, the nipple clamps reapplyed, and my thighs spread open again by Mistress. I remember being surrounded by them on all sides, cornered on the couch with no where to go. I remember Master coming at me with scissors and cutting off my panties before shoving them in my mouth and using my ruined leggings to secure the gag, and Mistress tying something over my eyes so that I couldn’t see. Master whispered in my ear to remind me how to safeword out if I needed to. After that, though, I remember nothing but pain and screaming, and begging over and over again, words they couldn’t hear or understand and clearly didn’t care about. Eventually the clamps came off again and it felt like my nipples had been twisted so hard they bled. I found face buried in the couch cushions, my skin burning, my body hovering between orgasm and just indescribable pain.

All told, I thought this part lasted about 30-40 minutes. I remember sudden gentleness as I was lifted from the couch and told we were going upstairs. Someone tied the leggings around my neck like a leash and yanked them tight so that the pressure on my throat made me drip. I crawled up the stairs while Mistress teased me that I better go quicker, and Master joked that it was like herding cattle. In the bedroom, I was yanked up towards the bed and as soon as I had crawled up, Mistress was in front of me and Master was behind me, and Mistress held me down to lick them, refusing to let me up for a moment’s breath, while Master shoved into me from behind and fucked me hard, shoving me forward into Mistress’s hips. I remember not being able to help it anymore. I don’t know if I got permission, but I came, shaking and screaming, and blissfully filled and used. I came over and over again. Master and Mistress pulled me flush to them and both came as well. I collapsed in a heap, dripping cum and completely unable to speak except for the words that come as natural to me as breathing “thank you master, thank you mistress”. Master and Mistress threw spare change onto my collapsed body, and told me I’d done well. We fell asleep there, me snuggled up in between my two owners and passed out on top of the wet patches I had left all over the sheets. My throat was raw from screaming and my nipples were so sensitive from the clamps that barely a breath across them made me yelp and consider begging to cum.

It wasn’t until the next day that Master and Mistress informed me that we’d played for almost two hours downstairs that night, and another long while upstairs. I’d gotten home around 9:30 but by the time we fell asleep together it was past midnight.

It was around this same conversation that Mistress informed me I had been careless with them during our scene and hadn’t watched my teeth. They said I’d be getting extra practice this week until they could use my mouth as vigorously as they wanted without feeling even a hint of teeth from me. Sure enough, later that day I got exactly that, kneeling in front of Mistress on the floor and doing my best to remember that my comfort, my breath, my pleasure, none of it mattered except as it made Mistress amused and pleased. They told me I’d done better, but that we’d try it a few more times until they were sure I’d always remember not to let my pleasure at getting fucked make me careless in my licking.

Sometime on Sunday, Master called me back up to the bedroom too, telling me to make myself useful, since a warm fuck toy felt so much better to masturbate with than their hand. They licked me for a while and I could feel them smiling when I started begging to cum, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to help myself under their tongue and knowing that it would make a fine excuse to beat me later if they wanted, since they couldn’t give me permission with their mouth busy on my clit. Once I’d humiliated myself by cumming three times, they fucked me so hard that I was starting to dangle off the bed, and I felt like my hips would bruise.

Today, I spent the day out running errands with Mistress, and then when we got home, Master was irritable because they’d woken up really early and found me gone and not available to use. Mistress and I made dinner, and we all lounged on the couch together for a while. After finishing our tea, Master told me to follow them upstairs while Mistress had a nap downstairs, and Master pinned my legs down so that I couldn’t even move my hips, not to get closer, not to escape, not to fuck back on their tongue, and licked me again, even longer than the last time, even harder and more cruelly than last time. I came again, without being given permission again. I can only imagine when those orgasms are going to come back to haunt me. And this time, Master shoved me partly off the bed on purpose and wrapped their hands around my neck as they fucked me. And while they did tell me to cum more than once, it was clear that they weren’t worried about whether I did or didn’t. They knew that I was so wet and helpless under their touch that I would cum from anything, even just a word from them. The point of this fucking was to fill me up, to use me, to show how frustrating it had been to be home alone, horny and wanting, and without their fuck toy to relieve that. Afterwards, they sent me back down to Mistress with cum leaking down my thighs and told me they’d see me before they left for work.

Mistress let me snuggle them close and let me whisper the things I was feeling, the need I had to be filled and fucked and to be less than human, less than sentient, less than a toy, to my owners right now. They guided my hand down and let me stroke them gently through their clothes, telling me how nice it was to hear me being reminded of my place and being treated like the needy whore I am. I begged them to fuck my ass next, to let me feel them split me open and fill me up, and they said they hadn’t decided yet if they would use my ass or my pussy, but that it was time for something other than my mouth. I realized that whichever one I got, I would cum for them, moaning and shaking like a slut, just like I had for Master not ten minutes earlier. Mistress pulled my hand away from them finally and told me it was still naptime. I sat on the couch and stroked myself for a while, not even for any real pleasurable prupose, but because it seemed like where my attention should be focused when my Master and Mistress had no use for my holes and no chores had been assigned me.

It’s late now, long past time for me to be sleeping, but I can’t stop thinking about how my thighs feel, damp and sticky. Or how my nipples are still sore and vulnerable form all the time in the clamps, and yet I would do almost anything for Mistress to look deep in my eyes and whisper gently to me to take what I’m given and thank them for it as they pinch the clamps down tightly onto my nipples again and leave them there this time. Or how my handcuffs have been lying menacingly on the couch for the last several days as the rope sits coiled on the bookshelf. Or how I would probably scream loudly enough for the neighbors to hear if Mistress fucked my ass while my pussy was full of my glass dildo. Or how one of these days Mistress will probably fuck my pussy and I probably won’t be able to stop myself from cumming over and over on their cock. Or how Master’s tongue invariably makes me squirt and soak the bed. Or how it feels to hear Master moan softly to themselves when they fill my pussy. Or the mindless, violent, screaming orgasms I had when my Master and Mistress took me together. Or best of all, the way it feels to be trapped between them, never sure where to look or who to beg for relief, terrified of the suffering they dream up together for me, and filled with such joy and love that I had these two beautiful, affectionate, indulgent people surrounding me and making it clear that there was nowhere I could go where they wouldn’t love me.

The part that scares me?

There’s still the whole rest of this week left for them to do these kinds of things to me.

#Jaeda dreams for days #this is so fucking graphic??>???? I'm really sorry to anyone who stumbles upon this not realizing what my blog was #but yeah no im in goddamn heaven right now #Saturday night is going to be burned into my memory until the day i die #that was just so cruel and incredible

[l0chn3ss]

Tipped Off

Written for @souleaterpolyamweek Soul Eater Polyamory Week 2018 Day 4- Fighting Team

Black Star, Kim Diehl, Maka Albarn | Day 4 Read on FFNET or AO3

On Thursday night, Kim decided to pay attention to her side of the restaurant for once in her waitressing life. Just that afternoon, she'd spotted a discounted Mac in the ads, and with her own laptop on its last breath, it was a deal that she wanted to take. She'd done some math and figured that with a week's worth of extra tips and a punctual paycheck, she could have her prize as soon as Wednesday. She just had to swallow her pride and put on her best smiles.

With her resolve fueling her, she plastered a chipper facade onto her face and approached her next table.

"Hello, my name is Kim, and I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

The boy closest to the edge of the booth jumped in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

Her eyebrow twitched, her smile faltered. "My name is Kim. Can I get you guys some drinks?"

"Uh, what's uh, what kind of drinks do you have?"

Before she could answer, the two boys across from her laughed. "Come on, Black Star. She's not that cute."

Kim squeaked, "Excuse me?"

Quickly, the boy closest to the window waved his hand and corrected himself. "Sorry, not you. I meant the girl sitting over there by herself."

Without looking to where he was pointing, Kim continued on as if that blunder never happened. "For drinks, we have Sprite, Sunkist, Pepsi-"

"Pepsi for me," the boy to her right said. He gestured next to him, to the same boy who spoke up before, "Kilik'll have one too, probably." A nod confirmed his order. "And Black Star? For you?"

The one sitting alone on his side of the booth rubbed his head. He was still flustered, still flipping through the pages of the menu in attempts to find the beverages section, but he gave up soon after his friend brought him to attention. The boy, Black Star, apparently, muttered, "Just water."

"Right. I'll be back with that soon."

As she left, she heard them begin to bicker again.

"She's alone. Go make a move, Star!"

"I'm not getting up for that."

"Your loss."

"Shut up, Harvar."

"Seriously, he's right. What's gotten into you?"

"You shut up, too, Kilik."

Kim tapped their order into the POS system, trying to forget about their topic of conversation. It wasn't her first time hearing customers talk about their respective love interests. As a waitress, she was easily mistaken as a prop or a side character to some greater story, and so Kim had heard plenty of interesting things from people who didn't bother to restrain themselves.

She confirmed her entry, then moved onto her next task.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the group of boys growing rowdy again. They dug their fists into each other's heads and laughed as if they had no other care in the world. Rather, they had just one, and that was apparently caused by the not-that-cute girl that they were referring to before.

Kim wasn't curious, but she was very nosy. When she walked back to deliver the drinks, she took a peek in the general direction she remembered being pointed towards. There sat a petite girl, about Kim's age, ash blonde and doe eyed. She'd been at the restaurant for the last hour and a half, surrounded by books and an endless order of coffee and garlic bread for her table of one.

Though she wasn't seated in Kim's section this time, the girl, a regular, spurred a flurry of whispers amongst the staff whenever she arrived. She came every few weeks, sometimes with a couple of friends or her father, but most frequently as a solo diner. Given the amount of time she spent in the restaurant, she must have sampled the entire menu at least twice, and she always offered a generous tip before she left. The staff were always happy to see her, and some knew her by name.

Weirdly enough, Kim was not one of the lucky few with that sort of information.

It was always business and tips when it came to the restaurant. She didn't want to turn it into one of her stomping grounds, especially when she had so much else to do outside of it. Sure, she's made friends here before, but Kim has no desire to be part of the gritty details and workplace drama. It was only her money maker, her bread and butter. Soon enough, she'd be out anyway.

She fought the urge to take another look at the girl, worried that she would be caught in the middle of the act. The group was completely wrong: she was that cute, so much so that the wait staff fought over whose area to seat her in. Kim had been the lucky person last time, and somehow, it was enough to pacify her for the time being.

As she made her way back to the boys' table, drinks at the ready, she hitched her customer service smile back up onto her face. "Here you are!" she said sweetly, "Can I take your—"

"One more minute," a boy interrupted. Harvar, was it?

Kim forced wider. "Ok, take your ti—"

"No, it's fine," Black Star groaned, running both hands through his blue hair. "I'm ready now."

"You sure?" his friend teased, "We can wait."

Black Star looked unamused. "Fuck off, Harvar."

"Right, ok, your order?" Kim tried again, peeved at the interruptions but reluctantly amused, too. She had a natural tendency to poke at others already, and so the group managed to coax a few sarcastic comments from her as they went on, accidental at first, but eventually purposeful.

It took her a while to extract their order of one appetizer and three entrees between their ongoing banter, but each dish came with interesting details, and despite everything, Kim found herself hanging onto their conversation. They were fun to be around, and unsurprisingly, they were as welcoming as if they knew her all along. The group had even managed to get a rise out of Kim, laughing when she hit Black Star on the back of his head with her notepad.

"Come on, stop bothering the waitress, Black Star," Kilik said.

"She's not stopping me, besides, they're plenty of me to go around!"

"We're tired," Harvar said, but his tone suggested otherwise.

"And I'm not."

"But you still won't go up to the girl over there, even after showing me your moves?" Kim jutted her thumb behind her, turning to look as she did and catching the brief movement of pigtails. "Tragic."

Black Star's ears turned red while the others snickered. Harvar held up his hand for a high five, which Kim found within herself to return.

"S-shut up! It's different."

She snorted. "Relatable. But watching you two making eyes at each other is going to make the entire restaurant lose their appetite."

"We're not- I mean, she's not- Wait I'm not- We really are not!"

Kim left Harvar and Kilik to their teasing. All three of them were ballsy; she'd give them that, but they weren't enough to pull Kim away from her tips— at least, not yet.

She slid into the kitchen to report to the line cooks that another one had fallen for the girl.

"God, I want to see what this chick is like."

"Maybe once you wipe the grease off your face," the guy from the back corner yelled, guffawing.

"Ay, Kim, you afraid of some competition?"

Scoffing, she pinned the table's order onto the board. "Please, if Lydia failed, what makes you think I'd be arsed to try myself?"

"Lydia ain't you, though."

Once the food was ready, Kim hoisted the large tray onto her shoulder and crossed the distance again to deliver it; on the way, she couldn't resist the urge to check on the girl for a brief moment before moving on.

"Right-o. Is there anything else I can get you guys?"

"Actually, yeah." Kilik nodded towards the girl. "You can get this fool her number. He still hasn't shut up since you left."

"Well, y'all are the ones who can't stop dissing me!"

Kim raised an eyebrow. "What's in this for me?"

"Satisfaction of helping out a thirsty boy?"

"Peace and quiet?"

"I can't believe you two," Black Star groaned.

She raised an eyebrow. "This is actually kind of sickening, but in a romantic way."

Kim really was surprised that, despite all his boyish charm, he didn't have the guts to talk to the regular girl himself. He'd proven it enough while talking to her, but why not do it once again to the girl who seemed equally as smitten? If it was anything like what he was showing Kim, he should've had no problem.

People were strange.

"No gain, no deal," she said, turning to leave.

"Wait."

Black Star's tone managed to stop Kim in her tracks. She saw a shift in his demeanor, a playful smile surfaced along with a glint in his eye. He leaned forward and put his weight onto the table. "How about my number, too?"

Kilik and Harvar howled with laughter. "Black Star, you sly, sly dog! Leave some for the rest of us!"

Blinking, then cocking her hip, Kim smirked, "You think you can handle me?"

"Absolutely."

"And her? At the same time?"

"Get me her number and find out."

She smacked him upside the head again, said, "Nice try. Drink your water now, thirsty," and left to swoon in peace, out of sight.

Once away, Kim let a true smile emerge on her lips. She hadn't felt her interest build since the first time she'd served the regular girl while she was still new to the job. Both of them attracted her, enticed her.

But, would she get a couple extra dollars if she helped?

Before she could go back into the kitchen, her coworker stopped her.

"Oy, Kim? My shift is ending but I still have three tables. Can you cover? Table 13 and 14 are still on entrees. But table 18 needs her check."

Lightbulb.

"You got it, but you owe me."

"Oh please." Her friend rolled their eyes. "Taking my tips should be good compensation. I got to make the bus on time, so they're all yours."

"Good point. You can leave now."

They snorted. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Not wasting any time, she hopped to the register to gather what she needed. After checking to see if the boys were looking over- which they weren't- she snuck over to the girl's table across the restaurant.

"Hey," Kim said, sliding into the seat across from her, placing down the receipt and hushing the girl's surprise. "I'm not supposed to be doing this, but you know the guy with the blue hair— hold it! Don't look over." She snapped her fingers, commanding attention again. "Come on, you've done it enough tonight. But yeah, him. He wants your number, so can I get the digits and a name to go with it?"

"Oh," the girl squeaked.

Cute.

"I, uh. I know who you're talking about. Hard to not notice… Name's Maka, and let me get a piece of paper."

"That was kind of easy. More than I thought, actually."

Maka blushed and tore off a corner of lined paper. "I mean, why not, I guess."

Kim hummed. "So, he definitely wasn't the only one watching, huh?"

The deepening color on her cheeks confirmed Kim's suspicions. Without looking at the phone number, she snatched it away once Maka's pen stopped and held it between her index and middle finger.

"You're cute, really," Kim said. "I'll be back to collect the bill. Expect a text soon, or whatever."

In no time at all, she was back at the other table, flicking the paper at the boy's head. "I work fast," she put it simply. "Don't forget to leave generous payment."

There was a small sting in her heart that came with helping two people get together, especially when she was feeling a type of way for them both. She didn't stay for long once she was sure that Black Star had taken a look at the contents inside of the paper, only saying briefly who it belonged to, the girl's name feeling strange on her lips.

"You treat her well, you hear?"

And with that, Kim left the table alone for the rest of their time, doubling on the others more vigorously. By the time she'd looked back to Maka's table, she was gone, books and all. Though a five dollar bill replaced her, Kim sort of wished that the person was still there instead.

She dropped it into her apron and decided to forget about it while she cleared the table.

After an immeasurable amount of time had passed, she eventually found herself back at with the boys, taking care of their bill and exchanging a few more words before they left, half-heartedly. The continued to speak in hushed voices whenever Kim came close, and she figured that she may have overstayed her visit. It wasn't a waitress' role to get involved with the customer after all.

"I'll leave you to it then, thanks for dining with us today," Kim said as she dropped off their card and their copy of the receipt.

However, that wasn't the last surprise of the night.

On the line meant for tips, a ten digit number was filled in instead of an amount. Kim snorted, "I would have preferred cash, but whatever."

She was added to a group chat by the end of her shift.

Prompt-

@otpprompts: Person A is at a restaurant with family members or friends when they see someone also dining in the restaurant, but they're alone (Person B). When the waitstaff-person (Person C if OT3) comes back to A's table and asks if there's anything else they can get them, Person A replies "Yeah, that person's phone number," and points to Person B. Cue them actually going up and getting B's number for A. OT3 Bonus: Person C asks if it's alright if they get Person A's number as well and they all begin to have phone chats and group texts. Persons B and C make fun of Person A for "using their waitstaff as a wingman".

Thank you to Alliope, Psychadelicrose, and soundofez for betaing!

#sepolyamweek2018 #se-polyam-week-2018 #soul eater #nessie spills #se polyam week 2018 #se poly ship #blackstar/kim/maka

[buckyscrystalqueen]

The Wedding Date: Part 1

Pairings: Stripper!Chris Pratt x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 5,707

Aesthetic by @sorenmarie87

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

Every time you looked at the wedding invitation in your hand, you honestly felt sick to your stomach. The fact that she even invited you to the wedding blew your mind but the fact that she and your mother FORCED you to be the maid of honor… it was sickening.

“It’s not gunna change shape if you keep staring at it.” Your friend, Scott said as he purposely set a shot of vodka down on the invitation, even more purposely spilling a bit of it onto the ‘eggshell white and peacock blue’ color scheme. You glanced up at the bartender and let go of the card stock.

“I still maintain that she was put on this Earth to make my life miserable.” Scott tapped his nose in agreement as the women in the crowd of the strip club you were in screamed for the next act. You didn’t even look over your shoulder anymore, you just threw back your shot and snapped for another one.

You were the only woman in the entire building that wasn’t drooling over the half naked man behind you; the novelty of it wore off a long time ago. That’s what you get when your best friend (and really one of your only friends) is the bartender.

“What I don’t understand is how your own sister can marry your ex boyfriend after he cheated on you.” You tapped your nose as he poured you another shot.

“My mother says it’s my ‘blood duty’ to stand by her side, too.” You picked up your shot glass and held it in front of you with a smirk. “Here’s to hoping I don’t spill blood while doing my blood duty.” He picked up his glass of water and held it up to your shot glass.

“I’ll drink to that.” You both threw back your drinks as yet another dancer made his way up onto the stage. You still didn’t turn around as Scott poured you a coke so you’d be able to eventually drive when you were done hanging out.

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” You asked sadly as you tilted your glass to splash the dark brown liquid on your ex-boyfriend’s name. You looked up at Scott’s sigh as he leaned on the bar in front of you.

“You know Stacy is due that weekend, (Y/N).” You nodded and ran your fingers through your long, brown hair.

“I know.” You sighed as tears stung your eyes. You ran your finger in a circle on the lip of your cup. “I just don’t want to have to do this alone, ya know? It’s bad enough my own fucking sister…” Your words caught in your throat and you shook your head. “It’s just a shitty situation.” He nodded as he leaned on the bar next to you and sighed.

“I know, babe, it really is. And you know if I didn’t have husband duties myself, I’d be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked.” You nodded as you took a big swig of your soft drink, missing the smile that spread across your friends face. “I know who you can take.” You glanced over at him as the woman began cheering again. Scott smirked over at you before pointing to the man who had just walked on stage.

Chris Pratt was the most popular stripper at the Candy Bowl; the best male strip club off the strip that always beat out even Thunder Down Under AND the Chippendales on a good night but never got the callouts at hotels like the others did. You totally understood why he was the favorite; he was six foot two with gorgeous green eyes and short brown hair. He always wore tight white shirts and sweats that left NOTHING to the imagination and you honestly believed his muscles had muscles.

“Are you crazy?!” You snapped as you turned toward the stage to watch him dance. “There is no way…”

“Hire him.” Your head whipped back toward your friend who shrugged. “Look, I’ve known him for years; he’s a good guy. But I know how you are. It’s all business with Miss Lawyer butt.” You glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye and rolled your eyes, causing him to chuckle. “I’m serious. He acts like your boyfriend for the week of festivities, you shell out a couple grand and you guarantee that you don’t end up alone at the wedding.” Your head tilted to the side as you watched Chris’ hips rock to the music on the stage. You had to admit, while it was absolutely insane, it wasn’t a half bad idea. With a scoff, you turned back toward the bar.

“I need another fucking shot for this shit.”

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

“So this is my situation.” You explained as you sat back stage after Chris’ set. You forced yourself to not look at him as he sat in his skimpy bottoms and counted out the money he made that night as if it were no big deal. “I have a wedding in two weeks that I have no choice  but to participate in. My idiot sister is marrying my ex-boyfriend. Now, I’ve been single for nearly nine years since they got together and I have…”

“My name is Chris.” You looked over at him as he sat in his chair and stared at you. “Do I even get to know your name before I let you go on?” A blush raced across your face as you crossed your legs and looked away.

“(Y/N). Now I would like…”

“Look at me.” You growled and looked back over at him as your face turned a deeper shade of scarlet. “Sorry but just because I’m nearly naked doesn’t give you the right to be disrespectful.” You nodded and cleared your throat.

“M-my proposition is this. A week long, all expenses paid trip to Italy and five thousand dollars for your time. You pretend to be my significant other and…” Your words were cut off as he burst out laughing.

“So… so you want to… hire me… to be your boyfriend for a weeding? Damn, never heard that one before.” You scoffed and got up from your chair.

“Just forget it.” You headed to the door, mumbling about how you were going to kill Scott, when Chris grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He said as he took a step back. “It’s just… I’ve heard a lot of shit in my days doing this but this kinda takes the cake.” You nodded as tears welled in your eyes.

“I-I-I wouldn’t ask… if I…” He nodded and put his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey. I get it, OK. I’ll help you.” You nodded your head and looked away, unable to face your reality.

“I assume you don’t own a suit.” You harshly brushed your tears away and forced yourself to look back at him. “Meet me here tomorrow at noon. I’ll take you to my guy to fix that. Do you have a passport?” He shook his head, realizing it was not the time to get smart with you and you nodded. “I’ll make some calls and we’ll get it taken care of tomorrow.” Without another word, you turned on your heels and walked out of his dressing room so he wouldn’t see the fresh wave of tears.

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

You sat in the middle of Giorgio Armani with a cup of espresso in your hand as Armando, the man who always did your father’s suits measure your wedding date. You had a giant book of available suits and colors on your lap and you were trying to figure out which ones would match the dresses you already had.

“He’s a tall one. Muscular, too.” Armando said in Italian with a laugh. You looked up at the two men as you leaned your arm on the book.

“Do you still have that suit that you did for daddy for my graduation?” Armando glanced over at you and nodded slowly.

“I believe we do but I don’t know if that can be ordered that fast. Your friend is a little too tall.” You nodded in understanding as you looked back down at the book.

“You speak Italian?” Chris asked as you grabbed a sticky note and stuck it on a page of another suit you liked.

“That among others.” You looked up at him with a small smile. “You don’t have to pretend to get to know me.”

“What if I want to get to know you?” He cut you off with his eyebrow raised. You shook your head as you set your small coffee cup down on the table next to you.

“I’m not worth it.” He shook his head and stepped off the platform he was on to walk over to you.

“You are worth it. You just can’t see it yet. That, honey is my real job.” You rolled your eyes at him, instantly regretting it as your eyes landed on the skin tight wife beater he had on. You couldn’t rip your eyes away from his washboard abs and he chuckled. “You can touch it if you want. You are paying for it.” He whispered. You caught yourself and forced your eyes to his.

“You couldn’t get me to touch your abs for a million dollars, honey.” He nodded slowly as he studied you with the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen.

“Well then. Better remove the temptation.” With a small shake of his head, he stood up and walked back to the platform with a new determination in his heart to get you to see what he did in you.

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

“So what was the name of your childhood puppy?” You glanced over at Chris as he leaned against the counter while you paid for the four suits you were rush ordering and the half dozen or so button down dress shirts and ties.

“Pongo.” He had been playing this game for the last hour; asking you everything from favorite color to least favorite season just trying to get you to open up. You were reluctant at first to answer but found that the longer you held out and ignored him, the more he turned on what you now referred to as his ‘heartbreaking puppy eyes’. Those, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore.

“Mine was Bandana. He was all black except for this white triangle that looked like a bandana. Corny, right?” You shook your head as you signed the receipt, not even looking at the cost.

“Cute. Typical kid name, ya know?” He nodded as he picked up the bags of his new shirts and followed you out the door.

“Favorite ice cream?” You stopped and looked up at him as he nearly collided into you.

“Are you ever gunna quit?”

“Are you gunna loosen up and stop looking at this like a business deal and start looking at it like a possibly enjoyable experience?” You shook your head as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “I’ll stop when that happens.”

“Good luck with that.” You said as you turned on your heel and headed toward where your car was. You heard him laugh as he followed after you.

“I have faith. There’s something about you, (Y/N). It’s just a matter of you seeing it, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I’m just a regular person just like everyone else. I just… you know, take my clothes off for a living where as you… don’t.” You glanced over at Chris in the back of the town car with a laugh as he shrugged. “Exotic dancer, lawyer. Same thing.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to, I see it.” He laughed and nodded.

“If I had it my way…” He said as he leaned against the car door to look at you. “I’d open a dog rescue.” He looked down at his hands and shrugged his shoulder. “You’re actually making that dream possible.” He looked back up at you with a handsome, genuine smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. I’m sorry it’s such shitty circumstances but… I’m glad I’m helping you as much as you’re helping me.” He shrugged his shoulder and leaned back against the door once more. “Just gotta find a co-signer for the building and Romeo’s Redemption Animal Rescue is in business.” You nodded your head as you turned toward him.

“We pull this off where no one questions us, I’ll co-sign for you.” A smile lit up his face, making the gold around the pupils of his green eyes sparkle.

“You don’t have to do that.” He said despite the fact that his eyes told you he was grateful for the offer. You simply shrugged as your car pulled up to the Las Vegas airport.

“It’s like Scott said at the bar.” You looked away from him as you grabbed your purse and your carry-on bag. “You helping me is better than going to a wedding alone. Might as well return the favor.” You went to put the bag on your shoulder but he gently took the strap from you.

“I got it.” You looked back over your shoulder and he smirked. “What kinda boyfriend makes his girl carry the bags?” You couldn’t help but smile as you passed him the bag.

“Alright, Casanova. You win.”

——

“So, I have this.” You said as you pulled a manilla folder from your bag. “Figured since we have five hours on this flight and eight on the next we could…” Your words were cut off as you looked over at Chris. His eyes were wide open with child like wonder as he pushed the buttons on the screen in front of him. “Pssst.” His smile dropped and he looked over at you like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I’ll make you a deal.” You said carefully as you handed him the envelope with a smile. “You humor me and learn slash answer these questions on this flight and I will leave you be on the next flight where first class is even better. That one’s seat’s lay down into beds so you can sleep the whole flight.”

“You know you’re ruining flying for me.” He said as he opened the envelope and pulled out the few pages. “Because I have so many places to fly to since this is my first time flying and all.” He cleared his throat loudly and pretended to adjust a nonexistent tie as you put your hand on the side of your face to hide your blush from the last few people boarding the plane.

“Etwas interessantes, um meiner familie von dir zu erzählen.” Your head whipped over toward him as he glanced over at you out of the corner of his eye. “Yea, I speak German fluently. Something interesting to tell your family.” You smiled and nodded.

“I am fluent in Italian as you know, French, and Portuguese. Just so you know a little about me, too.” He nodded as you handed him a pen so he could mark off the first question off the list.

“How did we meet?” He lowered the paper and cocked an eye brow at you. “What, strip club is too… low class for you?”

“Look at the next one.” You said as you moved his hand down so you could point to question three. “‘Are you really comfortable being introduced as Chris the stripper?’” You looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Look, if you think a lawyer would be embarrassed to be dating a stripper, don’t be. You’re freaking gorgeous and no matter what your girlfriend does for a living she’d be lucky to have you. You have the option here to say you are anything you wanna be, including a dog rescuer.” He nodded as the pilot made the announcement that you were getting ready to take off. You sat back in your seat a bit but stayed facing Chris.

“Chris the dog rescuer. I really do like the sound of that.” You nodded in agreement as he looked over at you. “So how about, we met through our mutual friend Scott who I went to high school with. And I’m opening a dog rescue and I work at a bar off the strip. That way neither of us are technically lying. I would love to get rid of the stripper title, honestly.” You nodded in understanding as he crossed the two questions off the list.

“Remember what I said at the club, if you are uncomfortable with any of this, just tell me.”

“I know.” He picked the paper up and looked at the next question. “Go to karaoke song?” You sighed and nodded.

“Unfortunately, my sister thinks she is amazing at karaoke so we will be forced to endure at least one night of it.” He smirked as he crossed the question off the list.

“Just tell her I’d rather strip at the bachelorette party.” He glanced over at you out of the corner of his eye. “Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton or any thing by Tim McGraw.” You sighed in relief.

“Thank God, you’re a country boy. A man of my own heart.” He nodded as he looked over at you before closing his eyes as the plane took off. “Mine’s ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman’ by Shania Twain.” You said as you put your fingers in his palm under his thumb. His body tensed as he grabbed your hand like it was a life raft. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as he held his breath.

“I don’t like it.” He said as he shook his head.

“It’s almost done.” He nodded and gripped your hand tighter for a few moments before the plane leveled off. “See, you’re done. And you only have to do it three more times and then never again if you don’t want to.” He groaned as he loosened his grip on your hand only slightly but he didn’t let it go. With a nod, he picked the list back up and took a deep, steadying breath.

“‘What makes you feel most alive?’ Not fucking flying, that’s for sure.” He absentmindedly began to tap his thumb on the back of your hand as he looked at the ceiling. “Honestly, making people smile. Whether that may be because of my dancing, or when I volunteer on those puppy adoption days outside the pet stores.” He glanced over at you. “Oh yea, I do that, too if I’m not at work or out with friends. I try to volunteer with them once a month. That’s why I want to open a rescue.”

“Damn, you’re just like a saint, aren’t you?” He chuckled and shook his head as he fiddled with your fingers.

“I am so far from a saint.” He blushed as he looked down at your entwined hands before he carefully let you go and pulled his hand back. “Sorry.” You shrugged as he looked back up at you.

“We’re supposed to be a couple, right? Might as well get used to pretending.” He nodded and picked up the paper in one hand and your hand in the other. He laced his fingers with yours and you couldn’t help they way your stomach flipped.

“Alright, next question.”

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

“OK, so Tara is your sister. She’s marrying the prick named Rick.” You nodded in confirmation as Chris listed off the members of your family he would need to know as your boyfriend on his fingers. “Your mom, who we don’t like, is Sara Beth, step dad, who is alright, is Daniel, your favorite parent is your dad, Doug, your step mom aka the trophy wife we aren’t a fan of but who we tolerate is Anne…” He glanced over at you and shook his head. “Lot of freaking people.”

“Yea, imagine what it’s like to go through Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Yea, I bet. That’s why I’m glad my parents are still together. Then we have the quiet baby of the family, Keith, his high school sweetheart, kind wife Melissa and their three kids, Kyle, Emily and… John?”

“James.” You yawned as he draped his arm over your shoulder. He pulled you into his side and instinctively kissed the top of your head as the cab driver brought you to your hotel. You could feel tears welling in your eyes as the slights of your favorite city in the world flew past the window.

“This is where I wanted to get married.” You said softly. You felt Chris’ arm tighten around you as you continued. “We traveled a lot growing up. I always loved Rome so much. Tara…” Your tears fell on his shirt and jeans as he rested his cheek on the top of your head in silent support. “She always used to say she wanted to get married in Paris… until Rick… those two managed to take… everything.” You felt Chris’ arm move to yours and he gently sat you up and turned you toward him.

“They didn’t take everything, sweetheart.” He said gently as he reached up to brush your tears away. “They didn’t take your smile, I’ve seen that plenty of times in the past… I think it’s been 24 hours but I don’t even know what time zone we’re in any more so I could be a little off on that.” You huffed a laugh as a small smile spread across your face. He returned the smile and pointed at you.

“See, there it is. They didn’t take that. They didn’t take your kind heart because if they did, you wouldn’t have agreed to help me with my rescue. They didn’t take away your…. Um… your voice unless I learned how to read lips really well somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.” Your smile got bigger as a giggle slipped from your lips and he shrugged. “Yea, so I’m reaching here. But look, they didn’t take anything from you. If anything, they set you free. Obviously, the prick is a piece of shit and your sister… well, I know she’s family but I’m sorry to say, she’s a shitty person, too. And you deserve more than that, ya know?” You nodded in agreement as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Besides, if you had married the prick then how would we have met? I bet I am much more fun than that douchebag on my worst day. I am a stripper after all. I got moves.” You giggled and nodded as he moved his hand away from your chin and pulled you back into his side. “And I hold your hand when we fly. Bet he didn’t do that.” You burst out laughing and looked up him through your lashes.

“I wouldn’t be proud of that if I were you.” He shrugged his shoulder, purposely bouncing your head.

“I am very proud of that. That’s boyfriend status right there.” You rolled your eyes and sat up as the cab pulled up to the curb of the Hotel de Russie. You thanked the cab driver and paid him as Chris grabbed the bags from the floor. You didn’t even have the cab door open for two seconds before the shrill shriek of your step-mother’s voice screaming your name woke you up better than any cup of coffee could. You looked over at the young, 5 foot tall, bottle blonde with massive fake tits curtesy of your father and groaned to yourself.

“You’re finally here!” She squealed as she dropped her ever present Virginia Slim on the ground and ran over in her higher than sky-high heels. You braced for impact as she practically threw herself into your arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“Hi Anne.” You said calmly as you tried to pull away from her death grip. It took her a moment before she got the hint and let you go. She pouted out her bottom lip and put her hand on your shoulder.

“Oh sweetheart. This should be your wedding…”

“Anne, let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Chris.” You stepped away from the cab to let Chris out. You smirked as you watched Anne’s jaw drop.

“Well I’ll be damned.” She whispered as she took a step forward. “Look at you, handsome.” She reached her hand up to touch his chest but you side stepped in front of her.

“My daddy inside?” You asked sweetly as Chris put his hands on your hips and stepped around you to grab the bags from the back. You watched her watch him for a moment before she nodded at you.

“Yea, he’s inside. You’re the last to arrive other than your cousin, Julie.” You nodded as you glanced over at Chris. With a dismissive smile back at Anne, you stepped over to your date and laced your arm with his.

“They’ll take care of the bags, honey.” He glanced down at you as he set your last suitcase on the cart. You handed the employee a decent tip and gently led Chris toward the door.

“This is insane.” He said as his eyes danced around the lobby. You looked up at him and your feet stopped walking at the look of shock and fear on his face. He looked down at you and shook his head. “I don’t belong here.” You quickly glanced around and pulled him over to a empty bench along one of the walls. You both sat down and you took his hands in yours.

“You do belong here.” You told him softly as you laced his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hands tightly as he looked up at you. “You belong here with me. We’re the two misfits of the party, remember?” He nodded slowly as you moved both his hands into yours so you could cup his cheek.

“Look, you’re tired, you’re out of your element, I get that. But I brought you here for a reason. I have zero intention of leaving your side for longer than a bathroom break, OK. And think of it like this, your like that guy from the Titanic; Leonardo DiCaprio. Yea I’m gunna drag ya to some fancy-schmancy rich people shit but you can bet your ass I’m showing you my favorite dive bar. We got this, you and me.” He nodded as the fear almost completely disappeared slightly from his eyes.

“Yea… yea, we got this.” You smiled and kissed his cheek before standing up to head over to the desk. Chris kept his hand laced with yours as if you would disappear if he let go. You got the two of you checked in to your Executive Suite; opting to take one that was a floor above the rest of the wedding party and a room facing the Pincio for your guest. You headed to your room quickly in hopes that you wouldn’t run into any of your family just yet and breathed a sigh of relief when you heard the door close behind you.

“Think you could rush me here any faster?” Chris teased. You smirked up at him as his jaw dropped at the view. “Oh, my God… Look at this!” With a nod, you followed him past the bathroom and the bedroom to the lounge. “This… this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” You leaned on the wall of the hallway for only a moment to watch your new friend open the floor to ceiling glass doors overlooking the city before the hotel staff knocked on the door with your bags.

“I got it.” You said with a smile as you turned around to let the ‘kid in a candy store’ enjoy the view you had seen plenty of times before. You pulled open the room door to let the bellhop in and your jaw dropped. “Daddy?”

“Think you have enough luggage, princess?” You giggled as you jumped into his arms.

“I blame my daddy for spoiling me all these years.” He set you down and pouted as he walked into your room so the hotel staff could begin unpacking your luggage.

“Well my little Queen deserves the very, very best.” He held up a bottle of vodka and a liter of coke as you headed toward the lounge. “Figured you need this as much as I do.”

“No. Way.” You glanced up at Chris as he pointed at your dad. “That’s…” A blush crept across your face and you nodded.

“Yea, my daddy was the drummer for CCR.”

“We don’t talk about it. Ever.” Your dad said as he sat down next to you on the couch. “Asshats don’t deserve the time of day.” Chris nodded as he sat down on a chair right next to you. Doug poured three shots and passed them out with a giant smile. “Here’s to the fact that my pride and joy isn’t the one marrying that fucking tool this weekend.” Chris snorted as the three of you touched glasses and tossed back the strong liquor. Your dad chuckled as he poured another round.

“So where did you pick this one up?” You glanced over at Chris with a smirk.

“Strip club.” You watched your date blanch as you sat back on the couch. “You should see him dance. Best in Vegas.”

“Wait…” Chris started and Doug held up his hand to stop him.

“Im guessing if my daughter never told you who I was, then you don’t have the full story on our family dynamic yet.” He handed Chris a shot and shrugged as he looked over at you. “Parents aren’t supposed to pick favorites but (Y/N) is definitely mine. Her bother and sister, shit I’m not even 100% positive they’re mine. My lyin’ ex was quite the floozy.”

“Daddy.” You said warningly as you looked over at him. He simply rolled his eyes, handed you a shot to essentially shut you up and continued.

“Now my baby girl here, she’s all me. No doubt in my mind. Her mother and I were just starting to get rocky when we had her. I used to bring her everywhere with my like those rich sluts with those damn pocket dogs. She was my little Queen. I gave her the world and then some and my wife wasn’t a fan. For five years, Sara Beth was jealous of her own daughter before she had Tara, hoping that I would share my love again. Only problem is…” He pointed up at his hair. “I’m a brunette. So how’d I make a blonde baby girl?”

“Daddy…” You warned again as he threw back his shot and poured another round.

“I did right by Tara. Claimed her as mine, same with Keith and I love all three of my kids… But in my mind, (Y/N) is my only child. Her mother has always been jealous of her which is why this fucking monstrosity of a wedding is happening and why my little Queen is forced to be the maid of honor to her stuck up sister and her piece of shit ex. Fucking bitch.” He tossed back another shot and gestured at you. He exhaled the fumes and got up to get cups for the soda from the bar. “Now, I talk to my little Queen every single day. If she was dating someone, I’d’a known about it. Last I knew, she was coming alone but I guessed I missed the memo that you’d found a date.”

“It was changed literally last minute. I… um…” You glanced over at Chris, slightly embarrassed to admit it and he gave you a small smile.

“We came up with a friendly business arrangement.” He said carefully. “She needed a date, I needed someone with clout to sign for a dog rescue I want to open.” Your dad nodded as he pushed two glasses of soda across the table and leaned back on the couch.

“You help my baby girl with this and consider yourself financially backed for the first year you’re open. Anyone who helps my little Queen is helping me and deserves the help in return.” He sat forward and stuck his hand out to Chris. “Thank you.” Chris blushed and nodded.

“Thank you, sir. (Y/N)’s definitely one of a kind.” Doug chuckled and nodded as he leaned back and put his arm on the back of the couch behind you.

“That she is, son. That she is.” He reached down and twirled a strand of your brown hair around his finger before letting it fall against your messy bun. He leaned forward to grab his soda. “So what’s the story?”

“The truth. Met him through Scott at the bar he works at off the strip and he’s opening a dog rescue.”

“That way we keep it as close to the truth as possible.” Chris chimed in.

“Sounds good to me. No holes.” All three of you nodded. “So I assume you two want take a nap and freshen up? What do you say dinner with just the four of us tonight at that little local place you like.” You couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed your face as you looked over at him.

“Does she have to come with us?” Your dad’s face hardened slightly as he looked over at you.

“You be nice, missy. Anne is a nice woman.”

“Who will lose a hand if she tries to touch my date again.” Your dad sighed.

“Yea, she’s still touchy feely and she’s still an airhead but that woman sucks like a Hoover.”

“Daddy!” You screeched as Chris choked on his drink. Doug chuckled as he stood up and kissed your forehead.

“What?” He shook Chris’ hand once more and headed toward the hall. “I’ll come get you for dinner at 6.” You rolled your eyes and poured yourself and Chris another shot as the sound of your dad’s slightly sloppy Italian floated down the hall and out the door as he tipped the staff for you.

“I’m gunna need a whole bucket of this shit to get that fucking image out of my head.”

Part 2

#Chris Pratt x Reader #The Wedding Date

[inthewordsofahalfgoddes]

Free Writing

I feel sick. On friday i came home dizzy feeling like I was dead walking and passed out sleeping for most of the night into the day. I woke up sunday feeling a lot better but as i tried to eat my body was not having it. Even now I can’t stomach too much but apples and even then that is pushing it. i feel like at any second i will puke but It’s a faint sensation. I had two dreams that had me startled and put a slight cloud on my day until i forced the thoughts away. The first was strange and happened about 2 days ago. i was in an apartment listening to a friend of mine talk about his life. I was trying my best to fight trying to have sex with him and failing. even going so far as to entering the bathroom with him. ugh. i was pretty upset at myself in my dream cause I watched myself do it but in my head I was like ‘why are you doing this. don’t do it’. so anyway I have a pair of headphones on connected to like a walkkie talkie and I hear my ex’s voice on the other end. he’s talking about old money business and i click the talk end and ask him to repeat it. He is shocked and he says ‘your voice is too much right now’ and I apologize and ask him to repeat it. he starts to cry and i can hear the emotion and I look up feeling his pain. It was strange because I didn’t really care too much about the situation. I feel like I already moved on from him a long time ago and I didn’t regret my decision at all but haring the pain and emotion in his voice was too much. the dream ends and its a shallow dream so i know im near to akinng up. I carried that with me for the majority of the morning and it bothered me because i feel like i am being punnihsed for how the relationship went. I dragged it on for longer then it needed to be. wayyy longer and I still look back now and regret it but I’m learning to move past it and not dwell too much on it. I eventually was brave enough to face being alone and potentially being unloved so there is that. The other dream happened today. jesus had a weir dtanget and left a silly conversation we were having. i think he really just wanted to step away from me and i was actually pretty okay with it. I feel when we talk too much it puts a strain on our friendship. i wanna-say relationship but...I don’t like that. Inn my head im much more happy seeing it as a friendship because that means its safe. i almost don’t give myself any reason to be jealous  about others and i can give him my love in friendship and that is much more better for me. but some things he said got to me. He was talking about how dull and boring my life would be without him and at first i just joked about it but now I’m startting to see his point. Would i have been exposed to music without him? not as intense bth.My obsession with music and desire to persue it in some shape or form was inspiredby him and who he pointed out to me. I covet his songs so much. They are like staples for me and i dunno im actually listening to one of his songs now (let ‘em know by bryson tiller). So now that he has done his typical thing pretending to be upset and leaving “for couple of days” I have time to think. Its also venus retrograde whihc is like time to revisit and reassess how I see love, how i want to be loved and how I love others. also how my relationships look like and if there is a need for change. This is a simplistic view but its my understanding of it. So I know his venus is in Leo. which lmao is very fitting. hmm sometimes i wonder if I need to slow down with my thoughts of him. I am fascinated by him, pused by him, fired up by him, irritated, annoyed, and some feelings that i cant or wont name. So where does that leave me? Sometimes in my head i’ll call him allan and that makes me pause. Am i waiting for a saviour again? if i am i need to step back and realize that that only ends in pain and dissapointed hope. My last relationship i leanre da lot but it was under duress. it was painful and like forced me out of my caccoon under his hand and i felt so constrained as i tried to heal. it was too much for me and he never did understand me. Now that i’m just feeling jesus out I now see i see him as a saviour and i’m torn bewteen seeing him as one and being okay with it. is it so bad to have friends as liferafts? but at the smame time i dont think he should be treated like one :/ idk its weird though things have been feeling so surreal to me. watching my hands type and literally giving form to my words is unsettling to me. I feel like something is happening to me and i’m scared that its something bad. i don’t rmember being so sick before. in 3 years i only ever experieneced slight sniffles and here i am full blown sick and shit. i’m worried for myself and my body.I ask for michael’s healing and proetction. I am in a strange place and I wonder what will become of all of this. I feel so out of place. maybe its the books i have been reading too. When i read i somtimes carry bits of it into my life. i wake up in this world slightly disjointed and off. I finished reading parable of the talents and that left me shook. i have oto write a book review for that but ive been avoiding it for some reason? anyway I’m a lil way halfway trough lilith’s brood and I find the book fascinating and also scary in a way. i’m not scraed perse about the alients. or maybe i am idk. I’m more scared of the future where women and children will be vulnerable. why is it that males resourt to being bullies again once oscieties are gone? why sare they the most dnagerous? i mean even now they still are and its wrapped up in laws, decorms etc but in a dystopian futuere? terrifying. I couldnt be like Olomina and dress like a man because I am too fullfigured and womenly to pass. i am worried for myself. I just want to be free....i dunno what is going on with me? I ffeel like im drifting in and out of reality and things feel dreamy. I had a thought about my empathy and pisces power and like...maybe all my empathy is for books? thats when i feel so misty and out of it after reading ike my mind really led me away. im happy im reading again at least. it unsettles me that i am becoming  a women. I am entranced with myself seeing the curves, my skin and body seeing how beautiful it is but also seeing how dangerous it is to me and my life. How many times will people punish me for how i look? men mostly. and i dont mind suing what power i apparently have over them but its like i know it will be used aaginst me soon. i never feel wrong for knowing that my body is beautiful. I know it is and i know i am beautiful and a creature many may want to touch and have. I am growing into it and i feel like a flower that is maturing before peoples eyes and im afraid. i know fear is bad so let me say mor elike it unsetles me. but with chnage comes growth and i feel like because of my freeizing myself as i unthaw and turn into who i was supposed to be i am going to blossom very quick. its also weird too because as I say i want this this and this in my body over time i gain that. i was so e skinny and i wished to be thicker and now here i am getting thicker and i know if i atemore id be even thikcer and yet my stomach has not changedd and actually has remained smaller then it as before? i am also finally looking pretty. i felt like such an ugly child and now i wonder if its not that im being graced with it now but that i am seeing it in myself. i know i have eyes that can trap people. I actually look away to make them feel comfortable because if i stare too long at eople they either get caught up in my face (men especially) or they paue for a second.. idk. i feel like im changing t into something that ahs power that i am not comfortble handling;. or am i just being dramatic? the voice in my head is soft and quiet and that is the true me. I have to protect her because thhis world wants to hurt her and she is too good for it. that sounds weird.. But i know i have to keep this shell around me because peope see weakness and want to go for it/. when i gaine dback my sag and leo self i have used it like a shield against people and emotions. only a few know about my soter side/. jesus nampende and allan do. allan has used it and used it agains me to quiet myself, jesus looks down on it and i think nampende is the only one who sees it and sympathzes with it. alone i am soft and always ondering. when im with peoplei am dynamic lughing being wild and having fun. i know that that needs to be my face to protect me. these days i feel like i need to make a descion.  I dont know when and what i need to decide on but i know something will happen soon in my life. something big. idk.maybe its the new moon in virgo? or maybe its just me. im usually okay with momnets of confusion but coupled with this sickness and weird feeling im worried. i had my period so im worired im pregnant but....idk.anywasy on a more shallower side im getting my hair done and im trying to get a new phone. i know its mostyly because i wanna just fuck show people i actually am cute asf? for some reason i cna never capture how beauiful i am in pictures. maybe its the dymanicness of my face. idk i mosty want jesus to se it i think he thinks im ugy af and im like not??? if he saw me in person i dont think he would be saying and talking to me the ay he does. but i cant help things and tb its better that way. if i eve rsee him it will be a good suprise for me when i smirk at him like boyyyy you don fucked up;. anywyas im being etty and yes my exercises ha and will be fueled with this drema in mind veen tho i know it may not actually happen nor go the way i want ti to go. ughh sometimes i forget that im 23 and dont need to have it ll figured out. like thast not un expuse but i always be putting so much pressure on myself to know so much and catch up because i froze so much of myself. i know my body ma=eant well with how it chose to protect me but sis, i suffer lol.I am trying my best to just do my best. I feel tested and tested constantly but i guess with trying to be a better person and working on yourself. oh wait. PLUTO. i remmeber asking pluto a month ago to reveal all my bad shit a lotttt over the course of a month and sicne its a slow moving planet its prob now just hitting me. yikes. well if i cna make it through this then i really will be rdy for anything. so much pressure and stimulation i know i can survive but damn i need a break and shit.well i have tomorrow off so im probgonna chill and dhit. i have a meeting with some witches and other femmes in about an hour so lmao idk man im just trying my best. I hoope the universe sees that im trying because awd jesus i am. I love myself through this no matter what. the feeling that im gonna die is creeping up again its so strange i hvent felt this oh...its probably just anxiety over this sickess. ugdwheteriutuieyte45465hthrethuwt im gonna stop lol this has been too long already (peep the change in tone thast my sag self shining through)