mad woman

@codstarters​

 hihihi here’s a bad bitch 2 disrupt ur world. Sorry for the long post, feel free to come and plot with her, or like this post and i’ll come to you!

tw: death, mention of abuse

😃 : a happy voicemail // @gus-amado​

Gusamundo! How the fuck are you?! Oh, fuck, this voice mail shit again. Pick up your phone! Anyway, I just got off the phone with  my manager, long story short my piece did really well, they wanna see more, blah blah blah, point is: I’m getting drunk and celebrating tonight, and you’re coming, so get your ass out of that RV and meet me at the local at 8 - no excuses. Love ya, bye.

😟 : a worried voicemail

yo, Penny! Pen? Damn, fucking voicemail. Where the hell did you go last night? You get home okay? Do I need to come rescue you from one of your boytoy’s apartments? Say the word and I’ll be there. I know krav maga. Call me back, yeah? 

“Tabs?” Yaz called out tentatively as she walked down the halls of Tabby’s apartment, carrying large bags of comfort food in her arms. When she found out her wife was sick, Yaz had taken it upon herself to look after her, the only issue was sick people freaked her out and she had no clue how to take care of them. But after a trip to the store, where she brought way too many unnecessary items, and multiple freak outs (which convinced her how well she did at looking after Tabby would directly correlate to how good she was at a girlfriend), Yaz finally made it to her wife’s apartment. “How are you feeling?” she asked the woman once she found her, holding up the bags of groceries, “I bought supplies.”

It was rare for Yaz’s life to be so… uneventful. There was of course her stress about Eleanor, and the constant undercurrent of self-doubt that came with dating someone so different, but all in all, things were good. How fucking strange. With one quick knock on his door, Yaz let herself into Alexander’s apartment, just as she had when they were teenagers and he would come home to find her chatting shit to Alycia. “Alexander Warren, you better be fucking decent, I’m coming in and I’ve got a buttload of ice cream for you,” the woman called obnoxiously as she entered his home, immediately dropping to the ground to greet her best friend’s puppy, “hey cutie,” she scratched the puppy behind his fluffy ears, before leaning over to mock-whisper loud enough for Alex to hear, “if you ever want to live with your cool aunty Yaz, let me know, hun. I got you.”

the nicola that was sitting by the bar now…she had been a little bit different to the one that yaz has met all those years ago, the only person who seemed to have the guts to bring up how everything was for her before, surviving something, a mistake that has been motivated by her emotions after the death of her wife, which not really much people knew, not even the journalist who has tried to get a story out of her. yet still…not a word has come out of her mouth about it. “it seems like fate has decided to make our paths cross once again, miss sanchez.” she greets the brunette with a smirk before finishing the rest of her drink. “a figment of your imagination? that would be such a shame if i was…” she turns to one of the other bartenders to serve her another drink. “well, now…since you’re here….what can i do for you?”

“You do not have to apologize to me for that! I understand how work can take up more of your time than you expected it to. Please tell me you have been resting anyway.” As Eleanor expected, the smile on Yaz’s face quickly disappeared and a frown took its place. She hated that she caused that change to happen. “I am not going anywhere. I am just packing some of my things up so that if the time comes that I change my mind about that, I’ll be a little ready.” As if that will make Yaz feel better about seeing her things packed. She knew that it wouldn’t but she didn’t want to continue to keep the possibility of her leaving from her friend. “No, of course not! I promise you that if it comes to that, if I do decide to leave, I will not do it without saying goodbye to you.”

...

“Rest? Fuck that,” Yaz brushed away Eleanor’s concern. On the weeks where her deadlines ruled her life, rest was not an option. She functioned on late nights, early mornings and a whole lot of coffee to get her through. Lack of rest didn’t help her mood as Eleanor tried to explain the boxes, Yaz’s expression stormy as she took in the room, “nobody packs there bags just in case something happens… unless something did happen that you’re not telling me.” As she jumped to the worst conclusions, Yaz softened, concern taking its place, “is it him? Your ex? Did he find you? If it is, you know I’m not against fucking him up. You could stay at my house, ever since Adrian moved out it’s been empty as hell-  is that it? You need a place to stay?”

Jo: that's what i'm here for

Jo: "i fucked someone" "omg WHOOO?" "myself... and i did a goddamn good job", kinda like where that conversation would lead ngl. and THAN YOU i agree. who fucking cares about your favorite movie, CAN 👏 YOU 👏 COMMUNICATE 👏WITH 👏 YOUR 👏 PARTNER 👏 IN 👏 BED 👏?????? or in general really but yknow what i mean

Jo: lmao nah thanks man i don't need more reasons to hate myself i can't dump me if i fuck up, i'm stuck with me. if people actually did that, do you think there'd be any couples left?

Yaz: see, that's some feminist shit right there. If you can't fuck yourself, how the hell you gonna fuck somebody else???

Yaz: PLEASE. I'm a grown ass woman, I don't have time to figure out what you want or read between the lines. just TELL ME. i can handle it! but if you think masturbation counts as cheating, that's it, we're over lmao

At this point in their friendship, Eleanor was used to Yaz checking up on her when she does not expect it. She actually was relieved and even comfortable everytime she was in Yaz’s presence. After Valentine’s Day, however, she was not exactly looking forward to her friend showing up at her apartment, not when there was something she was hiding. That was why it took her a while to open the door. “I was wondering when you were coming over.”, she said with a quick laugh. “That’s perfect, thank you! And oh no, you never have to apologize to me for that. I missed you just as much.” She took a step to the side so that the brunette can step inside. “I can explain.”, she mumbled, referring to the moving out boxes that were in her living room.

...

“Sorry it’s been a while between visits, deadlines have been kicking my arse,” she said easily, sauntering into Eleanor’s place with the same confidence she always did. Then she saw the boxes. As someone who made a habit out of ditching cities, she knew immediately what was happening. Dark eyes snapped to Eleanor, the easy charm disappearing completely as she frowned at her friend. “Where are you going, El?” All attempts to keep her voice light failed as hurt and sadness seeped in. Placing the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, Yaz stared dejectedly around at the half-packed home of her best friend, “what is this? Were… you gonna tell me, or were you gonna do a Sanchez and leave without saying goodbye?”

yazsanchez​:

“Listen, it’s better than dining at every 5-star restaurant in the city and rippin’ off the best items on their menu. At least this way, I’m not at risk of getting in shit or losing hundreds of dollars,” Devon countered, dark eyes challenging the woman seated across the table. He would never admit it out loud, but this was easily the most stimulating conversation he’d had all night. But then again, was he surprised? It was Yaz, after all. “It would be very fun. Pretty sure they’d have to re-brand and call it the Green Light Party, but there’d be way more people in here and far fewer suits and ties. Which, frankly, would do some people a favour. Take that guy,” he nods in the direction of the dance floor. “He’s dripping in sweat.”

“Always the tone of surprised with you, huh Yaz?” He taunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “You can admit that I’m good at a few things - nobody’s here to hear you. But lucky for you, I’m willing to prove you wrong.” His words are lighthearted, but there is some truth to them. There weren’t’ many things Devon wouldn’t do to prove Yaz wrong, and dancing with some nameless female was one of the easier things on the list.

“Beef Ragu," he repeats, lips pressing into a polite smile though his eyes giveaway the laugh that’s threatening behind his lips. "Excellent hangover food. If you throw in a little cheese and slow cook the beef and you might have a half-decent dish on your hands. Honestly, my experience with beef rage is limited, but I’m sure whatever you make is delicious.” Dev lifts his glass to his lips, sipping on the dark liquor as he contemplates his next words. 

“You two should have dinner at the restaurant sometime. My treat.”

The unspoken rule between Yaz and Devon was to never admit they were having fun. It was a perpetual game of chicken, like the first to admit they enjoyed the other’s company would immediately lose the game. It didn’t matter how much she enjoyed verbally sparring with him, admitting it was against the rules. “That’s not what I’m talking about though, I’m just saying that you’re better than what Becky with the green wristband thinks classifies as gourmet. Fucking bring some creativity to the table, mix up your flavours, your cuisines, fusion. Stop settling into this boring little box of – what was it? Oysters and steak? I’m losing my appetite just thinking of it.”

Another eyeroll came from Devon’s words, though she couldn’t hide the smirk on her lips. “Pretty sure that’s just the Albion on a regular night then,” an unexpected snort left her as Yaz’s gaze landed on the man in question, “Christ, look at him. Maybe that’s your target? You could go dance with Sweat Man over there.” It would be more challenging than the nameless females Devon boasted about dancing with. She didn’t even bother acknowledging the rest of his challenge with a comment, knowing there was no way in hell he’d get her to willingly compliment him on the things they both knew he was good at.

describe your dream partner.

This is loaded. I have shit taste, I shouldn’t be trusted to choose my dream partner, because I’ve mostly only dated arseholes. I’ve given up on the idea of the perfect partner, or plans, or what the ideal relationship should look like. Just, you know, someone I genuinely like, who gives a shit about the world, and doesn’t make me hate myself, that’s it.

are you rebellious?

We’re not born to follow the rules, that’s boring.

if you could only keep one of your personal items, what would you choose?

😠 : an angry voicemail

Yaz tried to never go too long without seeing Eleanor. From experience, she knew how hard it was living alone, especially with a bucket full of issues to deal with, so she made a habit of checking in on her friend, on bringing her wine and a friendly face to talk to whenever she could. It wasn’t just for Eleanor though, Yaz needed these catch-ups too. Rapping her knuckles on the door to her friend’s apartment, the woman leant against the frame, grinning brightly when Eleanor finally emerged, “hey, pretty girl, I brought wine. It’s some fancy French shit I bet you’ll love,” she waved said bottle in her hand, “sorry for crashing, I missed you like hell and figured we were due for a catch up.”