Hey, wanna save water by showering together?
Already got someone to do that with, but if you look like Pamela Anderson you're welcome to join us.
Letâs try Domâs for that, these Oasis boxes wouldnât fit one of Pamâs tits in them.
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@sashamsmith
Hey, wanna save water by showering together?
Already got someone to do that with, but if you look like Pamela Anderson you're welcome to join us.
Letâs try Domâs for that, these Oasis boxes wouldnât fit one of Pamâs tits in them.

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â Korra â Sasha
Korra: yo are you not a sick person anymore?
Korra: u kno what i mean đđ
Sasha: im always a sick person bby
Sasha: but nah i getchu im good
Sasha: why whats on the menu
tysondabsâ:
While he processed all of this holding onto her, he thought about his own life. Childhood hadnât been a cakewalk but from thirteen onwards, it had been particularly rough. The things he had witnessed in those years, sleeping in underpasses, stealing from the local liquor store just to pawn it off again for food, to meeting Dom, and the things they went on to get caught up in together, all the fights, scrapes, the dead body that haunted him some nightsâŚit was a lot, and if he wasnât so clueless mental health issues, would understand that there was trauma on trauma accumulated in those life experiences. And yet, somehow, this feels like one of the hardest things heâd had to face. Because at least with his own life, heâd always had choices â the choice to fight or to flee, run or run down. Here, he feels like he hasnât been given any choices â just a situation thatâs shittier than shitty. He pulls away from the embrace for space, though they stay connected, her hand inside his shirt. He looks down, nods at her words, like heâs at a funeral paying his respects.Â
But he doesnât know what to say back. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, heâs really stuck here. âItâs my fault too,â he nods, still looking down some space between them. ââCause I started thinking, and hoping. And making plans.â He doesnât mean to make her feel bad, worse than she already does, sometimes he says things out of spite but this isnât one of those situations. He was just stating the facts here. âGonna drop all that now, though.â No plans, hopes, ideas or expectations. Just whatever next date she had open on her calendar for him, and wished to see him. Just those days, dotted around all the rest, until he up and left Silverlake, he supposed. And that would be the end of that, the nameless thing over before it began. The next is mumbled, in quick succession, the words nearly tripping over each other. âNot my place to tell you how to live your life.â So he was going to do what he always told others to do with his, and butt out.Â
He pulls away and Sasha winces at the lost contact, the cold thatâs surging where he just was pressed up against her something other than physical. Heart sinking all the way down to her stomach at his words, the rush of panic enough to at least get rid of the hiccups. Or replace them with the shakes.
Taking that trembling hand out of his shirt, she squeezes her eyes shut, just for a moment. He hoped. And made plans, whatever that means. She doesnât want to know. Sheâs dying to know. Gonna drop all that now though, he says and Sasha believes him. Thatâs always been plan A anyway, all the way from the beginning, whenever that was, when she was into the thought of being his whore. Whatever their equivalent of that would be, she still could be it. It could be fun, hot, safe for everyone involved until he found his somebody. She can, yes, for sure. As soon as she stops shaking sheâs good to go.
Tysonâs mumbled declaration heard loud and clear, she looks up at his face, takes in his expression in a pained silence, suddenly remembering one single line from the texts that brought them here. Like fuck she can. That same shaky hand reaches to cup a cheek, grip at his chin, brush through his hair, anything, deciding otherwise halfway there and pulling it away to wrap around herself instead like sheâs bracing for impact. Hell, maybe she should. Sheâs not looking at him when she says it, gaze drifting somewhere by the window where itâs easier, his own texted words from before coming out with a sharp exhale. âWhat if I wanted it to be though?â His place, that is.
honestly you need to smoke less
I kinda see where you're coming from.
Honestly you and Tyson just need to get together.
So he can be dick brothers with half the neighborhood how my dad was with my mom? Or have to deal with my boss and his minions until he says or does something and gets into shit because these people are criminals?
If I could get out for him I would. But I can't.

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[from Tyson, big surprise] Are you an orphanage? Because I want to give you kids.
I kinda wish I was sometimes because
honestly + milk doesnât build strong bones
I mean that's neither here nor there but I never drink it and don't have a backbone anymore so.
Honestly, I think we should get to know each other better. Yep.
Honestly... you're not wrong there.
honestly, i see a very bright future for you, and it's near
Don't threaten me with a good time.
SEND âHONESTLY,â AND SOMETHING YOU WANT TO TELL MY MUSE TO SEE THEIR REACTION. [2|3]
CREDIT AT SOURCE

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sashađjuni
juni: ooooh there we go. you don't have to sound good to rap, just have to talk fucking fast
juni: got that covered
juni: can i twerk while kazooing?! what kind of question is that!!
juni: i could twerk it on a boat and i could twerk it with a goat or however green eggs and ham goes. i know theres a goat in there somewhere
juni: i don't know what i'm saying.. maybe lets not talk about baby stuff
juni: love youuu tho đđđ thinking im a cute monkey vibe rather than a demon devil drag queen or whatever they're supposed to be. the highest compliment lol
sasha: true tbh perfect job for agent green
sasha: oh my god juni
sasha: look at you already rapping
sasha: fine w me
sasha: highest non-insult more like
sasha: hes still a bad guy no
tysondabsâ:
Heâs holding her, shaking his head when she mumbles her apologies, Tysonâs wordless way of letting her know not to be sorry, that none of this is in any way her fault. How could it be? Was it her fault her father died and she up and moved as far from home as she could imagine â only to land in the city of supposed Angels and have her money stolen by the one person she trusted? Anyone would have given up for less. He remembers that specific chain of events, remembers literally everything sheâs told him up until now, actually. Heâs surprisingly good at that, filing away information about the people he loves, the things theyâve said, texted, hell, uttered half-whispered during calls. His mindâs a computer filing system for that shit and sheâs no different. He remembers the most offhand things, like the fact she traded a bottle of cough syrup to get her nipples pierced in high school. When you added all of it up, the facts of her life, he understood the position she was in, how she ended up here. Not her fault. He feels hopeless, sad, angry, mostly angry about all this. Doesnât know what to say. Just that he wants to kill everybody involved in her miserable line of work starting from Frank and ending with that ugly ass motherfucker who found them in bed that morning. Silent, shaking his head still, holding onto her still, because he feels too helpless and inept to do anything else. But hey, at least he can say this much. âYou got nothing to be sorry for.âÂ
She waits for her breath to even out, holding onto him still, a hand snaking underneath the hem of his shirt to rest on the small of his back. The momentary comfort of skin on skin actually helping with the physical stuff, the endless tears, the twitching stomach, all of it. Mentally though is a whole other story and Sasha finds herself wincing at his words. Looking at him again in disbelief she feels her bottom lip tremble in that frown. You got nothing to be sorry for, he says but she can think of several things. Like this current situation. The texts from today. Dave. Being the worldâs worst rebound. She hiccups a bitter laugh. âI put you through so much shit. Didnât mean to though. Swear I didnât.â Looking away, she swallows down another surge of tears, hold tightening around him. She meant every word, god only knows. âI thought youâd turn back and leave. Just now. That Iâd never â â She doesnât dare finish that sentence.
tysondabsâ:
They start out gradually and then come all at once, the tears. He doesnât know what to do here, has never been good at this part of consoling someone, whether they be friend or lover or something in-between. The manly way to deal with things, to suck it up, to not acknowledge itâs happening, all the terrible ways heâs learned to compartmentalize â tears wonât help here. Because shit, seeing her cry? Makes him want to do the same. Makes him all but go to pieces right there.Â
He gets up, stands to his full height of 6â˛4, pulling her in with lanky arms. âShhh,â attempts at consolation, not sure if heâs trying to soothe her as much as himself, maybe both. âI gotchu.â It eats him up inside to see her like this and knowing itâs partially or wholly because of him, that doesnât sit right with Tyson in the slightest. âItâs okay.â No, it isnât, none of this is, but what were they supposed to do? Die? He has no answers for what the hell to do about the situation theyâve found themselves in, but thereâs got to be something, right? Got to be.
Here they go again, Tyson pulling her in and Sasha just going with it, finding her breath somewhere within the spaces of his body as he holds her through the sobs. Stomach churning where itâs pressed against him, not knowing what to do with herself when the rarity that is full-on sobbing actually happens, when anything surges through the cracks from beneath the numb concrete to where she can feel it. Face buried in his chest, holding onto him for a minute longer, for another, âIâm so sorry, baby, so, so sorryâ repeated like a mantra before pulling back to look at him, gaze travelling from his face to the mess she made of his shirt. âShitâ, she chokes out between marginally drier sobs. âYour shirt.â
sashađjuni
juni: iâm in because you couldnât actually hear me lol
juni: i could totally have the nicole shkddjhdk whatever her last name is vibe but youâd want me to lip sync đ¤
juni: if i can be your nicole with a kazoo, you can be in the band too! 𼺠purdy please sashaaaa
juni: whatâs nellie doing?
juni: i could not imagine raising a babe like that but gotta do what you gotta do i guess
juni: ANNOYINGLY CUTE
juni: that guy is so cute with his brain helmet
juni: i think heâs a monkey
sasha: maybe we should start a rap collective thing instead
sasha: girl brockhampton
sasha: i hella see it man
sasha: can you twerk while playin the kazoo
sasha: idk vocals? shed be better than me at least she does karaoke
sasha: agreed but also idt id keep a baby if i wasnt done w the scene yakno
sasha: wild world
sasha: you sayin that in a good or bad way
[2 mins later]
sasha: i just googled and youre right lol
sasha: either way hes more your vibe than that sleazy red thing
tysondabsâ:
Maybe he made a mistake coming here today. He brushes off that thought with her hand on his face, leaning into it and simultaneously wishing he hadnât because he notices her eyes watering up. If his own emotions were closer to the surface, instead of buried deep, deep beneath an ice floe somewhere in the Arctic, he might be doing the same. But he just looks at her through dopey, impossibly sad eyes that tell much of the same story hers do. Unable to stay still in one place as usual, he finds himself leaning on the kitchen table, tugging on Sashaâs wrist to bring her in between his legs. This is way theyâre a bit more eye level. More equal. He canât bring himself to say a word of those texts but theyâre on his mind. At least theyâre both here, right now, at least they have each other in this moment. Or something like that. He looks down at the space between them, whatever there is of it, teeth biting into lip.Â
âThereâs a new pizza place opening up on Sunset,â he says and looks at her like itâs the most routine Saturday theyâve ever had, and this is the most important news heâs had to break all day. He smiles, and his fingers brush her long hair to fall behind her shoulder. His wrist stays there on her neck, limp. âSaw it on the way here.â What else could he say? A heaviness is present, a demon on his back he canât shake off, and itâs the worst kind of feeling there is. And yet, heâs smiling and talking like nothing out of the ordinary is happening, chewing on the inside of his cheek because the unsaid things are eating away at him. âLooks like it might be a good one.â He doesnât follow up with his usual offers, plans made, a letâs go there when it opens. Plans are for other people, people not like them. Heâs learned that by now.Â
She thought she knew everything there is to know about helplessness at this point, and with good reason, but Tysonâs face, the things she sees in his eyes as they lock on to her own teary ones are a whole other dimension of it, a place sheâs been before that never gets old. This is the parking lot all over again, it's Dungeon, it's the day they were woken up by Dave, and most importantly it is her fault. Blinking once, twice, more and more tears trickling down her cheeks that sheâs too drained to really feel any way about, too busy staring into his eyes.
He tugs at her wrist, pulling her closer and Sasha goes along with it, arms reaching to casually wrap around him, resting in places along his spine with a defeated sigh. His words take a moment to register, but when they do all she can do is stare through her tears, wondering who is he going to invite there. Here we go, feelings about another girl in his life and with them an involuntary sound, part laugh, part sob.
âOh yeah?â, she asks in the most casual voice she can muster, like nothingâs going on, like there arenât new tears still running down her face and the beginning of the hiccups somewhere in the base of her lungs. âIs it one of these that have like, special themes? Garage shit?â, managed out through sobs and hiccups.

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sashamsmithâ:
She watches him still, motionless, defeated, nodding along to his words that register but donât quite reach where she guesses they were aiming for. Eyes focusing on the half-done shirt that has that same urge tug at her fingertips only this time to undo the buttons and wrap herself around him, between him and the world. Doesnât hit as hard when youâre the one that made his face twist in that way that pushed you to the verge of tears, hell only knows which part of âthe worldâ she was gonna shield him from. She does give him her best really now? look though, wincing at the rest of what he says as she pushes the sheet up and around everything heâs already seen before like it means something, like anything does. âBetter not. Lisaâs gonna skin you alive.â Itâs not even a lie. Her eyes drift from him to her hands still clutching at the bedsheets by the fistful. âDonât worry about it.â Thereâs things she could say still, things she needs to say, and for a second or ten there nothing matters, nothing but the need to reiterate The Thing so he knows and has something to take to work with him. And yet. âYou have a good day now, âkay?â
Thereâs nothing else left to say so he focuses on doing up the rest of the buttons on his shirt, flits around the room scatterbrained until he finds his wallet and phone. He pauses in front of her one more time but itâs a thick, uncomfortable silence this time, one that would probably be better eliminated by leaving altogether. âYeah. You too,â he returns. Itâs a world apart from what their usual goodbyes have become, stealing kisses and moments to get one last one in, and then one last one more, and then â yet one more. But not here, he canât really be moved to do the barest minimum, to come around the bed and leave the briefest peck. He canât, and he feels shitty for not being able to. So instead he does some kind of half-assed, awkward wave, and then heâs leaving the room, and the apartment, stepping into sunshine and now trying to focus on the fact heâs an hour and a half late for work and what excuse heâll come up with for Lisa today.Â
END.
tysondabsâ:
Now he feels like shit. Mostly. He pushed, but she didnât push back, and itâs not supposed to go like that. More than that, sheâs standing there, in absolutely nothing, and it feels like an unequal fight on all accounts. If you can even call this a fight. But he also doesnât want to relent or back down, so itâs a bitch of a situation. Mostly he wants his head to just explode. His hands drop what he was doing, only three of the buttons from the bottom done up and the rest still undone. âDonât be,â he says, somewhat reluctantly. âNot your fault.â Itâs only five words, to say what he really wants to, but somehow saying them would feel like pulling each of his teeth out one by one.  I appreciate what you did. He canât say it, so he swallows it down, shoves it aside, and continues buttoning up his shirt. âReally am late for work, though,â he adds, in case she thinks heâs coming up with an excuse to dash. âOr Iâd stay. OrâŚdunno, got the fuck out of here together.â Where? He doesnât know, anywhere but here was better. If they were ânormalâ, hell, heâd ditch work entirely, Lisa be damned, and they could go to the nearest diner and order food and talk shit and laugh and all that. But they werenât normal, and this right here was a reminder of that.Â
She watches him still, motionless, defeated, nodding along to his words that register but donât quite reach where she guesses they were aiming for. Eyes focusing on the half-done shirt that has that same urge tug at her fingertips only this time to undo the buttons and wrap herself around him, between him and the world. Doesnât hit as hard when youâre the one that made his face twist in that way that pushed you to the verge of tears, hell only knows which part of âthe worldâ she was gonna shield him from. She does give him her best really now? look though, wincing at the rest of what he says as she pushes the sheet up and around everything heâs already seen before like it means something, like anything does. âBetter not. Lisaâs gonna skin you alive.â Itâs not even a lie. Her eyes drift from him to her hands still clutching at the bedsheets by the fistful. âDonât worry about it.â Thereâs things she could say still, things she needs to say, and for a second or ten there nothing matters, nothing but the need to reiterate The Thing so he knows and has something to take to work with him. And yet. âYou have a good day now, âkay?â