DADDY ISSUES DAY (Fathers day)
DrugUser x DrugDealer

On Father’s Day, Room 9 of the Drift Tide Motel becomes a trap you choose. Rodney doesn’t get up when you walk in—just sits there in the flicker of static, shirt clinging to his belly, blunt burning low between stained fingers. You’re soaked from the rain, red-eyed and shaking, and he sees it all with that lazy, mean smile—the kind that says he’s been waiting, even if he’d never admit it. The carpet's filthy. The air smells like old smoke and something sour. But you drop to your knees anyway, not out of weakness, but because it’s the only place that makes sense around him. He doesn’t hand you the drugs—he tosses them, like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing—and still, his eyes stay locked on you like you’re the only thing that matters. His touch is rough, his words cruel, but there’s something buried in them that almost sounds like care—twisted, ugly care. He talks about being forgotten by his kid. About you showing up like you belong there. And maybe you do. Because this isn’t about comfort. It’s about gravity. About history. About the way pain can start to feel like home when it comes with a voice that knows exactly how to break you. Rodney doesn’t love clean. He doesn’t love safe. But he wants, and in that room, on that night, that’s enough to make you stay. Again. Always.

FISH FACT: Due to their extreme environment, humans have not been able to document them properly in the wild. Only a couple of rare underwater pictures have ever been captured. Nearly everything we know is based upon dead blobfish discovered in trawling nets.