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i might write a full thing out later, but, like, the brainworms are wriggling and i'm still unsure if it's anything
something something mob au where price suffers a blow to the head on a handoff gone wrong, and while he seems to be cognitively fine in all other ways, there's just one small problem:
he keeps demanding to see his wife- but he's never been married.
he talks about her all the time, tells the boys what she looks like, her name, how they met at a coffee shop she'd worked at- one that's not too far from where he keeps his office. it doesn't take them long to realize he's been harboring something of a crush on the barista at his local coffee place- and a solid thwack to the head with an improvised nightstick has convinced him that the two of you have been together for years.
were price not a) the head of organized crime in the city and b) growing increasingly upset and violent at being kept from his 'wife', they'd just ignore his demands, up his sedatives, and worst case scenario, hire a working girl to put on a wig and play the part for a night. easy peasy, no harm done.
instead, you're snatched up after a closing shift, your car left abandoned with the door half open as you're shoved into a van and given very clear instructions at gunpoint: you will play the role of mrs. price, you will allow him to do and say as he pleases, you will not cause a fuss, run away, or do anything to harm the old man.
you'll be made to play house, to be his perfect housewife under the threat of a bullet to the brain. you're to let him do whatever he likes and pretend it's absolutely fine and normal- groping, smacking, fucking, fingering, all of it. you are his little plaything, given a very specific role to act out. anything less than a completely convincing performance and you'll wind up in the river. or the rose garden. the man in the skull mask is still thinking it over.
it's hard to do anything but agree, especially when all you've been told is that the infamous 'bravo' who runs the 141 gang has asked for you, specifically, despite the fact that you have nothing to do with organized crime. it's terrifying- after all, you're just a barista, worried about picking up enough shifts to pay rent. the most contact with bravo and his gang is reading about the brutal deaths linked to him on the evening news. you couldn't pick him out of a lineup if you tried-
-or so you thought.
your entire world feels like it's caving in on you when you're led to a private room with armed guards at the door, only to see one of your favorite regulars being tended to in an ostentatiously large bed, his eyes lighting up as he bats the doctor's blood pressure cuff away as he reaches out for you as if you're long-lost lovers and not just a barista and the guy who recently switched from americano's to lapsang souchong.
something something it's a terribly confusing thing, after all, to be forced at gunpoint to play wife to someone who actually does make for a very loving and attentive husband- even if he is mafia.
How clearly does the point need to be made that "police officer" is just a fucking job, one with minimal training and minimal monitoring. It is NOT some kind of promise of honesty, truth, or heroism. It is a bunch of assistant managers with extremely powerful weapons. IF you can understand "pedophiles choose to be priests and teachers so they can get to children", IF you understand "arsonists choose to be firefighters so they can be present at their own crimes" - then you can ALSO understand "people who are bigoted, violent, and power-hungry choose to be cops for the opportunities the job presents" and you can ALSO understand "any occupational culture that chooses fraternity over justice - and the allowance of violence in the name of a unified front - is therefore siding with their worst representatives"
by the way. the average time to train to be a police officer? 19 weeks. A little over 4 months. many states only require a high school diploma and no further education. there is often no requirement of any form of previous experience - no interning or observations. it took me 3 years of experience and a master's degree for me to get my job in writing. hell: in my state, it takes at least 6 months with a permit before people are allowed to drive a car.
being a police officer is an entry-level job, and we are handing them weapons. nothing about their occupation automatically makes them smarter, quicker, braver, or in any way elite. there is very little in their onboarding process that would allegedly "weed out" the worst of the applicants - and once they are part of the fraternity, they're not gonna leave.
we have been taught to respect, honor, and worship them by virtue of a job title they barely even had to try for. they sign no contract, swear no vow, and make no promise to the general public. it is a community that is extolled above others and given virtually no oversight. think about the kind of people who would be attracted to that opportunity. the adage: power corrupts. absolute power corrupts absolutely.
circling this back around to say FUCK ICE, and fuck you if you willingly support them just because they're "a federal agent" and therefore "deserve respect".
ICE officers are a fucking privatized militia they do not have authority over united states citizens and none of their so-called "purpose" requires live rounds and weapons. It is entirely made up of fascist racist dickbags with no fucking training. they are lower than scum. they're police-school dropouts with no fucking spine. there is no honor in their position. they accomplish nothing but terrorizing communities they don't even fucking live in.
Any!! occupation or government !! that chooses fraternity over justice - and the allowance of violence in the name of a unified front - is therefore siding with their worst representatives.
october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good october will be good
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"you don't owe anyone anything" You are a tar pit. Speak for yourself. I personally owe the cafe employees my dishes put away and my friends a listening ear and small scared insects a cup and a gentle trip outside. Hyperindividualism is a rancid infection borne of capitalism and willfully misinterpreted therapyspeak and I will defy it by continuing to be kind regardless of whether or not it benefits me personally
there’s this extremely kind soul of a woman on instagram that makes accessible recipes that don’t require standing, chopping, or a stove and she might just have a permanent place in my heart
edit: here's her YouTube account, as well as her TikTok and Facebook :)
I have been bubbling with excitement as I was sitting on this for some weeks now. I’m just so happy to be able to share with you guys the official cover of my debut novel.
P.S Deciding to assign Camilo and Josephine novel the color purple actually came searching up the symbolism behind the color. Which I realized many of the words that symbolize with purple connected with the story of Josephine & Camilo.
⊹˳⁺ ♡ Big thanks to @/booksnmoods (on Instagram) for creating such a wonderful cover for me that I adore so much. It was such a wonderful experience being able to express what I want and my vision being put on such a wonderful cover. Just made my 1st experience of commissioning my first novel cover such a smooth and exciting ride.
Tropes that will be included in Watchdog, Coming Soon
Thinking about going into labor while your partner is on the way somewhere unimportant, who refuses to come home to help you. And instead of being alone and scared, you hang up and call up one of your childhood friends everyone thought you'd wind up with. Kyle shows up at your door, furious but does his best to hide it, and helps you through it all. Next day the father of your child has the audacity to show up like nothing is wrong to see Kyle holding your baby so you can take a well deserved nap.
he picks up on the third ring. you tremble, gripping the edge of the porcelain tub. when you finally hear his voice, just the sound of him soothes your beating heart, just a little.
"'ello, love."
"kyle?" you sniffle. his background quiets a bit. you hear a door close, and then he's a bit louder.
"hey, love. what's wrong? you sound upset."
"my water broke," you hiccup. "a-and i...i was in the bath...i-i..." you close your eyes. "i can't get out of the tub."
"jesus fucking christ." you whimper, but kyle just hums. "not you, baby. hey, you just relax, alright? you said you were in the bath. just relax, and i'll be there soon."
"kyle--"
"don't be scared," kyle chuckles, and you whine a little. "hey, you're gonna have a baby. you've been waiting for this, yeah? haven't you?"
"y-yeah..."
"aren't you excited? you always tell me how much you can't wait, right?"
"yeah..."
"don't be scared," kyle repeats. "you just relax. be happy. she's coming today!"
you smile, wiping your face a little, and when kyle hears your giggle, he sighs.
"good girl. you sit tight."
so you do. you lean against the side of the tub, and you rest in the warm water as you stare at your phone screen.
he won't answer the phone. he hasn't read your texts. he's not coming.
you hear the front door open and close, and then there's a gentle knock on the bathroom door. when kyle comes in, you try to cover up, moving your hands over your tits, embarrassed, but kyle just goes to look for a clean towel to help you out.
"it's okay, love, i won't look," kyle tells you. he smiles at you, cupping your face gently, and you look into his dark eyes. "you look so pretty. you're glowin', y'know that?" you smile through gentle tears, putting a hand over your belly, and you try to move, but it's no use. kyle drops the towel, kneeling, and you shake your head.
"i-i can't get out--" you gasp, and kyle rolls up his sleeves over his thick forearms, putting the towel over his shoulder before he reaches for you.
"it's alright. i'll get you out. i'll try not to look, okay?"
"i'm so embarrassed...i'm so sorry, kyle..." you sniffle.
"don't apologize, love. i got it. give me your hands, put 'em around me."
you lift up your wet arms, wrapping them around his neck. you press your chest against his, and he picks you up as you stand, helping you to your feet. as you cup your belly, he wraps the towel around you, covering you, and then he holds your hand as you step out of the tub.
"alright. now where's your bag, darling?"
kyle grabs your bag and supplies as you get dressed in your room. as you pull your socks on, kyle comes up behind you, smoothing your hair down your back before he starts to braid it. he used to braid your hair all the time when you were kids--he always said he wanted to practice for his sisters.
"you got the car seat, kyle?" you ask as he holds your hand, and he nods.
"mhm. in the car already."
"a-and the diaper bag?"
"in the boot."
"my extra clothes? and my...my stuff?"
"mhm. i got it, love. and whatever you forgot, i'll get it for you. alright, up, buckle in, that's a girl."
he holds your hand the entire way. you groan softly when a particularly painful contraction hits you, but when you squeeze kyle's hand, all he does is squeeze back. you take deep breaths, leaning your head back, and he hums.
"you're doing so well, love. so well."
"why..." your eyes water. you squeeze his hand again, and when you look down, your vision is blurry from your tears. "why didn't he answer? w-why...why doesn't he...w-why would he..."
"don't worry your pretty head about tha', love," kyle interrupts you gently. "only thing you need to worry about is you and her. i got it."
"o-okay."
she's beautiful. she looks more like you than her father, and kyle counts that blessing. she's got your eyes, your nose, your hair. her cheeks belong to her father, but she might as well be your twin, and when kyle takes her from you later that night, rocking her gently, he can really see up close how much she looks like you.
in the middle of the night, kyle holds your hand as you get up to go to the bathroom. your entire body is tender and sluggish, but kyle keeps you upright as you walk, kissing your head gently as he helps you take a seat on the toilet.
he even gets your underwear set up for you, with the big pad and everything, and he helps you step into it and slips them up and over your hips. you're a tearful mess as he does this, but kyle just presses his forehead against yours.
the look in his eyes, you will never forget it. the intensity. the commitment. the stability. every time you pick up the phone, kyle answers, and sometimes he's thousands of miles away. your own boyfriend can't even have the decency to answer when you're nine months pregnant--what did he fucking think the call was going to be about?
back in your room, kyle fits into the bed with you. he lets your rest your head on his chest, and when you ask him if he's going to go home, he tells you this is close enough.
in the morning, kyle's sitting outside your room with the baby. he's holding her, touching her little nose, letting you sleep in. you had a rough night, and when he found you still with your eyes closed that morning, he figured he would let you keep sleeping, just for an extra hour or so.
you deserve it.
"is that her?"
kyle's head turns with a snap. standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. not man enough to answer the phone when you most needed him, not strong enough to do the right thing and marry you, and not wise enough to realize all he had to do was take care of you, and the world would be right again. you're not greedy. you don't ask for anything. all you want is to love and be loved, and kyle doesn't think that's too much to ask for, kyle thinks you're one of the most selfless women he's ever known, so why does this fucking bastard of a man get to call himself this girl's father?
kyle looks back down, fixing the blanket over your daughter's neck carefully. he thinks he did pretty good swaddling her this time, but you might have an opinion on it.
"i'm gonna say somethin', mate," kyle says lowly. "'n after i say it, y'r gonna do some thinking, real thinking."
he laughs a little, shaking his head.
"why don't you give me my baby, and get the fuck outta 'ere?"
kyle looks up and snickers, shaking his head. he gets a better grip on your daughter, sitting back, and he fixes your ex with a sinister smile.
"and what if i don't? you gonna take her from me?" kyle chuckles. "i'd love to see you try."
he stands, raising a brow.
"listen here, and listen close." kyle takes a step closer to him. "you're a right pile of shit comin' here thinking that you can just waltz right in and be daddy of the year, alright? what kind of man are you, eh? your girl in need, callin' you, and you don't even have the fuckin' balls to answer her? take a good look at your kid, mate, cause it's the last time you're ever gonna see her."
"no, i have the right--"
"to fuck right off," kyle snaps. "if i see you near her or her daughter ever again, i'll find you, and i'll make it worth your while, mate. make you feel real sorry finally, y'hear me? 'n when i take her back home, all of your junk better be out the flat. otherwise, i'll fucking burn it."
"kyle?"
your voice pulls him away. kyle adjusts the baby in his arm, going back inside, and he shuts the door behind him, finding your eyes. you reach for the baby, arms outstretched, and kyle easily sets her down in them, watching as you cradle the tiny thing into the crook of your neck and stroke the back of her neck.
the nurses come in and drop off a few papers. one stops, looking at kyle, giving him a big smile.
"congratulations," she tells him, and he smiles back at her. she takes a seat next to him, holding out a clipboard. "do you think i could get a few details? i just need to know mum's name, baby's name--"
kyle gives it to her. your birthplace. your birthday. your name. your baby's name. then she flips a paper over, putting her pen down.
"and dad's name?" she asks.
kyle sighs, leaning back in his chair. they don't give out birth certificates right away. you have to request it. you won't find out, not just yet, maybe he'll even pick it up for you. you'll be much too busy being mummy dearest.
"kyle," he tells her, flashing her that big smile. she blushes a little, writing it down. "kyle garrick."
he looks back at where you are, your eyes on him. you smile shyly when your eyes meet, and kyle leaves the nurse to come up to you and drape a hand behind your head. he strokes along your hair gently, thumbing at your temple.
"i heard you outside, kyle."
"did you?"
"and i heard you just now."
"mm."
you blink, reaching for the edge of his shirt, and you pull him down, further, until his face is nearly against yours.
"i guess i shouldn't be surprised," you say softly, reaching up to smooth a a few knuckles down his cheek. he leans into it, licking his lips, and you bite your lip. "you've always had a habit of...taking what doesn't belong to you, huh?"
kyle laughs. always the pretty boy, ever since you were little. one smile from him--kyle could get away with anything. anything at all.
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Saying modern day feminists are ‘too extreme’ or ‘take it too far’ has to be one of the funniest ways of saying you have no understanding of feminist history
remember kids, homelessness is the direct result of flaws in the capitalist system 👍 it is not the result of laziness, addiction, or even misfortune. it is a state of being only possible when profit becomes more important than humanity 👍 homelessness is manufactured as a threat, or a promise of what will happen if you don't give your labor to the ruling class 👍 we can disarm this threat by removing its power to cause fear and by being kind to the homeless 👍
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just a regular dude who has a handful of facial scars, decent communication skills, and semi-healthy coping mechanisms
everyone expects him to be a dramatic edgelord and sometimes he plays into that, but he’s also a little goofy. He does sudoku puzzles and takes bubble baths and loves fuzzy slippers but can’t wear them around base
he’s not an extrovert but he’s not an introvert either; he’s the life of the party if you get a couple of drinks in him but no one ever invites him to go drinking because they’re all scared of him
he had a couple of years of mandated therapy that actually managed to do something so now, twenty years later, he’s just a regular dude in the military who made wearing a skull mask his shtick that he still gets a kick out of but doesn’t really care for the dramatics of it all anymore
Simon Riley is Just a Man™️, and he does play into the Ghost persona a little for fun, but otherwise he’s just a guy
he’s just a dude that likes dry jokes and being with his friends when he can. he’s such a middle ground ambivert, he’s fine being out there if he has to, but he has no problem keeping to himself
he can be grumpy, he can get fed up, but overall he’s still just a guy going about his business
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