the only one.

honeybee, i can't imagine where my life would be if all your gravity did not hit me.

[xpressomartini]

in order to make sure i get dedicated members, i will be now charging 5 dollars 🖐as an application fee. if you stay in the rp til it ends, you will receive 6 dollars back ( ur welcome ). BUT, if you wish to LEAVE the group… you will not receive any money back. you will only receive side eyes from me and the rest of the dedicated members

[mickeymouseclubhouse]

#squad

[ofhcneybees]

there were very, very few things of which sailor wilson was most undoubtedly certain — and, in a world where her life had been all but turned on its head by lies and manipulation, certainty was something she held to, steadfast. among those inevitable and inalienable truths to which sailor clung was, of course, the knowledge that she would do ANYTHING for lorelei gordon. including showing up at her door at ten at night in response to a fairly vague text about ‘ needing her help for something. ’ that SOMETHING, it turned out, was helping lorrie dye her hair neon green, and even then sailor was far from upset at being dragged from the warmth of her bed at such a late, dark hour... purely because it meant spending time with lorrie and only lorrie. 

shaking herself from her thoughts, sailor glanced up from where she finished pinning an old towel around lorrie’s shoulders — a relic from the days when this used to be a frequent endeavor for them — to offer a smile at the girl’s reflection. “alright, lor, you ready?” she asked, hands flitting over lorrie’s shoulder for the briefest of moments, almost uncertain in how much she was allowed to touch or how close she was allowed to get. / @rneraki​

[ofhcneybees]

sailorrie + ship tropes

@rneraki

[blossomfully]

There she was, at 4am, in your bed. You loved her then, didn’t you? She was wearing your duvet like a cape, with her head poking out. She loved you back; she really did. You said, “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never met anyone like you.” She said simply, “kiss me.” So you did. You lifted her chin and kissed her mouth and swallowed her giggles whole. You felt her sunshine fill your lungs as she wrapped her arms around your neck. You felt the duvet fall as she leant forward. “Tell me a secret,” she said. She was always saying these things. “I’ve told you everything already,“ you said. Your lips were on her neck. “Tell me a secret,” she repeated. “Okay,” you sighed, “I love you.” “Tell me a secret.“ “I’ve always loved you.”

Sue Zhao (via blossomfully)

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

lorrie wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad sign that sailor hadn’t seemed to notice the costumed employee; at least she wasn’t frightened, but she hoped sailor wasn’t getting too far into her own head. she could attest that one’s own mind could be a paralyzing quagmire, intensely difficult to escape once you were in there. lorrie offered a small smile at sailor’s own, squeezing at her bicep with her hand as she led her towards the asylum. even though lorrie wasn’t a talkative person, she always felt the need to fill the silence with sailor, anything to let her dear friend know that she wasn’t alone, was never alone. “i always felt a little weird about an asylum being a horror thing. because an asylum is a horrifying place but only for the patients, and that’s not how a lot of asylum horror stuff is presented, i guess? like, its more about how scary the patients are, which is, obviously, like, kinda ableist? but also i love outlast.” as soon as sailor’s tone got nervous, lorrie’s eyes snapped to her face, trying to determine how bad this was. sailor would still go in if it was up to her, not wanting to disappoint lorrie, so lorrie knew it was up to herself to gauge sailor’s reactions. and she looked frightened, and… and this looked like it could go bad, but if sailor… if sailor was still saying she wanted to do this… well, lorrie didn’t want to treat her friend like a child. she was an adult, she could make her own decisions. “sure,” lorrie said, trying to sound teasing. she oriented herself so that she was fully in front of sailor, holding her hand behind her back. she looked over her shoulder, “i’ll lead the way, okay?” with that, lorrie started into the asylum, entering into a corridor labelled admitting, and a little desk behind a plexiglass enclosure, with an actor in a nurse’s uniform with over-dramatic under-eye bags sat. despite the little metal speaker in the plexiglass, she only said one thing as she pointed in the direction of a curtain. “the doctor will see you now.” lorrie made sure sailor was still okay, before she led her friend towards the curtain. 

sailor nodded, being forced to withdraw from herself in order to listen to what lorrie was saying. there were certain moments where sailor was hit, full-force with the realization of how much she had MISSED lorrie, and hearing her careful criticism towards asylum horror as a genre in a turn of phrase that was so perfectly like her was one of those moments. of course, her definitive absence had been nothing short of a gaping, aching hole in sailor’s life that manifested itself in boxes full of unsent letters and tear-stained pillowcases for YEARS, but... but now that she had, by some miracle, managed to get lorrie BACK, she was distinctly aware of exactly what she’d be losing if she were to be stupid and reckless enough to ruin things AGAIN. some days, the wound felt fresher than others. some days, she had to remind herself that lorrie was real and there more often than others. “no, i agree. i like it more when it’s like... the asylum and the people who work there are the antagonistic roles and the patients are the victims. but, then again, i think that ALL horror movies can benefit from an element of social commentary — a la CANDYMAN or anything by jordan peele.” the moment that lorrie offered a hand to her from behind her back, sailor reached for it and latched on without thinking twice. even if her grip was a little too tight to come across as casual and unafraid, lorrie didn’t say anything. still, sailor forced herself to ease up on the pressure she was inflicting when lorrie glanced over her shoulder, clearly checking on her reaction. sailor turned her gaze towards the curtain for a moment, steadying herself with a shallow breath before she nodded and gave a far gentler squeeze of confirmation to lorrie’s hand. “c’mon, don’t tell me you’re SCARED now, lorelei,” sailor even managed to tease, despite the fact that she was still crowded into a close proximity to lorrie’s back with no real upperhand in the matter, at all. 

[ofhcneybees]

lvghtsup‌:

“ the true nature of my visit, ” monty echoed, narrowing his eyes slightly at sonny. “ why, sonny, it sounds like you don’t trust my intentions. i promise you, i have only the purest of hearts. ” he held up a hand. “ scout’s honor. ” as if monty chamberlain had ever been a damn boy scout. he wasn’t exactly the type. nevertheless, he kept trying, leaning on the counter once more in an attempt to be closer in range to the radiance of sonny’s smile. “ i don’t just come here for the coffee, mi amor, ” he told him, shaking his head as if he was being ridiculous for even asking such a thing. “ i come for the view. ” monty leaned back slightly, giving sonny a slow once-over in an attempt to get his point across. knowing sonny, it was very unlikely that he’d get the hint; if nothing else, monty would be able to get lucas to start gagging in the background. he was the only one that ever seemed to pick up on monty’s blatant flirtation, and it was overall a very bad time for both of them when lucas had to listen to him crash and burn on the daily when he tried to pick sonny up. 

it was a good thing he wasn’t deterred easily. less determined people would’ve given up eons ago, but monty had an ego the size of the sun and way too much time on his hands. thus, it was likely that he’d never give up. not at this rate. now that he had his drink in hand, monty started to turn away from the counter, only glancing back to catch a glimpse of sonny untying his apron. “ tick tock, ” he said, turning once more to continue his journey toward a cluster of cozy chairs in one corner. this was a favorite vantage point of his; it had a perfect view of the counter, so on days where monty didn’t arrive at the perfect time to catch sonny on his break, he could still see him. he sank into one of the chairs, cradling his americano in one hand. “ how has your shift been so far ? ” he asked once sonny had moved close enough, taking a sip of his coffee. “ you don’t look ready to die yet, so i’m hoping it’s been alright, for your sake. ”

sonny’s nose wrinkled the slightest bit as he attempted to picture monty as a BOY SCOUT — complete with the dorky uniform and going door-to-door to sell popcorn. it wasn’t an image he could even start to form in his mind, though really it was a challenge for sonny to picture monty as a child AT ALL. his brain all but refused to devote too much time to imagining monty in any shape or form, likely as some kind of defense mechanism to keep sonny from stumbling headfirst into what was, without a doubt, nothing but a slippery slope. he already lost enough sleep over the monty standing in front of him at that moment, he didn’t really need to subject himself to any other torture by making him even softer and more endearing in his mind. he wasn’t jolted from his inner tangent until his brain registered that monty was DOING IT again — calling him ‘mi amor’ in that voice that did very little to keep sonny’s resolve from crumbling on the spot. “right. the view,” he repeated, voice sounding vaguely strained as he forced himself to fix his attention onto the hot chocolate-coffee hybrid he was fixing for himself to try and conceal the LOVESTRUCK expression that was, no doubt, plastered on his features. “there is a nice ambiance in here, ‘n the decor is... s’peaceful.” he could practically hear lucas in the back of his mind insisting that ‘hemingway’s super into you, man’ and, in moments like these, sonny found it difficult to argue that he WASN’T.

only, it didn’t make any fucking sense. there was no logical explanation to why monty chamberlain, who could LITERALLY have anyone in the world that he wanted, would EVER think about settling for someone as insignificant and unremarkable as sonny taylor. monty wore designer everything that starkly contrasted with sonny’s one pair of shoes that five years of wear had near falling apart at the seams, and drove a car that was probably worth more than sonny’s entire savings account, and was most certainly destined for a lavish and glamorous life that sonny could never fit into, even in his wildest dreams. not that ANY of that stopped him from watching monty — wistful and longing and pining — as he moved towards his designated chair. nor did it stop him from wondering, however fleetingly, what it would feel like to invade monty’s space and tuck himself into his side, or if he would cradle his cheek the way he cradled his coffee. it did, however, keep him from ACTING upon any of his intrusive thoughts and encouraged him to find a seat of his own and just, generally, not to be a creep. “no, not ready to die quite yet,” sonny agreed, slowly shaking his head as a smile curled its way onto his features. “though, it’s only noon so i suppose there’s still plenty of time for that.” and, most importantly, no unspoken promise of monty visiting to help inspire him to pull his way through the rest of the shift. “pumpkin spice season is finally ending, so my brain is feeling extra stimulated by all the variety in scents. of course, now i’m destined to smell like a gingerbread cookie ‘til february, but i suppose there are worse alternatives.” he paused briefly, taking a sip of his own drink. he was NEVER sure if he was talking too much, or just being generally uninteresting, but he didn’t usually worry about it — that only ever happened when monty was around. “what about you? done anything interesting today? or is this your reprieve from a dull morning, as well?”

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

zar was quickly regretting bringing up the hole in the wall; clearly, it wasn’t one of his prouder moments. he always knew he had anger issues, was always quick to throw a punch, but he’d been trying to change that as of late. “uh, well, i used to be diagnosed with oppositional defiant, but my… my new therapist seems to think that’s bullshit.” he actually really liked dan the therapist, he was middle aged and grumpy and very funny. the therapist that had given him the odd diagnosis reminded him too much of the joneses; they were the ones who had hired her, after all. “or, that it’s not accurate anymore. so… i don’t know what i have.” dan had actually said he thought his violent outbursts were more symptoms of depression and ptsd than anything else, but he wasn’t too keen on sharing that with frankie, not quite yet. she didn’t need to know all of his fucking baggage. 

zar was the exact opposite of frankie, in that, even though people kept leaving and leaving and leaving, all it did was make zar want to keep them more. it made him want a home even more. when he was younger, he used to watch tv shows like full house or that 70s show, and wish dearly that he could have that: family dinners, loving parents, squabbling but loyal siblings. he wanted all of it. and even though he’d long since accepted that he’d never get it, he still felt a need to try.

“oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “they’re fucking awful, i hate looking at them.” it always felt like their little beady eyes were following him; he’d had to eat dinner in their presence. not exactly the family dinner he’d been imagining. the discomfort on zar’s part hadn’t helped either; being at the table just made him feel like an imposter. he wondered if frankie knew what it was like to having a normal, loving family; what if her mom really did love her, but despite that, still couldn’t take care of her? it wasn’t his place to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. “so what happened with your mom, then? if she’s still around?” to sweeten the deal, “tell me yours and i’ll tell you mine.” 

frankie blinked when zar mentioned a therapist, admittedly surprised by hearing the word. if she was being HONEST, the only grasp she had on the concept of therapy was the way it was portrayed in cartoon strips in the newspaper — someone laying down on a couch, talking about all their problems and inconveniences while the therapist asked them ‘and how does that make you feel?’ — which, like, she KNEW wasn’t the way that therapy actually worked. of, at least, she assumed it wasn’t. but it wasn’t like she ever had the insurance or the budget to prove her expectations wrong, personally. “oppositional defiant? i have no fucking idea what that is but i’m willing to bet a pretty sum of money on the idea that i could be diagnosed with that.” 

she was even MORE taken off-guard when zar decided to ask her about her mother. aside from the arbitrary check-in questions that her social worker was legally obligated to ask on a regular basis, nobody ever really asked frankie about her mom. perhaps the least likely to ask any questions were other foster siblings, and in turn frankie never asked THEM about their personal lives — though, whether that was due to nuanced social conventions or just  not caring, frankie wasn’t sure. she couldn’t lie, though... zar offering up his own life story, one frankie was fairly confident would be intriguing, built up an offer she couldn’t refuse. 

“so we’re bargaining now, huh?” frankie retorted, at least attempting to maintain some kind of blase exterior before caving. “let’s see. well, she had me when she was nineteen, and it was just us my whole life. no dad, no grandparents, nothing like that. and she’s... she’s a good mom. she tried her best, you know? she just wasn’t present, physically i mean, when she needed to be. but it was FINE. i was fine, we were fine. and someone thought it was their place to... i don’t know, insert themselves in our lives, when it was none of their fucking business,” she took a shallow breath to steady herself, already feeling herself grow more and more on edge. “and then one night fucking cps showed up at our door. my mom was working, so i was ALONE. and they... they decided that it wasn’t safe, or some bullshit. came back with a court order, took me out. wasn’t fucking fair, but.” she finally shrugged, her words slowly tapering off. “alright, your turn. how the fuck did you end up here?”

[ofhcneybees]

˚ * ☆ – @conqvested​ !

kiki let out a low, quiet sigh as she dropped herself into the first open seat she could find in the lecture hall, with only BARELY enough time to get herself settled before the professor cleared his throat and began to drone on in the most PAINFUL monotone that kiki had ever heard in her LIFE. it didn’t take long before kiki had checked out completely and had take n to doodling on a pack of sticky notes that she had foolishly convinced herself she’d actually use for their intended purpose. which, like, YEAH RIGHT. it was like she didn’t know herself at all, sometimes. she leaned backwards slightly to admire the drawing she’d just completed, nodding in satisfaction before she pulled the sticky note free and extended her arm to stick it down onto the laptop screen of the girl sitting next to her. she didn’t exactly KNOW the girl —   read: she’d literally NEVER met her in her life —but that didn’t matter. she waited, expectantly, for some kind of response but she was met with nothing but a confused stare. “it’s a DUCK,” she clarified, tapping her pen against the cartoon bird drawn on the small piece of paper tucked into the corner of her screen. in retrospect, it probably — DEFINITELY — wasn’t the explanation that the poor girl next to her was looking for, but it was really all that kiki had to offer. “i don’t suppose you have any of the notes handy, do you? i accidentally went to the wrong class all of last week. that’s not true. i PURPOSEFULLY went to the wrong class all of last week because this one is BORING. but now i have no idea what he’s talking about, so it’s quite a predicament i find myself in, here.”

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

lucas breathed a sigh of relief when he could finally settle himself in front of the coffee machine, and wouldn’t have to look at the front for the rest of his shift if he didn’t want to. “no worries,” he assured, already making sonny’s usual out of habit more than anything else. he pulled a frown at sonny’s explanation. “a summer car,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “does she not know you can change the tires?” really, was there a reason you needed a whole car for each season? it was nice to be able to commiserate with someone else who understood, though; this was a rich fucking town, and kids from the other side of the tracks, like lucas and sonny, needed to stick together. “the tip jar was suffering,” lucas agreed, because there was no use hiding it. the only tips he’d gotten that morning had been from an especially pitying student; everyone else had been pretty unforgiving. once finished, he turned around and handed sonny his coffee with a smile. “you’re in luck,” lucas added, tone teasing as he turned his attention to the dishes in the sink. “hemingway hasn’t come around yet.” hemingway, of course, being lucas’ name for the regular that was almost constantly flirting with sonny. of course, if he had come around, he would still be waiting for sonny; sometimes lucas wondered why they weren’t dating yet, since sonny was clearly interested, too. 

sonny’s gaze flitted over to the aforementioned tip jar, his head shaking as he saw that it was, indeed, SUFFERING with nothing but a dollar and what appeared to be an odd assortment of change dropped in as an afterthought. “pitiful,” sonny reached over to shake the jar, tongue clucking against the roof of his mouth as she shot a wry smile over his shoulder to lucas. it really only meant that sonny had no choice but to turn up the charm, an asset of his own that he used to his own advantage and payoff more than anyone gave him credit for — or, rather, more than anyone KNEW. lucas’s pointed remark about HEMINGWAY made sonny stumble over himself for a moment, hand fumbling with the the drink that lucas had only just handed him. “he doesn’t usually — ” sonny began, catching himself only a moment too late. he was all too aware of what lucas thought of monty — more specifically, the way that lucas assumed monty felt about sonny, himself. it was a nice dream, yeah, but he therein lied the problem. it was just a DREAM, and a dangerous one for sonny to get hung up on, at that, if he wanted to maintain any of his mental stability. mentioning that he KNEW what time monty would more than likely show up at the shop didn’t do much to help his case, either. “i mean, i’m sorry that you have to find out this way, buddy, but hemingway died, like... sixty years ago. i don’t think he’ll be stopping in any time soon, unless there’s some zombie apocalypse that i didn’t know about.” it was a WEAK attempt at a save, he knew that, but it wasn’t like lucas could really say much about being a conversationalist that morning. thankfully, he was saved by a new customer stepping up to the counter, letting sonny distract himself by offering the stranger a wide smile. “good morning, how can i help you?” 

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

lorrie nodded; it was important to her, now, to accept every one of sailor’s decisions. ever since she’d left garrett, she’d been terrified to voice her own opinions, to state what she wanted, and lorrie… well, to a certain extent, she knew what that was like. to so fear stepping out of line, to assert yourself in any way that might disturb someone else. it came with the territory of being a lonely child, she supposed, desperate to make friends and please people any way she could. but sailor had been the one who taught her to break that cycle, and now, lorrie supposed, it was her turn to do the same for sailor. to show her her needs and desires were okay. when they got to the front of the line, lorrie paid for their tickets, shooting sailor a smile as she interlocked their arms, keeping her close as they entered into the farm, a costumed employee barely turning their way to give an eerie, “good evening.” “good evening,” was lorrie’s unironic reply. she scoured the grounds for the signs of the haunted house, otherwise unawares. “you wanted the asylum one, right?” 

sailor’s stomach did a minuscule nose-dive the moment that she and lorrie started toward the farm, her arm FIRMLY set in place where it was linked through her friend’s. she figured that there would probably be some kind of scare right off the bat, to set the mood and all, so she forced herself to try and distract herself from what was coming via her own personal FAVORITE coping mechanism — daydreaming and fantasizing. in this case it was a matter of building up a pretty, gentle, soft sort of scenario that she could fall back onto if she needed. only, faster than she could process it, her dream world became clearly defined by something painstakingly familiar to sailor’s fantasies — lorrie’s fingers woven through her own instead of linking by the elbows, her hand on the curve of her waist instead of the space between her shoulder blades, slowly but certainly moving closer. it wasn’t until she practically had to SHAKE herself out of her thoughts that she even realized they’d already passed the first employee in costume, and without so much as flinching. maybe the subtle shame that was creeping up her throat and the pale hint of an embarrassed blush that she wasn’t sure the dark of the night was doing anything to hide WERE good for something, after all. “yes, the asylum,” she repeated, sounding more confident and decisive in the decision than she had expected, which allowed for a tiny, satisfied smile to ease its way onto her features. said smile was, of course, almost completely extinguished as soon as she found herself looking up at said asylum — which was, apparently, closer to the front of the park than it had any right to be. “the asylum,” she said, once more, though THIS time the words were considerably more strained. except, it couldn’t be THAT bad, could it? there was a little girl, who couldn’t have been much older than eight or nine, walking out looking completely unfazed. she could do this. “okay, i’m not SCARED, but... i still think you should go in first.”

[kennedy-walsh]

[kennedy-walsh]

[ofhcneybees]

conqvested‌:

barbie couldn’t help but feel proud of herself and the girl’s compliments towards her, even if it seemed like she was helping her with something that had much more malintent than barbie was ever capable of feeling. “we do, many, including myself, believe that their beauty outweighs the truly awful smell. i keep mine at home in a jar, surrounded by other flowers. it masks it quite nicely. but if you’re aiming to insult someone, we can ensure that the other flowers around it are less pungent, making rotting flesh the one thing your nose picks up.”

her eyebrows perked up as the woman continued talking. “i’m honestly impressed, not many people are willing to look up flower language in order to insult someone when giving them a gift. are you sure she meant it?”

the satisfied smile on pea’s features only GREW as the woman assured that the vile scent would, most certainly, be detected with the delivery of the bouquet. she knew better than to think she’d receive any kind of public acknowledgement on the matter — or even a private acknowledgement, given the fact that she and joy had long-since ceased ANY kind of personal communication, aside from the birthday flowers which would never truly serve as anything but a selfish action on joy’s behalf and compost for pea’s garden — but even imagining the displeased scowl that would grace her mother’s features was enough to satisfy her.

“well, to her credit my mother is nothing short of an evil genius. that and incredibly petty, so i could hardly expect anything LESS from her,” pea hummed, shaking her head. that was, perhaps, the worst part of joy. she was incredibly intelligent and always aware of the harm she was doing. “i’m pretty positive, yes. this morning she called me a malignant liar without integrity or decorum. hence, the bouquet.” pea flourished a hand towards the flowers around her, a composed and wry smile still on her features. “though, i suppose i DID start it when i said that she was an intemperate career politician only further endangering the well-being of those who she claims to be an advocate for. you might have heard of her — senator joy pembrooke?”

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

god, kit fucking hated this place. there was a reason he’d escaped this shitty town for a proper city, a place where people didn’t know your entire family history, where you weren’t at risk of running into your middle school bully or your tenth grade english teacher. where people didn’t look at you with pity in their eyes, because they knew who your brother was, and they knew what was happening to him. the pressure of existence was, frankly, too much for kit sometimes; he loved to be able to disappear. 

but he couldn’t here, especially not with pea fucking diangelo. as soon as she started speaking kit, knew he was in for it, and he clenched his jaw. pea had been like a sister to him, before. before he’d decided that burning bridges was better than confronting reality. but as much as he’d like to pretend her words didn’t hurt, they did. “what the fuck is your problem?” kit shot back. the worst part about everything pea was saying was that it was all true. “so, i’m- i’m not allowed to try to, to do better? to be better? i- i know i fucked up, pea. and i’m- and what do you know about what’s best for him?” a whole lot more than kit did, was the answer. kit had spent years being mad at noam, years avoiding him because of how shitty he felt in his presence. years thinking that kit should have died in that car accident, and now… now noam was the one dying, the one everyone liked. the one with a future. “so what if i’m guilty, i’m-.” kit looked down, already feeling the tears well in his eyes. “fuck, pea, you’re such a bitch, what do you even want?”  what, had she just come up to him to taunt him? to make him feel like shit? 

something pea had always struggled to understand was what made a person BAD. were they inherently so? was that part of them always there, just buried out of sight? was it created by the set of decisions someone made? or was it an inevitable path that people were doomed to tread? for a long time, pea had wanted to believe that it had been the CITY that turned her mother bad, unable to think of a world where her father could have ever fallen in love with someone as vile and manipulative as joy pembrooke had proven herself to be. as she got older and less naive, however, she began to realize that maybe it HAD been there all along, maybe she’d always been bad, and they’d all been too blind to see it.

still, looking kit novak dead in the eyes, pea found herself unable to believe that this boy — someone who had, for so much of her life, been like the little brother she never had — was always so capable of causing such PAIN in the people he loved. he wasn’t a bad person, she knew that no matter how her anger-laced words conveyed her thoughts, but the things he’d done WERE. she wanted to believe that WASN’T HIM, the same way she’d wanted to believe it wasn’t her mother, but she’d learned a long time ago that making excuses for people never ended well for her. “what do i know about what’s BEST for him?” she repeated, a sharp and angry sort of scoff leaving her throat. “you have a lot of fucking NERVE showing up and asking ME that after three years of radio silence, you know that?” his words cut deeper than he knew, especially with the weight of wanting — no NEEDING — to fix noam that had been sitting squarely on her shoulders ever since the diagnosis. “i know. it’s genetic,” she spat back, gaze narrowing further. he needed to do better than that if he wanted to wound her. she was called worse things in the press by her mother on a regular basis, so. “i want to make sure you’re here for the right reasons. to know you aren’t here to make this about yourself. to know you’re actually showing up to SUPPORT him.”

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

zar raised an eyebrow at that little comment. what, was frankie trying to make him feel bad for her? was this supposed to be some kind of suffering olympics? newsflash, frankie; we’re all fuckups. that’s why we’re here. “don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” zar muttered as he followed her down the stairs. “i punched a hole in the last foster home i was in.” to be fair, that probably wouldn’t happen here; there was no teenage boys in the house besides him. it took social services until now to realize they really shouldn’t put zar in a house with boys his own age; it was as if they didn’t read the file about the fight that finally sent zar here, about the years of torment at the hands of the jones boys- sorry, his brothers, preceding it. 

the night air rushed into zar’s lungs, cooling and calming, and he looked over when frankie began to explain what she was up to. a pit formed in his stomach as he realized that… that frankie had a family she actually wanted to go back to. come to think of it, zar hadn’t spoken with too many other foster kids whose parents were alive and well, but… but he knew consciously that kids didn’t just get put into the system because their parents died or were horrifically abusive and negligent. sometimes it was just… regular neglect. unfortunate circumstances. sometimes kids still had a home they could go back to, and sometimes they wanted to. he had a small pang of sympathy for her; zar didn’t know what it was like to have a family that loved him, but if he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to let them go. 

zar felt like he shouldn’t go, like this was a private moment, but, well, where else did he have to go? “no, i’ll… i’ll come with.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking a little uneasy. “i don’t know this area really well.” after a moment of silence, he gave a small laugh. “vintage bird decor? really?” zar shook his head, speaking more to fill the silence than anything else. “fuck, that’s awful. one of my old foster parents collected those hummel figurines? those things are ugly as fuck.”

frankie’s eyebrow quirked in silent amusement at zar’s quick reply to her words. she definitely wouldn’t have pegged him as the VIOLENT type — seeing as she generously chalked him up to being all of five-and-a-half feet tall, not particularly sharp featured in any way, and no real angry outbursts worth noticing. he didn’t even slam doors, for fuck’s sake. she wasn’t exactly the violent type, either —  at least, for the most part — but even SHE was fond of a dramatic exit, typically following some kind of scathing remark as the second act of the renowned frankie rivera one-two punch. regardless, it was enough to pique her interest, which was a nice change of pace for the indifferent sort of anger that she’d been harboring for the last year of cycling through foster homes. “a hole in the wall, huh? was it, like, to get back at them? do you have secret anger issues? give me something to work with, here, this might be the most interesting shit you’ve said in a month.”

and, okay. it wasn’t like she TRIED to be a pain in the fucking ass all the time. she was pretty sure it was just in her nature — like she was born without the part of her brain that made her give any kind of consideration to how her words might come across, or like she was somehow genetically predisposed to being mean. and, SURE, sometimes people would call her on it, but it wasn’t like anyone ever did anything about it. besides, she’d accepted the fact that she was nothing more than a fleeting and temporary presence in most people’s lives long before she ever entered the system. it was hard to make herself care about what people thought of her when she knew they weren’t sticking around. 

frankie turned her narrowed gaze upon him for a moment as he processed her words, waiting for any indication that he was preparing to offer her some kind of PITY. she didn’t want it, but whenever she let on to any extent that her mom WASN’T a monster, and that she was counting the days until she could go back home again, everyone treated her like she was nothing but a fucking tragedy and it made her blood boil. she wasn’t a tragedy, or something to be pitied, or something broken. her shoulders relaxed, if even only slightly, when zar DIDN’T meet her with any pity, and instead allowed himself to roll with her plans. “aren’t those... like, those little fucking baby doll statues?” frankie asked, her nose curling. “did you feel like they were watching you? their little painted eyes freak me the fuck out.” 

[ofhcneybees]

rneraki‌:

of his jobs, this was lucas’ least favorite; he was not a people person in the slightest, so having to interact with people while taking their orders was lucas’ own personal hell. he had a little script in his head that he used, and if the customer went off script in the very slightest, even just to comment on the nice weather recently, lucas lost his groove, and the rest of the interaction would be a dumpster fire of a conversation, consisting of lucas tripping over his words and having to deal with the other person cringing in sympathy. by the time sonny came in for his shift, lucas had just finished spending his fifteen minute break in the storage room with his forehead against the wall, trying and failing not to relive the conversation he’d started with “good evening”; it was eight thirty in the morning. he sighed as soon as sonny came in, “thank god you’re here. please, just-.” lucas indicated the cash register in front of him, and mimed pushing it towards sonny as he removed himself to the espresso machine. “take it.”

@ofhcneybees

for as smart of a guy that lucas boyd was — that being incredibly smart, computer whiz smart, get into mit smart — he was absolutely terrible at forming even the most basic of sentences in conversation. to his credit, he was fantastic at the actual process of making coffee, whipping up perfect orders at the speed of light whilst sonny struggled to pay enough attention to the task at hand to make even one drink without error. but that was what made them such a good TEAM, two parts of a well-oiled machine. sonny manned the register, charmed customers into dropping generous tips into the glass jar between them without fail, and lucas flirted around behind him to mix, blend, and pour each beverage to perfection. sometimes, when sonny was feeling particularly personable and lucas was especially focused, the customer would have their drink in their hand before their conversation with sonny even came to a close. those were the days that they got the best tips and the best yelp reviews, which BOTH of their bank accounts appreciated. “sorry, sorry,” sonny apologized quickly, shucking off his coat in favor of an apron as he swooped behind the counter. he was barely late — fifty seconds, exactly — but it was long enough for him to find lucas floundering in his place. “matty missed the bus so i had to drive him, and that one god-awful mom — you know, susan, the one who i told you has a SUMMER CAR — was holding up traffic. a nightmare.” truth be told, susan was one of his most frequent customers, and she certainly paid him well enough, so he couldn’t complain too much. “but, never fear, i’m here to save the day, and our tip jar while i’m at it.”