#in stranger things and in this shitshow we call reality

[infinite-orangepeel]

some loser: “bisexual people aren’t real”

me: “ugh i know right” [sobs dramatically into a vintage silk handkerchief in pure devestation] “it breaks my heart too that steve harrington is fictional”

[maipareshaan]

I find the haydur nation or whatever hater community around foodie beauty and alr so fascinating, obvs there are a lot of simple reasons as to why they have a hate following, but one is that a lot of these people got too invested and then they felt betrayed used and gaslighted. Like its literally such an insane parasocial phenomenon.

Like with their diets, they'd be like we are going on a diet cuz my health is so bad like bedridden bad cancer bad diabetes bad (not sure why Chantal had to take her uterus out but that too also ofcourse we can't know how much the cancer or that is due to weight but i think when we say weight in extreme cases its also clearly a sign of health, unhealthy at every size like obvs any size person could get these health problems anyways don't cancel me lol or do whatever), so the audience is like we need to provide support bcz this person is asking for motivation and accountability which btw they explicitly do, bad move imo, ya so the audience takes responsibility to provide support because its like we will be the reason towards your positive growth and then these people fail bcz they have a food addiction and addictions are hard to beat, now there is also an insane factor of how this gets them views and money so people also feel like they are being expoited in the cycle, like someone setting up a weight loss channel and getting views and comments and thus money is not exploitation ofcourse but then failing is bcz you got money from it then didn't hold your end and also negativity bad habits blah blah, but this part of the cycle gets them money too bcz ppl like trainwrecks, now people are like is this planned, or perhaps its a matter of pull and push, did this person ask gor motivation with the intention of failing to get money which then deserves hate or the more realistic this person has an incentive to not try to lose weight one being money and they just went went that thus deserves hate, ofcourse if youtube wasn't a thing this person would go through the cycle anyways they just never had the motivation of stranger support (which will always suck like comeon why would you do that lol) or the money by giving up and doing mukbangs, which brings in another factor- the feeling like they are parataking in fat/feeder fetish without being told now the hate is for promoting fetish and obesity blah blah. Obviously like their obsession with if this is feederisn far outnumbers the anyone watching her for it like their popularity bcz of being a trainwreck outweights that aspect.

There is also the conspiracy aspect, the decoding is she doing it for the feeders, is she trollin, did she even plan to lose weight, is she lyin, is she showing her true diet and then they are like we are being GASLIGHTED. Gorl they are so ridiculous jeez, imagine crying about how a mentally ill food addict on the internet that you can fully avoid is gaslighting you for years, gorl i think you deserve it if you can' close the tab and keep falljng for it for YEARS.

Anyways with Chantal there was also another cycle, the cycle of abusive relationships, we have her chat, and i stress, LITERALLY SENDING HER MONEY SAYING SHE DESERVES BETTER PLEASE LEAVE HIM, sending 2 or 5 dollars to write motivational self worth messages, asking her what does he give her that we don't, that is so insane, imagine asking a stranger who shares her life online what does the guy you fuck give you that we don't, WHATTTTTT, God Nader era you will always be peak shitshow peak insane you will never be topped as far as reality tv realm goes, anyways, obvs same problem, she comes online venting, i can't remember her ever directly saying she needs support for leaving but i sure she has said she's done but she's happy she has them aka the people in her chat, she even said if she said the word 'paperclip' a word she asked them to decide as the safe word to call the cops if her 'bf' storms in her house, anyways promoting abuse, giving an abuser a platform, romanticising abuse yadda yadda. Kinda similar. Again the batshit thing remains monetary value in keeping the rollercoaster up, getting money by airing it out, getting money from concerned viewers who feel like their message will be read if they give money and that will change her life, her then using this money to spend on Nader, Nader being with her for the youtube money, the youtube money coming partly from people begging her to not be with him. Amazing.

Personally i think they go through the cycle as one normally does and then give up and they know they will earn money from it so do exploit it but that pretty much their attempts are genuine, is it possible they are like views are low let me plan a cycle, sure i think its a bit unlikely given how in real life the cycle is always ongoing, like why would someone do this to themselves and what are they glorifying, perhaps its just showcasing the ugly reality of how hard addiction and depression is and how spaces for fetishes exist but most of their views and their popularity comes from fascination of it. Cope and avoid. Not a fan of i am healthy and i feel great, like that kind of lying is ehh but anyways that's atleast for the most part not the problem with them. Ya its about spaces, and i can't say i am fan of them but the whole i am being gaslighted thing is so idiotic.

[calpalirwin]

Spotlight

Summary: Ashton gets back to his craft

Word Count: 2.3k

And away, and away we go!

__

To say that watching Ashton under a year and a half of quarantine and uncertainty was difficult would be an understatement. Watching him ride out his lowest lows as he chased for the slightest high broke your heart in ways you didn’t know were possible. Sure, there were the moments when you thought he was pulling himself out of his personal pit of hell- the immediate release of CALM a week into lockdown, the creation of Superbloom and its release, along with the mini virtual concert. But oftentimes your usually happy-go-lucky sweetheart of a boyfriend was incredibly short-tempered, the smallest of things igniting a wildfire of frustration that tested both your patience and relationship with him. 

It was a tense year and a half, filled with screaming matches, tears falling like broken glass, and slamming doors. But it was also a year and a half of heartfelt confessions, new routines allowing for renewed intimacy, and selfish desires that the time would stay stopped.

Oh, but the way he lit up like the sky on the 4th of July when he learned the news that he could go back into the studio with his boys? Worth every damn thing watching his grin as he circled the date on the calendar in a wide streak of black Sharpie. 

And when those studio days turned into rehearsal days? You thought he’d fall apart as he tried to spit out the words. 

“BABE!” Ashton’s voice boomed the second the front door opened, loud with excitement.

“What?” you asked, coming to greet him.

Your own cheeks hurt looking at the grin plastered across his face. “Rehearsals!” he whooped.

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah!”

“For tour?!”

“Yes and no. We have a show!”

“ASHTON!”

“I KNOW!” His arms were around you in a flash, picking you up and spinning you around as both of your laughs bounced off the walls. 

“Dizzy, dizzy!” you called out to him still laughing.

He set you down on your feet, and then his lips were on yours in a bruising kiss. “FUCK!” he couldn’t stop laughing or smiling. “Baby, I’m so excited. I have a show. With the boys. It’s real. We’re back. If we get to do this show… God, baby, it changes everything. I- It means we really get to go back. We won’t have to keep postponing our tour. We can put out the new album. And…” the words fell in a flurry as the reality of what he’d been missing for so long being within arm’s reach again set in. A rogue tear rolled down his cheek. “Fuck, I’ve missed this feeling.”

“I’ve missed seeing you this happy,” you smiled at him, catching the tear with your thumb before brushing his wild hair from his face.

“You’re coming right?” he asked, his smile faltering as his voice took on a note of fear. 

“To the show? Of course, babe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

His lips curved upwards again, but it didn’t quite match the smile he’d been wearing when he first came bounding through the door. “And tour? If we get that far? If we get that lucky?”

“Stop,” you said, holding his face in your hands. “Stop the spiral. Let yourself be excited.”

“But-” The doubts were beginning to rear their ugly head. He had already allowed himself to believe the covid shit was behind him once before. 

“I don’t want the rug pulled out from under you either,” you told him softly. “But allow yourself this moment, Ash. And we’ll deal with the rest later.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a second as he leaned into your touch. When he opened them again, the kaleidoscope of colors that were his hazel eyes were soft. “I-” he started, words of how sorry he was for all the times he snapped harshly at you, how grateful he was for you toughing it out with him, and how he selfishly wasn’t ready to start missing you again a trapped jumble on his tongue. “I-” he tried again.

“I know,” you interrupted, stretching upwards to nudge your nose against his. “I know.”

~~~

While he hadn’t been able to get the words out, he found a different way of expressing himself in a way that left you both breathless and at a loss for words. 

And when you woke the next morning, rolling over to find his side of the bed empty, despite your excitement for Ashton, your heart ached for the reality of what was to come of him stepping back into the spotlight. 

But the bed was still warm, suggesting it hadn’t been long since he had left, and when you stumbled downstairs, you easily found him standing in the kitchen, his back to you as he poured coffee into two mugs. “Morning,” you greeted, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulders.

“Oh, hey,” he said, turning in your arms to kiss the top of your head. “You coulda stayed in bed. I was bringing up the coffee.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he giggled. “What? Did you think I’d left already?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you let go of your hold on him. “Yeah.”

“Without saying goodbye, first? C’mon, you gotta know me better than that.”

You shrugged again, reaching around him for one of the coffee mugs. “Well, thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip.

He frowned as he grabbed the other mug. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N… C’mon, we’ve been stuck together in this house forever now. You think I don’t know when you’re hiding from me?”

“I- It’s nothing. When do you gotta meet with the guys?”

“Not for a while. Stop deflecting.”

You sighed. “The bed was empty, okay? Let’s face it. For the shitshow that’s covid, it gave us a lot of time. A lot of time we don’t normally get to share because of our jobs. And that’s all I want to say about it because I’m happy, Ash. I’m happy you have studio days and rehearsal days again. I’m happy you have shows again.”

“But you can be happy for me, and pissed about an empty bed. You can be both at the same time.”

“Yeah, but it makes me feel fuckin’ lousy, Ash. Like this is the reality of your job. We’re not strangers to it. I’m just being selfish.”

He chuckled, taking your coffee mug from you and setting it along with his on the counter. “I’m not ready to miss you either.” Then his arms were pulling you in close to him, his hold both strong and gentle. “Wanna be selfish with me before I have to leave?” he asked, his breath hot on your neck, the kiss hungry as it traveled up the column of your throat to your lips. “Be selfish with me until we can’t.”

And how could you deny Ashton’s request when he held you, looked at you, and loved you the way he did?

~~~

A couple hours after Ashton left for rehearsals, you left yourself to go surprise him. The house was too quiet without him, and rehearsals were different from regular studio time. More special in a way you couldn’t put words to. 

For some reason you were nervous as you pushed your way into the studio, his head snapping up at the sound of the door. “Baby!” he grinned up at you from where he was sitting on the floor next to Calum. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you guys. Bring you all some lunch,” you said, holding up a food bag as proof. 

“You’re the greatest,” he beamed, pushing himself up onto his feet and crossing the room to you. 

“So you rehearse on the floor?” you questioned with a teasing smile.

“Well, we were taking a small break,” he told you with a sheepish smile.

“We were actually ordering food, but this is way better,” Michael chimed in, taking the bag of food from you, and giving you a quick hug hello. “Ash is right. You’re the greatest.”

“Yeah, best surprise ever, especially for Mike,” Luke laughed and Calum nodded in agreement.

Happy chatter ensued as food was passed around, Ashton sitting as close to you as he could, his nerves making the tips of his fingers shake. “You okay?” you whispered, gripping one of his hands tightly in yours.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just nerves about getting back into things.” He gave you a quick kiss before getting up to go sit at his drum kit. And how he could manage to look both so at home and so vulnerable at the same time was beyond you. 

You looked over at the other guys, wondering if they were seeing what you were seeing, and Calum nodded knowingly at you while Luke and Michael offered up sad smiles of confirmation. Sighing, you got up and made your way over to Ashton, wedging yourself between him and his drum kit. “Talk to me,” you urged softly.

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” you agreed. “But you didn’t stop being a musician. You still played. You still made music this whole time.”

“What if we mess up? What if I mess up?”

“What if you don’t?”

He scoffed lightly. “I’m being serious, Y/N.”

“I am, too. Look, Ash. These are your boys. Playing music with them is what you were born to do. And I’m pretty sure they’re having the same worry as you about messing up. And it’s okay if you guys mess up. That’s why you’re having rehearsals.”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah… Suppose you’re right.” He pushed his hands through his hair, taking another slow breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do this. Muscle memory.”

“Muscle memory,” you smiled reassuringly at him, draping your arms across his shoulders and leaning your forehead against his. “You got this, baby.”

“Will you stay? Having an audience… having you… It might help.”

“Of course, babe.”

~~~

The night of the show, you stood off to the side and out of the way as Ashton and the guys talked with the press about being back after almost two years of not playing a show together. You watched with a smile at the way Calum and Luke started humming their responses, and Michael took over the conversation when Ashton started fidgeting with his hands, giving Ashton that brief pause to collect his thoughts and settle his nerves. 

“Muscle memory,” you reminded him softly when they all came back to prepare to go on stage.

“Muscle memory,” he nodded, shrugging out of his jacket. But his hands still shook as he draped it over a chair. So you grabbed them, holding them still in your own hands. “Fuck, I hate this,” he whispered in defeat.

“You’re allowed to be nervous, Ash.”

“I know. I just hate it. Of all the feelings I’ve missed, this isn’t one of them.”

“So focus on that. Focus on how great it feels knowing that there’s a crowd of people out there waiting for you guys. And fuck the rest.”

“It really helps that you’re here, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t miss this moment for anything.”

“I-” he started, but a stagehand came rushing through, ushering them towards the stage.

You kissed him swiftly. “I love you, too. Now go be amazing.”

Again, with a smile plastered on your face, you watched them from the wings. It was effortless how easily they fell back into performing live with each other, as if covid had never stopped them. The perfect team of brothers. 

Ashton’s eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree when he came backstage, a sweaty smile on his own face as he hugged you tight. “That was amazing!” you beamed.

“That!” He pointed a finger towards that stage. “That I’ve missed!”

“This!” You grabbed his face in your hands. “This is the Ash I’ve missed.”

“I was trying to tell you something before I went on. Something I’ve been trying to tell you for a while now actually.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah… I, um… Fuck, I dunno why this is so hard for me. But I wanted to say thanks. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to love lately. I know I’ve been more moody than usual under covid, and I know I’ve taken a lot of my frustration out on you.”

“Ash-”

He held up a finger, cutting you off. “Lemme finish. I- I know I hit some of the lowest lows I’ve hit in a long time because of covid. And I know this shit’s far from over, and there’s probably going to be more rough moments as we get back into the swing of things after so long. But thank you, okay? I dunno what I would’ve done without you.”

“Ash-”

“Hold on. There’s one last thing. When we go on tour, I want you to come with us. If you can, of course. I just… I’d rather not miss you if I don’t have to. I- I need you. In a way I never thought I’d need someone. And for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever understand. But I need you.”

“Can I talk now?”

“Yeah.”

“For as much as covid has sucked, it gave us a lot of time to be together. A lot of time we didn’t have before.”

“You told me that already.”

“Shush. It’s my turn. We’ve seen the best and the worst of each other. And for all the times we could have given up, we didn’t. Every unlovable moment, we just loved each other harder. And for a while I wondered why that was. And it’s like you said. For whatever reason, I need you the same way you need me. And getting to see you get back to being this happy again… I wanna keep seeing it. And I wanna keep seeing it in ways that don’t keep us apart. So… I was talking with my boss, and with the band, and your team. And this was supposed to be a surprise but…”

“You’re coming on tour?” he interrupted, voice full of hope.

“I’m coming on tour,” you grinned.

__

Tag List

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[donutloverxo]

The donut mishap

Note - This is the first of my soft!reader series. I'll try to post them chronologically now on. Note that this is set in 2013. And a dear friend helped me out with this. Thanks a lot to her <3.

Summary - A quest of baking donuts brings you to the avengers tower. But what happens when your paths cross with the star spangled man?

Warnings - curse words, steves ptsd

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You squinted your eyes concentrating on putting just the right amount of pressure on the piping bag to get the perfect swirl of frosting on the cupcake. Your breathe hitched as a little air bubble appeared, aside from that it looked perfect. With a nice stiff peak.

You smiled looking over the cupcakes and donuts; over 12 hours of work. You felt like a proud mama.

When you started working at the Bakery, granted you only did so because you loved how cute their desserts looked but never could afford them, you thought you’d get to make money off of your love for baking.

Instead they stuck you in the back, doing books and maintaining accounts. Yeah you were going to grad school to be an accountant but it still wasn’t fair!

You never got to learn anything new about baking, or even try any delicious pastries. You just spent 4 hours everyday playing with the numbers.

And then you got a call from Linda, your boss. Panicking about how the head chef is sick and they have an order from the Avengers.

The Avengers were just a bit controversial. But for the most part everyone was grateful for them and looked up to them.

You can’t disappoint them. They’re superheros! Literal gods!

You didn’t really have much of an opinion on them. Except that the God of thunder from space made you all tingly sometimes.

You were just happy you got the chance to make such variety of desserts. Maybe now you could convince Linda to let you help out in the kitchen every now and then.

“You’re going to have to deliver them yourself.” Linda said looking them over and taking a small bite from the mint macaroon. “Take a taxi. Think you can handle it?” She handed you a hundred dollar bill.

There were only two boxes, one with the donuts and another with different assortments of patisseries. You accepted the bill and called for an Uber.

Normally the bakery doesn’t do delivery but when someone even mentioned Tony Starks name, Linda agreed to deliver, almost gave it away for free.

You made it to the tower in one piece. Glad to know that all the desserts seemed like they were doing alright in the boxes. You craned your neck up to look at the tower. Yet you couldn’t see the top.

You tried your best to be careful with the giant pink boxes in your hands muttering ‘excuse me' to anyone you may come across so as to not bump into them. You gently lay the boxes on the reception counter. Giving the brunette receptionist a huge warm smile.

“These are for Pepper Potts. Should I just leave them here...” You trailed off.

Looking around to see everyone dressed to the nines in sleek business formal clothes. You were wearing your pink dress with small red strawberries splattered all across it, it ended just below your knees, maybe not the perfect dress for the beginning of fall, or making a delivery for that matter. It made you feel self-conscious you tried your best to not think about how unprepared you must seem.

Which wasn’t entirely your fault. They were the ones that expected such a large order in under 12 hours.

“Alright ma'am you can go up and set them up.” She said hanging up the phone and giving you a visitors pass.

“Oh I...” You wanted to disagree. Ask for someone else to do it. You just KNEW you were going to mess it up.

But you couldn’t really say anything when she smiled “Thank you.” Probably in a way to shoo you off and deal with the person behind you.

You somehow made your way to the elevator, asking for directions twice, only it was too crowded and you were running out of time. “I’ll take the next one.” You said, although no one really seemed to care, they were either looking at their phones or chatting with each other.

A nervous smile painted on your face, so you could delude yourself into thinking everything is fine to calm your nerves. You couldn’t even afford to take your phone out of your sling bag to look at the time, not with your hands occupied.

After waiting for forever you were able to get into an elevator which was only occupied with a few people. Finally you were at your desired floor.

You were to take the boxes to conference room B12.

So you looked around, distracted. Your mother had always told you that your absent mindedness will one day come to bite you in the ass.

‘Try living in reality once in a while.’ She had said in such a condescending tone.

You huffed back then, thinking you were fine just the way you are. Until you bumped into what you thought was a brick wall, too distracted by the numbers and signs and twists and turns.

You quickly looked in front of you, when you felt the boxes you had held up collide with something. It wasn’t a wall, it was what looked like a human man. You tried to balance your feet stumbling back a bit before falling flat on your ass.

“Omph” You let out as you felt the cold hardwood floor sting your behind. Your precious donuts and desserts falling to the ground.

You looked at the ruins, how the frosting and sprinkles decorated the floor, taking it all in, asking yourself if this is a dream.

By the angle you were sitting in, you were sure the man could see your underwear, but you didn’t care. Because you were completely ruined.

You looked up at him, your lips quivering and your eyes glossy. “Why?” You asked as he stared at you completely dumbfounded, as if he had never seen a girl before.

Steve wanted to refuse right away. As soon as they said the words ‘honor’ and ‘appreciate’. A ceremony just to honor him and thank him for his service to his country.

He did try to convince Tony that he hated such things. To be the centre of attentions and plaster on a pageant smile for all the flashing cameras. That is not what he signed up for. His goal was never to get fame and recognition.

He ultimately had to relent. Because it was supposed to be an inspiration for others and to ‘boost morale’.

“Just flash your perfect pearly whites for a few hours, it’s really not that hard.” Tony said slapping Steve’s shoulder. As if they’ve been friends forever and he doesn’t take some kind of sick sadistic pleasure in watching Steve suffer.

They spoke of how brave he was, how even as a sickly kid he stood up for what was right. For his country.

Really he could tolerate all that. Even be grateful for it.

But his anxiety came back as they showed pictures from the wartimes, projected onto the white screen.

He’s a hero they said.

So brave.

Selfless and compassionate.

A man out of time.

Lies. Blatant lies. He was far from a hero. He knew that. But he realized the extent of it when he saw the pictures, some of them familiar to him, having happened just in front of him not so long ago, even if it had been decades for everyone else.

All of his brothers, his best friend died. Protecting their country. For their duty. They made the ultimate sacrifice and were more than happy to do so.

He recalled one commander saying how he would love to die serving his country. It would be his greatest accomplishment.

And here he was. Wearing a suit that he had no doubt cost thousands of dollars. Drinking expensive champagne, giving interviews, having his face on magazine covers. Taking pictures with his ‘fans'. Living the high life.

How the fuck was he a hero?!

He couldn’t look at the remaining pictures or listen to them. He tried to zone them out, tune out his anxiety and his guilt. To not let his mind go to those dark places, to linger on the past. Nothing good would come out of it.

He could still do good. Be good. Wash off his sins. If he kept trying and moving forward. If only it wasn’t so hard.

There was no such thing washing your sins off of you. No one can resolve their sins by simply confessing to them in church. Or counting thousands of hail marys. His hands and his soul will always be tainted with blood.

Somehow he got through the whole thing. He was about to run off the men’s room. To take a breathe and collect his thoughts.

Tony stopped him “What’s with your resting bitch face Rogers?” He snarked but was taken aback by the scowl he received “Fine go. Remember we have a meeting with the corporal.”

Which was what the whole ruse was all about. To appease the army. He was surprised at just how bad the whole world is, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the shitshow that the army had become.

He rubbed his face sprinting towards the balcony. To get some fresh air, be alone as long as he can before he has to go back to being Captain America.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear your footsteps, which his sensitive hearing really should’ve picked up on.

He turned the corner only bump into you. Making you fall on your ass.

“Why?” You gave him a look of betrayal as tears fell down your face. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand kneeling and working on putting your desserts back in the box.

“Oh my god... ma’am I’m so sorry.” He apologized as soon as he registered what he had down. Crouching down before you to help you clean it up. But he doubted that you would be able to eat them.

“All my work.” You moaned looking up and meeting his eyes.

Your defeated face almost made him pull you into his arms. But it wouldn’t exactly be proper to do that to a stranger.

“Don’t call me ma'am!” You huffed as more tears escaped your eyes. “I’m not like 50!” You crossed your legs sitting on the floor and staring at your boxes.

“What should I call you then?” He asked his tone gentle and inquisitive. Truly curious to know what your name was.

“How about you call me nothing? You’ve done enough.” You frowned as you looked into his crystal blue hues. He was simply put beautiful.

You never thought that’s the adjective you’d use to describe a man, but that was all you could think of.

However his beauty didn’t excuse his actions. It certainly wouldn’t bring back the desserts you worked so hard on. So all you could do was be mad at him.

“I can pay for them.” He blurted out and then winced. You probably made them yourself. He can’t exactly replace them.

“It was the first time I truly baked. And now I’ll lose my job.” You sniffled tracing the frosting which was smeared on the floor with your finger. “And the Avengers will all go hungry...” You rambled your voice small. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry into a pillow.

You sneered at him as he chuckled. He immediately stopped pressing his lips into a straight line. “I doubt they’ll go hungry. I promise you won’t lose your job. No one has to know.” He reasoned. His plump rosy lips stretch into a smile, that must be worth at least a million dollars. His eyes creasing and yeah he really was beautiful.

You felt your anger resolving but decided to remain firm. To not let him work his charms on you. “They will call my boss when the delivery doesn’t arrive. And my boss will fire me!” You exclaimed spelling it out for him. Since he seemed to fit the stereotype of the dumb pretty blonde. Or was that exclusive to women?

“I can promise you no one will tell your boss.” He hesitated but then put his hand over yours in an effort to reassure you.

“What? How – how will you do that?” You asked getting more and more frustrated that he failed to understand just how grave this situation was for you.

“I uh... do have that kind of authority.” He said giving you a small nod. At least he could do some good with this ‘status' he held.

“Hm” You hummed still suspicious. But he was wearing a suit which looked expensive. His stance seemed that of someone who was powerful. His voice although soft held some stern undertones. “I – how do I believe you?” You asked and laughed at your misery as you realized you didn’t really have a choice.

Finally, pressing a palm on the floor you got up. Collecting your boxes. “It’s okay.” You sighed. “I guess I wasn’t really looking either. Whatever happens I’ll deal with it.” You said giving him a somber look.

“Uh – are you sure?” He stammered afraid he got you in trouble and couldn’t really do anything about it. Even more so that you were leaving and he’d probably never get to see you again.

“I’m not really a liar.” You shrugged as he stood up with you.

You didn’t have the opportunity to marvel at his tall stature, and how big he was compared to you. Or just big in general. You simple turned around your head hung low.

Only to look back at him over your shoulder. You tried to suppress a whimper, at just how hopeless you were, and asked “Which way is the elevator?”

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask/dm.

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[spytap]

That Time I Maybe Accidentally Slid Between Universes On The Lower East Side: A Modern Pizza Brigadoon

Okay, we’re trying this again. With the words. Let’s give it a shot.

I was telling this story over the weekend, and it struck me that it’s something I’ve never really written down. But I think it’s worth documenting - you know, for science.

I guess I have to preface this by saying that I’m not the type of person to accept the unexplainable. In the Mulder/Scully matrix of assumptions, I lean much more Scully, assuming that most things have a reasonable explanation once more data is uncovered or known. I say that just so that I can say that one time while on a business trip to New York, I’m pretty sure I drunkenly dropped back and forth between parallel universes Sliders-style while trying to grab a slice.

Right, so let’s set the stage of our merry little fever dream of a play, shall we?

It’s 1:30am and I am drunk.

Wait, let’s be clear: I’m not just “I’m in New York and let’s have some fun” drunk, I’m “we’re at a digital media event and it’s the late oughts” drunk. I think it was the Webbies, but who knows. It could have been social media week or any number of other things. But if you were in the DM scene at the time, you remember (or not…) that any event which brought together the weird crossover between tech, social media, and nascent web video had, at its intersection, going hard in the motherfucking paint, if you get my drift.

The late oughts were where SXSW got its reputation as an epic and riotous shitshow where long term memories went to die. Companies lived and died by the parties they threw way out in the wasteland that was “anywhere off of sixth street.” It set the scene for an arms race of irresponsibility that wouldn’t peter out until about 2012. And New York, being much larger than Austin and with a scrappy underdog of a tech industry, had a reputation to uphold.

So that’s how I find myself at my third after party, in a bar called (I think?) Ford’s, on the lower east side, surrounded by the technorati, glitterati, and all other manner of descriptive terms for young, pretty, newly and soon-to-be rich people, before we discovered that they were called “influencers.”

This bar is a proper dive. Not quite “you could destroy everything in here and you’d be out like fifteen bucks” but still well into “you’re gonna need more than a new paint job once the artisan cheese shops roll into this neighborhood.” Put in 2009 money, we were still getting five dollar beers in Manhattan, so do with that what you will.

Back to the story: right around 1:30AM, I’m thinking three things: 1) I would very much like to slam an inordinate amount of pizza into my mouth, 2) I probably need to use the restroom before I do so, and 3) The four or five people I’m with are probably feeling the same way. So I check in with my crew, tell them I’m gonna hit the head and then we’re gonna hit some pizza. First things first though: I gotta get some crucial info from the bartender.

I saunter up to the bar and ask where I can get a slice. The sole bartender, a man who is both younger and exponentially cooler than me, tells me “New York’s best pizza is two blocks up and one left.”

“New York’s best?” I clarify, because wouldn’t that be a coincidence?

“Yep, New York’s best pizza. Two blocks up, one left.”

Well, I know that everyone thinks they know the best pizza in town, but this dude looks like he’s a perpetual trend setter, so it feels like it has a higher-than-average likelihood of relative goodness. Besides, I’ve assaulted my sense well past the realm of good taste, so as long as it’s not cooked on a literal garbage can, it should serve it’s purpose. I pop the directions into the old memory banks, and wander off through the broken door that indicates relief (and, in retrospect, possibly tetanus.)

True to its dive bar requirements, this restroom is super classy you guys. Just above the pee trough (like an actual six foot long trough that horses would drink out of) (in other circumstances) there’s a mirror where someone has carved “Smoke Beer” - a particular exercise that I contemplate for far too long. Is this a flavor profile of some cheeky new porter? Are they suggesting you replace your bong water with Budweiser? Or is this an actual “get a beaker and some burners and let’s get high in the science lab” situation?

Regardless, my attention turns back to the core mission: Operation Pizza Face Hole Intersection. So I push away the culinary suggestion, zip up, and return to the main room to find…no one.

I don’t mean my friends were gone. I mean that when I left to pee, there was somewhere between 150 and 200 people in this bar, and now there were two. And I was one of them. The other one is a bartender, but very crucially, not the bartender I was just speaking to one or two or five hundred billion minutes ago. This is a new bartender. He’s older. And has a beard. This is very distinctly a different person, but I’m still hung up on the reality that there is no one else in this bar except for him and me.

I look at this new bartender. He looks at me. I look around to see if maybe my friends are hiding behind something, but this place doesn’t even have tables, let alone hiding spaces. I look back. He’s still looking at me. So I do the only logical thing to do in this scenario: I run away.

Outside, I pull out my blackberry (shut up) and call my friends. Voicemail. Every one. No one picks up. I text them “where the fuck are you assholes” but drunkenly, on a keyboard the size of a postage stamp, so they don’t write back, even to clarify whether I just had a stroke.

Something has definitely gone horribly wrong. I am very drunk in a strange part of a strange city. Everyone I know and several dozen complete strangers have been Thanos-snapped into the ether of the universe. I am alone and have no real understanding of how to get home from here. But, you know, I also still really want pizza. So I do the only thing that truly makes sense in this scenario: I start walking towards pizza.

One block up, things start getting weird(er). Now weird in nighttime Manhattan isn’t quite as weird as it used to be, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Venice Beach, so my weird meter is a little skewed compared to most people. But it’s as-near-as-matters-2am now and the streets of the lower east side are deserted, except for…

Look, there’s no way to say this without sounding like I’m writing a David Lynch spec, so I’m just gonna say it and you’re gonna have to trust me here.

Directly in front of me there is a group of a dozen or so seven to ten year old girls playing double dutch in the middle of the street. A totally normal sight at 2pm - less so at 2am. There are no adults here. Or anywhere. Except me. And right as I notice them, they notice me. They don’t stop their monotone chanting, they just continue to do so while swiveling their heads to follow me like a leopard follows a [whatever leopards eat - I’m not looking it up on Wikipedia right now.]

So once again: empty streets in the LES, except for me and a gaggle of girls wielding a pair of twin jump ropes. And chanting. I briefly wonder if they’re okay and why they’re out here all along performing what’s starting to sound more and more like some pagan ritual before I keep fucking walking because there’s no scenario in which any good comes from me stopping and hanging around. But I start thinking that I need a witness here.

The blessing of living in California and spending a lot of time in New York is actually time. More specifically, that you can call your girlfriend at what’s almost your 2AM and she’ll still be up and wondering what the absolute fuck you’re talking about when you open with “I hope I didn’t wake you but everyone disappeared and I’m kind of scared because there’s this creepy group of girls playing double dutch but I think it’s going to be alright because I’m walking to get pizza.”

We’d been together for a while at that point, so thankfully I’d build up a reservoir of good graces to pull from in moments like these.

Witness achieved, I told her precisely (ish) where I was, so the police could find my body, and continued my Epic Pizza Quest. Two blocks up, and one block left, where I found…

New York’s Best Pizza. That’s the goddamned name. Motherfucking hipster bartenders.

It’s open, for some reason, and empty for good reason, but after some back and forth that includes “well I don’t have any and I’d have to make a full pizza” and “I understand but I don’t want a full fucking pizza, I just want a slice” I get a couple slices and, for lack of anything better to do, decide to head back to Ford’s.

Now you might be asking yourself, dear reader, why I would march back through a fae revelry towards a crack in the universe, and that’s a very good question. The answer is that I was very drunk at the time.

So back I went.

The children were still there, still playing double dutch. (In my memory of this, they’re doing everything slowly and in a minor key, but it’s likely they were normal speed and tone, and I was just perceiving things slowly for chemical reasons.) My phone comes out again and I subtly (HA) narrate my way through this gauntlet to my girlfriend (and for the police report) and back towards the bar/Tardis.

Which brings us to our climax. See, there’s something even more disconcerting than leaving a restroom to find an erstwhile packed bar with naught but tumbleweeds, and that’s coming back to the deserted bar and finding it full again. Like packed full. Like normal full. Like Digital Media Event after party full. You know, like you remembered it pre-restroom (which is as weird a sentence to type as it is, I imagine, to read.)

I immediately run into my friends, who not only know nothing at all about the empty bar, but proclaim that they’ve been looking for me for “like an hour.” They’ve called and texted me, they say, which is ludicrous because I’ve been using my phone and I would have…

I looked at my phone. I had seven missed calls. A dozen texts. None of which were on my phone when I used it just moments ago, but all of which were timestamped over the past hour-ish.

I call my girlfriend again. Please pick up.

“Did you just talk to me and did I just tell you about everyone disappearing and the bar being totally empty and the weird creepy double dutch girls and getting into an argument with the pizza guy at New York’s Best Pizza?” I shouted into the phone, to the absolute horror of my friends (who were probably wondering what legal obligations they had to return me to my hotel and/or the insane asylum before I hurt myself.)

“Yes…” she responded, probably wondering what obligations she had to guide me to my hotel and/or the insane asylum before I hurt myself.

“Good!” I shouted, and promptly hung up, having proven my sanity, but really testing the depths of that aforementioned reservoir of goodwill. She would later tell me that somehow the second phone call was weirder than the first.

Moving past my friends, I stormed back into the bar. The bartender (the first one, the hipster one, the human one) clocked me coming in, but before he could open his mouth to ask what was probably going to be a very friendly question about whether I found the pizza place, or did I want to close out the tab I’d left open, instead got to be on the receiving end of me shouting “You sent me to a really fucking weird pizza place!” before marching out the door; thus cementing my reputation as a gifter of bizarre and inexplicable social interactions, and the probable punchline to someone else’s very different story.

For the rest of the week, my friends would swear up, down, sideways, sober, and drunk that no, the bar did not empty out; no, this was not a prank; no, they didn’t see me leave; and yes, they were in the very full and active bar the entire time I was gone.

It’s ten years later, and I don’t have an explanation for this event. I wouldn’t say it haunts me, but it’s definitely one of the weirder things that’s ever happened to me. And weirder still, in writing down this modern pizza-driven Brigadoon, I looked up Ford’s and New York’s Best Pizza just to see if I remembered their names right - and I can’t find any trace of either of them.

I’m still with the same girlfriend, and she still remembers the phone calls (vividly), but no one else was actually there, so no one else can verify the very weird set of events and circumstances that happened late that night, and into the early morning, across a series of overlapping universes.

Somewhere, out there in the ether of the multiverse, I imagine one version of me is still wondering where everyone went and yearning for a slice of New York’s Best Pizza.

[arabellaflynn]

For anyone who didn't catch it on other social media, I have finally moved out of the "temporary" apartment I was stuck in for 7 months, thanks to a lot of emotional and logistical support from friends, and a generous amount of financial support from the folks who gave to my GoFundMe. I am endlessly grateful to all of you, and if I weren't so goddamn tired right now I'd be more eloquent in saying so.

I've spent the past few weeks of unpacking and working out the bus routes around my new place trying to figure out how to explain what was so terrible about the last one. Most attempts devolved into page upon page of rage, which is not really what I want to be doing here. On the other hand, I also don't want to downplay how bad it was. 

Spoiler: The temp apartment was Very Very Bad.

The tl;dr is that I was offered someone's spare room on the condition that I help out a little extra with household chores and caring for their rats, because the pet owning roommate had recently had back surgery and was still mobility-impaired. What actually happened is that as soon as they realized I had any basic life skills whatsofuckingever, I was cornered into becoming the 24/7 on-call House Adult. I would have gone on strike, but the other two people in the apartment were so terrible at coping with absolutely any aspect of being alive that if I had, one or both of them would probably be dead now.

That is not hyperbole. I sat back at one point and realized that I had talked to 911 dispatch five times in the preceding four months. None of those calls were for me. To be clear, I ain't mad about other people having medical problems. All five of those calls were appropriate and necessary uses of emergency services. I just resent the hell out of being the default option for handling all of it, even though none of the medical emergency problems were mine, and there were other people in the house. Literally, Short Roommate had a catastrophic asthma attack one night, and when she was wheezing too hard to talk she passed the phone to Tall Roommate -- who immediately ran to the other end of the apartment, banged on my door, and handed the phone to me. It got to the point where I just told the operator what was up, went downstairs to unlock the door for EMS, stood in the corner answering the occasional question until they hauled someone off to the hospital, and then went right back to bed, because none of this was my problem. And that's just the 911 calls, not even counting the number of times I had to talk her down out of a dissociative episode, or any of the other shit I was not warned about and did not volunteer to do. They wore me down until my only response to "a fellow human can't breathe" is "fuck's sake, why am I even involved here".

They both needed a lot more, and a lot more professional, help than they could possibly have gotten out of a random civilian roommate. They both fought tooth and nail against actually getting any of it. Every time Short Roommate was dragged to the hospital, her discharge papers included a big fat packet full of social services, resources, and business cards for actual physical people to phone. I know this because whenever I cleaned the apartment, I found them on the fucking floor, whereupon I placed them on her fucking keyboard, and told her point-blank to call these people. As far as I know, she never did.

I am neither qualified nor equipped to be a live-in caregiver for anybody. There is a fucking reason I have never wanted children. I keep critters because if you give them food, water, toys, and boxes to sleep in, you can leave them to entertain themselves for hours while you work or sleep, and no one will arrest you.

There was a bunch of other stuff. Tall Roommate rarely if ever cleaned anything, including herself, unless directly ordered to do so and given a detailed list of instructions of what you meant by "clean". I only ever got her to wash her own damn dishes once, and I did it by messaging her from the other room 'I just found a mouse in the sink eating snacks off your dirty plates GO DO YOUR DISHES'. She had a laundry list of problems, but the relevant one here is that she was high-support-needs autistic with no support and zero inclination to find any. 

[Did I mention the mice? We had mice. All over. The rats murdered two of them when they got into the cages, looking for the free-feed bowl.]

Short Roommate clearly loved her rats but didn't actually do any of the rat care beyond petting and playing. One of them was tremendously sick at one point and needed meds q6h. She was supposed to be helping with that and didn't, which meant that I went several weeks on a maximum of six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. I tore the fuck into her for that one, pointing out in exactly so many words that some of these meds were painkillers and if the rat didn't get them on time HE SUFFERS. Not doing any of the grunt work, Short Roommate evidently thought rats were so easy she should just keep getting more of them! She rescued two, one of whom was preggo, kept several of the babies, and started talking about waiting for one of the girls to grow up so she could breed him with one of her younger boys. 

Gentle Reader, I promise you the only reason I did not strangle her in her sleep that very night was that I knew, deep in my heart, that I could not move the body down two flights of stairs by myself, and if I left it up to Tall Roommate, the corpse would still be in the apartment today.

If I were inclined to any sympathy, it would have died when Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend and New Boyfriend's Mother. She initially took all the rats with her, which made them officially not my problem anymore, but I woke up one morning to a message that said something like "[New Boyfriend's Mother] says that if I show up to our new place with the rats she's not going to let me in, [Tall Roommate] is coming back with all the rats and everything they own". I found out later that this was because their new place was in section 8 housing, where you are not allowed to have pets that aren't service or support animals. Which Short Roommate had known the entire time, and just... made no plans for. At all. Unless "ignore everything until bitchslapped by reality, then panic and make unreasonable demands of other people" counts, I guess.

Eight rats. She dumped eight rats on me. Eight. I wound up taking care of them all without help; Tall Roommate was incapable of keeping anything in her habitat clean, including herself, and I wasn't willing to let her neglect animals. I was actually down to one rat of my own, having lost my two venerable old men, and was looking for a new friend or two for Tseng. Which I had to stop doing, because nine fucking rats is a lot of rats, and I couldn't in good conscience bring Rats nos. 10 & 11 into this shitshow. Naturally, none of the rats got along; two pairs of boys had to be kept apart, and both of them tried to pick fights with poor Tseng, and four of them were girls that had to be kept away from all of the boys for obvious reasons. It was exhausting and a catastrophe.

Once I had the rats she apparently made no further effort to re-home them, although she did keep telling Tall Roommate to come knock on my door and take pictures of them. (I put a stop to this. Tall Roommate did it because Short Roommate had broken up with her to shack up with New Boyfriend, and Tall Roommate had literally no way to cope with this other than try desperately to get her back.) I bugged her to do something about this until, predictably, I had to contact the local rat rescue people to find fosters less than a week before my moving crew was scheduled. When I told her, she replied "oh, I was just about to submit that". Sure you were. And while you're here, I have this nice bridge to sell you.

[The four girls and two youngest boys went to Mainely Rat Rescue. It looks like the boys have already found a home, but the girls are up for adoption. I kept the two old men, who both have special care needs; Garion has breathing problems that involve his own asthma inhaler and a steady diet of NSAIDs, and Errand has attitude problems that involve picking fights with any rat who isn't Garion. They're both just shy of three(!) and unlikely to find homes through a foster program, plus I'm already their third caretaker, so I couldn't send them off with a stranger. They are currently sulking because I wouldn't supplement their dinner with all of my dinner -- which is to say, they're fine.]

The point is, my brain just about died off. The only time in that apartment that I didn't spend cleaning up after three grown adults, two of whom weren't even me, were the weeks after Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend, which she had broken up with Tall Roommate to do, and Tall Roommate took it so badly she ended up inpatient before she ate a bottle of Tylenol. (I called 911 when I overheard her plans. It was about 50% "a fellow human is in need of help" and 50% "argh jesus fuck THIS IS NOT MY JOB please go talk to someone who is actually paid to deal with this".) I am slowly clawing my way back to the surface, so if you'll just bear with me, I'll be back on Twitch this Sunday 3-7 Eastern, and type out more things that have been on hold while I tried to retain at least some of my marbles.

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[peachychibi]

ante merediem | Johnny

ante merediem 

Genre: friends-to-lovers!au, college!au | fluff 

Member: Johnny / Reader

Word Count: 1,600+

Warnings: n/a

The more you looked at the three-year old photograph of yourself on your laptop, the more she looked like a stranger to you. It went behind your comprehension, the smiling girl on the screen was you. There was no doubt about that. The memory of the day when the memento got taken was still vivid in the back of your mind. 

There was a gathering for the freshmen on your year, all majors were invited. High on being a newcomer, you got this unexplainable urge to attend any social activities that the campus offered. The excitement was so palpable back then, you actually thought it would last forever. (Funny, because in reality your socalled excitement did not even last for any more than three months). You got to the event with the friends whom you met just one day before. They were practically strangers with mutual condition as yours. It wasn't like you were provided with any other options anyway, you were basically a mere local immigrant who knew nobody in the new city. 

One of the things you remembered the most from the function happened to be the disappointment of how disastrous it turned out to be. You should have known better though, of course your expectation would be so farfetched from actuality. Who even thought it would be a great idea to plan an outdoor event in the wet monsoon? The air was damp, there were mud all over the field yet the sun was unforgivingly bright. The event was delayed for almost an hour leaving the students drenched in cold sweat. To top it all off the MCs who were supposed to lighten up the show were just as awkward as everyone. Truly an absolute failure.

The picture which you took with your new friends remained as the only keepsake from that day. You stood up from the comfort of your bed to walk to the mirror. The reflection was someone you knew, a short-haired young woman with perpetual dark circles under her eyes. This, this person is familiar. It was baffling how the girl on the picture seemed like a total stranger to you. Was it the hair? The girl had longer hair, wavy black hair cascaded pass the juncture of her shoulder. Her eyes, they looked so hopeful. The gleam in her orbs were visible, captured in the moment. But it was her smile that surprised you the most. It looked so genuine, she--you looked like you were basked in unadulterated happiness. So absurd. It did not make any sense to you now, just how could you manage to find any bit in your heart to pull up a perfect fake smile like that. At least you thought it was fake, it should have been right? 

As you sauntered back to your bed, you saw a flicker of light going on and off on through your peripheral vision. It seemed to come from your phone, the vibrating sound indicating a not-yet answered call. You shuffled to the desk in a hurry, impatient to know who was the person on the other side of the line. It's 2 A.M. for God's sake, who on their right minds would contact you? 

Oh, your heart skipped a little when you read the caller ID. It has been five days since the "realization", as your friends gladly put it, and you found it hard to act normal in front of him. In your defense, slipping out of your own obliviousness was an overwhelming experience. Realizing that you had been in totally-not platonic-love with your best friend for God knew how long gave off a sense of foreign anxiety. 

For a second, you were hesitant to press the green button. A wave of nervousness was opening up the subdued floodgates of emotions within you. Curiosity won over though. As per usual, you could never control yourself when it came to him. He was your best friend after all, random 'morning call' was a normalcy between you two. Why should it be different now? 

'Hello?', you answered in a steady voice. Your inner self cheering quietly at this small win. You would never let him notice just how affected you were by his unexpected call. 

'Hi', a shuffling sound could be heard from his side, it sounded like he just dropped something. Knowing him and his clumsiness, the assumption was likely to be true. He continued when it sounded calmer 'Sorry, I accidentally dropped my glasses, did I wake you up?' 

Ha, I was right after all. Deciding to walk the sassy route, you replied, 'No, you didn't. I'm still awake which is exactly why I can pick up the phone, you see' 

His chortle reverberated through the line, 'Nope, I can't see it. This is a voice call not a video one, you hear?' 

'Wow. Real funny, Johnny. Really. I can barely hold my laughter', you could not hold back your smile this time. 

'When was I ever not funny? I am the funniest man in your life!'

'Oh shut up, John', you groaned. Not long after the exchange of silly banters, you both were smoothly falling into mindless ramble. Conversing with Johnny was easy. You both had quick wit and an ability to jump from one topic to another in the speed of light, there was almost no moment of silence to fill the gap. 

'By the way, did you remember the gathering on our freshmen year?'

'Hmm? The one on the basketball field? It was on our first week of college, wasn't it?', he answered correctly. 

'Yeah, that exact one! I'm impressed, you've got good memory.' 

He snorted, 'Duh, of course I do. What about it, anyway?' 

You were going to describe that certain day but he beat you to it, 

'I even remembered that it was the day where we first met. I bet you forgot that fact already, right?' 

Thrown off guard, you were. Now that you think about it, Johnny was the one who took your photograph from that day. 

Shit. 

How could you be so dense? That day turned out to be not shitty at the end. You remembered a tall guy in denim shirt, confidently (and randomly) throwing a witty remark in your conversation—or more like a soliloquy consisting of whines and nags about the event—'I agree this is a shitshow. Why are we even here anyway.' Not gonna lie, you were judging him hard at that time. 

'Oh God. How could I forget you? You were the weird stranger who jumped on another stranger convos.', you opened the forgotten laptop on your bed to see the picture again. 

He squawked indignantly 'Hey! You were the shameless girl with no sense of public decency. Your hateful commentary was not very graceful either.' 

You did not really pay any heed to his words because once again you were curious about the picture. 'I only had literally one remembrance from that horrible gathering and it was a picture which was taken by you.' 

'Which one? Send it to me, I wanna see it' he demanded.

'I'll send you okay, chill.' You logged in to your messenger to send it to him. 'The weird thing from the photo is that I looked unrealistically happy ' 

He laughed 'That's morbid, what the fuck. What's wrong with being happy—Wait I just got the picture.' 

There was a five second silence before he continued 'Well, you did look genuinely happy in it.' 

'I know right? This is so weird because we all know just how shitty that gathering was.' 

He hummed in response 'Perhaps..' 

His words lingered and honestly your lack of sleep did not have time for this unnecessary pause. 'Perhaps what, John?' 

'Well, perhaps you smiled like that because of me' 

It would have been funny, you could have laughed at his words. Hell, you could entertain him by saying how he had been right. Of course, Johnny-honey. You brightened up my day! 

However you just could not bring yourself to joke along. Somehow you sensed that something.. something was off. He was uncharacteristically serious. It even seemed that he was hesitant to say it, as if he was scared of your reaction yet at the same time, he sincerely anticipated it. 

The time gap has been way too long now, none of you dared to say anything. It felt like tip-toeing around a ticking bomb, you both were one second away before the eventual awkwardness. 

You took a glimpse at the clock on the wall, it was currently way past 3 A.M. Maybe your sleep deprivation pushed you to making a rash decision or there was a glitch in your system. 

‘I think so, too.’ you finally breathed out the long overdue answer. 

It was eerily silent, your reply sounded like a hush of wind. You were not even sure he listened to it at all. You hoped he did, though.

‘…You do?’, there was a hint of shock in his voice.. but it did not have an unpleasant tone in it. In contrary, he sounded thoroughly pleased by your answer ‘You really, truly do?’

You were pretty sure by now that he was clearly overjoyed, he sounded like a hyper puppy. Weird comparison, you brain that was wired for linguistic fluency has apparently went fried. 

‘Yeah’ you tried so hard to stop your smile. Biting your lips, hiding your excitement—and failing. 

He suddenly cracked up, it was the infamous boisterous laugh of his, contagious. You ended up laughing with him as well. It was all silly, the situation was all kinds of ridiculous. What were you both even laughing about, your own stupidity? 

The laughter died out not long after, you wept off a tear from your eye. A consequence you had to face due to uncontrollable guffaws. 

‘I’m glad, then.’ He said, ‘Going to that damned gathering was one of the best decisions I made, honestly.’ 

‘Why? ‘Cos you got to meet me?’ you teased him. 

He chuckled, ‘Yeah’ 

‘Okay, then.’ 

‘Just okay?’ 

‘More than okay.’ 

[ua-momo-archive]

the parent-teacher conference | pt. 3

The practiced smiles slide off all three Yaoyorozu faces immediately when they re-enter the lobby, replaced by respective annoyance, confusion, and concern.

Mayumi grimaces at the situation before her, cursing under her breath as she raises a hand to her temple. "God, every time I come to U.A. it's like living in a perpetual headache," she mutters. "Ichirou, darling, go get me some more wine, would you?" Her husband nods awkwardly before hurrying to the refreshments station.

...Speaking of wine...

Kimiko scowls to herself, nursing the last available glass of wine and watching as her father hassels the kitchen staff into retrieving a new bottle. This... is a shitshow. She can only imagine the conversation they'd have on the way back home after all this.

Vaguely biting down on the thumb of her glove in her frustration, her attention darts to the man that appears at the refreshments table. "Don't even bother," she says tiredly. "They're all out for now, you're going to have to wait until they get more," she explains, making it a point to take another sip of her glass... just to really emphasize that she was lucky enough to nab the last one.

Ichirou's been... Out of it, to say the least.

He had a long night, trying to explain a situation he still doesn't understand to his wife, all while trying to avoid admitting that it all started by trying to go around her back. Ichirou's not a good liar, and he's certainly not good at dealing with the residual guilt that goes hand-in-hand with his lies.

So if his wife demands a new glass of wine, Ichirou figures that the least he can do is get her that damned glass.

His plans are foiled fairly quickly though once he finally arrives at the refreshments table and is made aware of the situation. "Great," he groans, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "That's just what I needed to hear."

When he finally takes the time to look at the woman before him, the first thing he notices is the glass she's sipping from.

And her gloved hand.

His eyes widen---it's the middle of summer, there's no way someone's actually wearing gloves unless there's a reason, right? Maybe she also...

Ichirou's eyes finally meet Kimiko's own, jaw slackening ever so slightly. "I'm... I'm sorry, have we met before?"

Kimiko's gaze bores into Ichirou's, completely unflinching. His expression is odd to her, immediately sparking a lazy curiosity in his circumstances, though her own features remain impassive as she takes another sip. Just like he has, she notes the gloves, surprised to see a pair that's somehow thicker than the ones she's been made to wear all her life for once, before she looks into his face again, studying him quietly.

"You've been to my house before," she replies dully, slurping down another mouthful of red wine. She then nods her head in a short, dismissive bow. "Monoma Kimiko. You're in the Yaoyorozu family, one of the heirs..." She nods her head again, this time in a gentle gesture towards his gloves. "Did you buy those or make them with your quirk?"

Ichirou blushes in mortification at what he perceives to be a rude transgression. "M-My apologies, Monoma-san. Yes, you're correct; my name is Yaoyorozu Ichirou," he says, taking the time to offer her a full bow. There's a cool curiosity reflected in her blue eyes---they're not as openly expressive as his wife's and for once he's kind of thankful for that---and the weight of her stare makes him feel at once exposed and self-conscious. He watches as she drinks more of the wine---if he's correct, it's also one of Mayumi's favorites---gaze returning to linger on the silk---perhaps satin?---that covers her fingers.

He wonders why they haven't spoken before. They seem similar enough in age.

Her question pulls him out of his thoughts, catching him a little off guard. "Made them with my quirk," he answers, scratching the back of his ear in slight embarrassment. "I'm not... The most experienced when it comes to making clothing, so I'm afraid they're not of the finest quality." His eyes wander back to Kimiko's hands. "Yours seem far more elegant... Perhaps you could recommend the designer to me?"

Kimiko only shrugs. While she is sure others would have found it rude, she hardly cares at all, only having wanting to give him the clarification he had asked for. She watches him fidget, raising her glass enough to hide her mouth from view as it twitches with a bemused smile. So openly emotional... She has to admit, it was a little adorable. Already she could tell he was one to wear his heart on his sleve...

In the back of her mind, she notes the natural greediness of her personality. Now that she can tell this about him, she can't help but immediately want to pluck that vulnerable little organ up and put it in her pocket.

Continuing to observe him as he rambles on, she immediately reaches out to touch the hand closest to her to study his gloves, careful as she takes hold of his fingers and turns his hand for him, this way and that. "I could," she answers as she does. "They're expensive, though." She pauses. "Long-lasting. It's worth the money if you're willing to shell it out. This particular make isn't just for style purposes, though. Wouldn't be particularly helpful unless this-" She gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it. "-similarly isn't just a fashion statement."

She meets his eyes again, something akin to a challenge now in her gaze. How much of the truth was he willing to give her...?

Ichirou feels all of his cognitive functioning stop when Kimiko touches his hand.

The first thought that goes through his mind is a silent prayer---god, if he bled through these fucking gloves while she was playing with his hands, he doesn't think he'd be able to talk himself out of the situation. And Mayumi would get mad at him again. Which immediately brings him to his second thought: it's not... It's not bad to let another woman touch him like this, right? There's nothing... inappropriate about hand holding, right? And it's not even like they're holding hands, she's just playing with his fingers. Out of innocent curiosity. And that's all. Nothing more!

(He's always been so sheltered and too preoccupied with work to ever discover his propensity for popularity with women. He's not used to this.)

In true Ichirou fashion, he's too flustered by his own thoughts that he does nothing to resist Kimiko's touches. Maybe it's because a part of him is thankful for what he sees as the innocent curiosity behind her actions. It's so, so different from the rehearsed affection he occasionally receives from Mayumi. There's no purpose behind the touch---it just is.

He didn't realize how much he had craved something so simple until now.

Kimiko's gentle squeeze of his hand is what sets the world back into motion. "I-Is that so," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "It's the height of summer---the only people wearing gloves for fashion right now are the nouveau riche," he drawls, allowing his eyes to really drink in the sight of the woman before him. He doesn't take his gaze off of her, wanting to know more but not knowing how to ask. "I take it you're like me, then," he finally replies, stuffing his hands into his pockets and nodding once at her hands still daintily holding the glass of wine.

"Cursed."

The words strike her hard, harder than she ever could expect. Kimiko stares at him, eyes widening a hair, her brows furrowing with a twitch of horror. In a terrifying instant, she suddenly feels exposed. Known. She hardly even understands how this could have happened, but somehow the man before her has managed to sum up every last dredge of pain she'd been made to endure her entire damned life.

Cursed. Yes.

She does feel cursed.

Faltering for the first time in what seems like decades, Kimiko silently fights for words. An urge to spill everything at his feet hits her again and again in a raging assault. What would he understand of it all, of the kind of life she's lived? Would he still relate? Would he balk or sympathize with the reality of her existence? Would he find it... ugly? Why did that concept suddenly scare her so much?

There's so much she wants to say, so much she wants to ask. She wants to reach out and remove those damned gloves that represent so much shared agony between the two of them. Kimiko decides, finally decides after a horrendously delayed moment, what she wants to say to this utter stranger in front of him-

And then a booming voice cuts through the air.

"HAHA! Yes! He's here, I've found him!" All Might calls out, giving Ichirou a clap on the back with a large, large hand. "Yaoyorozu-san! If you would follow me, it's time to discuss Young Yaoyorozu's affairs!" He pauses, blinking his blue eyes at the two of them. "... Oh! Have I- interrupted?"

"Yes. You have," Kimiko snaps, shooting a cold glare at the retired hero before she lands a witheringly soft look over at Ichirou. Quickly, she takes one last sip before pushing the glass into Ichirou's hands, dark wine still swirling and so close to the color of the lipstick stain her mouth has left on it. Then, she turns, disappearing into the crowd in an instant.

"... Oh," All Might repeats sheepishly, shifting immediately back into his smaller form. "I'm... sorry? I would have just left you two alone for a few more moments if I had- known..."

Ichirou's eyes flicker back to Kimiko's from beneath his lashes, wanting to make direct eye contact with her but unable to find the courage to do so. He feels the anticipation run down his spine when she finally parts her lips to answer him and then---

Oh.

Ichirou visibly jumps at All Might's touch, struggling to properly recalibrate himself back into his professional persona. But in the half-second before he makes the mental switch back into faux calm, he meets Kimiko's gentle gaze and feels his entire world stop once more.

He's taken slightly aback when she thrusts the wine glass into his hands, watching after her as she disappears back into the crowd. And once he's lost sight of her, he settles his gaze onto the mark of lipstick she had left behind. It takes a few moments for the gears in his head to resume their hesitant whirring, for him to even register than All Might is waiting on him for a reply.

"There's no need to apologize," he says, a slight edge in the steadiness of his voice. "I'm here for my daughter, first and foremost." He pauses, eyes still fixed on the wine as he raises it to his mouth. His lips hover over the dark red mark left behind on the glass for a few moments---in thought and contemplation, perhaps hesitation---before finally taking the stain as his own and drinking the remainder of the smooth liquid.

"I'll gather my family and meet you in the appropriate classroom then."

All Might blinks, taken aback. The utter confusion regarding what he's... seeing... is what keeps him hesitating for a few moments, mouth hanging open as he watches Ichirou.... relish?... the rest of his- her-... his wine.

Something tells him he's witnessing something he really shouldn't have seen. And he doesn't know what to do with this information.

Bashful now, he just nods quick, averting his eyes. "Yes, of course. I'll see you then. Thank you. ... Sorry."

And with that, All Might flees the scene, ducking out of the room as fast as he possibly can.

[blahblahwritings]

Hello Sweetheart

A/N: I have a bit of a thing for Frank Castle at the moment so here is another one. Feedback is appreciated :)

Warnings: It's sort of depressing. Mentions of death. Kind of hints at suicidal thoughts so if you’re triggered by any of that please do not read ahead.

Words: 1904

Part Two

It had been a week. A whole seven days since the explosion on the ship. Seven nights with an empty bed and no sign to say he was alive. No knock at the window, no letters, texts or missed calls, not even the news had anything more to say about Frank Castle. Every new body that they identified, every name that wasn’t his made you feel a wave of morbid relief flood every fibre of your being because it gave you hope, hope that he was still out there.

Three more days pass. Still no sign of him but also no mention of him on the news. Was he out there? Still breathing? Or was he dead in an alleyway having collapsed before he could make it back to you? Not knowing was driving you insane. You had walked the streets from dawn till dusk in the rain, desperately trying to find him even if he was hunched over in a pool of his own blood because at least then, you would know. You would know if he had made it or not. Yet still, nothing. Zilch. Zip. Zero.

Two weeks. No one had seen or heard from him. The police and the news barely talked about him anymore and you still had no luck finding him yourself. By now, you had taken to curling up on your cramped sofa with a blanket and a half finished bottle of whiskey in your hand. You couldn’t sleep, especially not in the bed now that it was cold and nothing really smelled like him anymore. It was as if all traces of him were vanishing before you could do anything about it. The thought had crossed your mind; Maybe he was dead or even worse, maybe he didn’t want to come back to you. The possibility made you start weeping, your body shaking violently with each broken sob that passed your lips. He wouldn’t leave you, he couldn’t.

Another two days go by so slowly that you consider actually cleaning the apartment to pass the time. Since the news broke about the explosion you had neglected pretty much all your responsibilities. You’d barely been eating or showering let alone pushing yourself to do anything else. Again, curling in on yourself on the sofa you had planned on just drinking until you passed out but then you heard it.

A knock. Three actually and you froze. Everything did. Your mind, your body, you could have even sworn that the clock above your corner desk ceased its steady rhythm. Then it repeated. Three small knocks at your front door. That's when you bolted. That's when your feet had launched you across the living room and over your second sofa to the door quicker than you had probably ever moved in your life. Those three knocks had filled your small body with such hope and anxiety making your chest impossibly tight. And you ripped open the door.

Karen. It was just Karen.

“Hey, um, I haven’t heard from you and you haven’t been returning my calls so I got worried. Though I’d come over”. Your hope-filled heart shattered. Your eyes returned to their broken, empty state and your body once again became numb. You stared past her realising it was stupid of you to think it was him. That’s when you accepted it. He was gone. Then suddenly, nothing mattered.

“I’m fine”. Lie number one. “I was actually thinking about calling you just before you knocked”. Lie number two. The vice-like grip you had on the door handle faltered before you dropped your arm back to your side. “Come in”. Please don’t. She slowly moved past you and took a few small steps into your living room.

“Jesus”. She muttered under her breath, but you had heard it. So, for the first time in a long time, you actually looked around the place. It was a mess and that was putting it lightly. The curtains were drawn so it was dark, there were pictures and newspapers and magazines strewn all over the living room, dishes were piling up and let’s not forget your nest of blankets which accommodated several empty liquor bottles. The apartment even smelled bad, like sweat and whiskey. Like you. Hell, you probably didn’t look any better.

Stumbling over to the mirror in the hallway, you looked at your reflection. You didn’t recognise yourself. Your hair was almost as big of a nest as your blankets, all stuck together with knots and it hadn’t been washed in over a week. The bags under your eyes were darker than the room you were in and your nose and eyes were red from lack of sleep or last nights sobfest, you weren’t entirely sure. Tear stains painted your cheeks. You hadn’t even realised that you had been crying. A wreck. That’s all you could describe yourself as. A pathetic wreck of a human being.

“Y/N, listen” Karen began by whipping open the curtains, flooding the living room with light causing you to squint until your eyes adjusted. ���I know that this must be… difficult for you” She continued, trying to choose her words wisely as to not set you off in one way or another. “I know how much you loved him-”

“Love” You cut her off. “How much I love him”. You corrected still staring at the stranger in the mirror. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Karen. Not directly. Your eyes occasionally flickered to her reflection but quickly returned to their previous position.

“Yes, right, how much you love him, but you need to keep going. You can’t live like this, it’s not healthy.” She finished, nervously picking up a few of the empty bottles to throw away. And you scoffed. Tilting your head up to the ceiling trying to stop the silent tears that were still falling, you almost laughed. Of course, it isn’t healthy, you knew this but you couldn’t even move from the sofa three-quarters of the time. Not to clean, not to shower and not even to eat. The only moving you seemed to do was to and from the fridge for more alcohol.

“You think I don’t know that, Karen?” You questioned, turning to look at her. “You think I don’t know that I am barely even living in this dump? Because I am the one who made it like this. I am the one who hasn’t showered or eaten or hell I haven’t even moved off the couch unless it’s to grab another bottle hoping that I will maybe just forget this absolute SHITSHOW that we call reality.” You finished, voice cracking towards the end. It was true. Part of you wanted to forget and part of you just wanted things to be over because let’s face it Frank was the only reality you knew.

“I can’t do this. Not without him. Not anymore.” Your voice trailed off. Karen looked lost. She didn’t know what to do so in 3 quick strides she crossed the room and hugged you tightly as if she would never let go. You had no energy left so you both slid to the floor, staying like that, in her arms, crying into each other.

Some time had passed which felt like an eternity before she finally pulled back to look at you. Her hands found your face and she sweetly kissed your forehead, brushing your hair back. Tears were wiped away by her thumbs as she gently pulled you up, guiding you to the sofa again. Staring at the wall, you heard her footsteps move into the kitchen where she began cleaning. She was too kind, knowing that talking more wouldn’t help and instead opting to do your work for you.

By the time she left it was probably ten at night. She had cleaned your kitchen entirely before you moved to help her with the trash in the living room. No words were spoken really, they weren’t needed. She even made you promise to shower before you slept tonight which made you give a small, albeit fake smile. Then you were alone again, and it was suffocating you.

So you dragged yourself to the bathroom, peeled off your tank top and sweats then turned on the shower. Once there was a cloud of steam you stepped in, instantly relaxing under the hot stream of water massaging your dirt-coated form. Starting with your hair, you scrubbed every area of your body within an inch of its life, turning your skin red raw. You shaved your legs and underarms and even tidied up your ‘lady parts’, slowly forgetting about everything outside of the bathroom, slowly becoming something closer to yourself.

Stepping out of the warm embrace of your shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel, drying your face and hair. Then you looked in the mirror. At least you looked cleaner, fresher almost. The phone you had left on the counter still showed no notifications, just the background of Frank and yourself smiling. You love his smile. You love him. Slowly, you realised that whilst reminiscing about when that photo was taken, a smile of your own had made its way to your face and you let out a small laugh.

After getting changed into a pair of shorts and one of his old shirts, you stripped the bed and put it all in the wash, taking out fresh sheets and opening the curtains in your bedroom. In fact, you cleaned up pretty much the rest of the apartment and before you knew it, it was one in the morning. As a yawn escaped your parted lips, there was a faint metallic clang outside the living room window. Since you were tired you shrugged it off, not thinking much of it and beginning to walk into your bedroom getting ready for bed. But you heard it again, louder this time as if it were closer and you turned. For a moment you thought it could be Frank but you pushed those thoughts out of your mind before quickly grabbing the gun in your dresser and cocking it, aiming it forwards at the bedroom door. There was a scraping sound, then your window opening and heavy, booted footfalls moving towards your bedroom.

You aimed. You sucked in a breath. You clenched your jaw. The door opened. A tall, familiar figure stood in the doorway. The oh so bitter smell of black coffee, gunpowder and something so distinctly him hit you like a train.

“Frank?” You muttered, letting out a shaky breath as your chest tightened almost crushing your rapidly beating heart. All you could hear was your own heartbeat as the blood and adrenaline surged through your body. A thick sheen of sweat formed on your head and hands as you dropped the gun, leaving it to clatter to the wooden floor.

Not a second later, you were leaping into his arms, taking in his scent, threading your delicate fingers through his soft mess of hair, clinging onto him for dear life. His stubble was rough against the silky skin of your cheek as you buried your head into his neck, kissing up to his jaw and every part of his face you could get to. Relieved tears were streaming down your face. You felt the vibrations of a deep chuckle erupt from his chest as he growled in that brilliant low voice;

“Hello, sweetheart”.

[obliviousswampqueen]

1-200

200:My crush’s name is:Ya’ll don’t get to know that but he is a mutual.

199: I was born in: Idaho

198:I am really: Comfy

197:My cellphone company is: AT&T

196:My eye color is: Blue-green

195:My shoe size is: 7

194:My ring size is: I don’t really wear rings so I’m not sure

193:My height is: 5ft1

192:I am allergic to: SO MUCH STUFF Big ones are tho are bees, cats, and red onions

191:My 1st car was: 2001 Chevy Malibu

190:My 1st job was: Shelf stocker

189:Last book you read: 5th Wave?

188:My bed is: Big and cozy

187:My pet: Cute and wonderful

186:My best friend: @leeminlimer hes a really good cook but hes lonely so if you’re a cute girl hit him up lmao

185:My favorite shampoo is: Cherry Blossom

184:Xbox or ps3: I’m so bad at video games it’s not even funny

183:Piggy banks are: Cute and unreasonable for me

182:In my pockets:Probably a receipt from the grocery store 

181:On my calendar: Work and a doctors appointment on Friday

180:Marriage is: Sounds pretty cool to me

179:Spongebob can: Get really annoying but I also love it

178:My mom: She’s crazy and I love her

177:The last three songs I bought were? OK- Being as an Ocean

                                                                  Humblest Pleasures- Turnover

                                                                  Hum- Tigers Jaw

176:Last YouTube video watched: A bathroom remodel thing

175:How many cousins do you have? Cousin alone like 10? Including their spouses and kids like 18 I think.

174:Do you have any siblings? Three all older.

173:Are your parents divorced? Nope, they’ve been married for 30 years.

172:Are you taller than your mom? No -.-

171:Do you play an instrument? I used to know how to  play the guitar really badly.

170:What did you do yesterday? Helped replace the bathroom cabinets and clean.[ I Believe In ]169:Love at first sight: I guess so why not.

168:Luck: Yeah

167:Fate: Maybe?

166:Yourself: Eh

165:Aliens: HELL YEAH

164:Heaven: Yeah

163:Hell: So I think so but I have some conflicting feelings as to how I was always told we are all Gods children and he loves us and has a plan for us all but if you don’t believe in him you’re going to hell even if you’re a good person but if rapists and murders believe in God they’ll be forgiven and live eternally in heaven.

162:God: Yeah

161:Horoscopes: Nope

160:Soul mates: Yess

159:Ghosts: oooo yup

158:Gay Marriage: I like how this is in the same category as God and magic and ghosts. But yes.

157:War: Yes? I mean it happens?

156:Orbs: Like circles or ghost orbs. Yes to both.

155:Magic: Nah, I don’t think so.[ This or That ]154:Hugs or Kisses: Hella miss being kissed rn

153:Drunk or High: High, only pot tho

152:Phone or Online: Online

151:Red heads or Black haired: I look better with red but probably black hair on other people

150:Blondes or Brunettes: Brunette

149:Hot or cold: Hot

148:Summer or winter: Summer

147:Autumn or Spring: Autumn

146:Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla

145:Night or Day: Night, love me some starry nights

144:Oranges or Apples: Oranges but only if theyre tart

143:Curly or Straight hair: Curly on me

142:McDonalds or Burger King: Neither?

141:White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: Neither? they make my stomach hurt

140:Mac or PC: PC

139:Flip flops or high heals: Flipflops 

138:Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: I’m already ugly and poor :/

137:Coke or Pepsi: Neither

136:Hillary or Obama: Obama

135:Burried or cremated: BURN ME

134:Singing or Dancing: Horrible at both but singing

133:Coach or Chanel: Neither I just said I’m poor

132:Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: I don’t know who those people are

131:Small town or Big city: In the middle

130:Wal-Mart or Target: Target

129:Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Staying loyal to Night at the Museum, Ben Stiller

128:Manicure or Pedicure: Neither, I don’t like strangers touching me

127:East Coast or West Coast: West

126:Your Birthday or Christmas: Birthday

125:Chocolate or Flowers: Flowers

124:Disney or Six Flags: Never been to either

123:Yankees or Red Sox: I don’t know anything about sports[ Here’s What I Think About ]122:War: I think that people fight for what they believe in at all costs but a lot of innocent people die along the way and it would be nice if people could settle differences without fighting but thats a fairys and rainbow daydream that won’t come true but on the other hand some people are incredibly shitty and need to be held accountable for their actions

121:George Bush: Jet fuel doesn’t melt steel beams

120:Gay Marriage: Lettem get married

119:The presidential election: It was a shitshow and now look where we are fucktrump

118:Abortion: It’s a womans choice

117:MySpace: I made one in 5th grade and had no friends on it but I felt so bad ass

116:Reality TV: I don’t watch it

115:Parents: Mine are pretty alright

114:Back stabbers: Why do people have to be so mean113:Ebay: I’ve never used it

112:Facebook: It’s alright

111:Work: I touch strangers fr a living and as I said before I don’t like people touching me so I have 40 hours of personal hell.

110:My Neighbors: They  have really cute goats

109:Gas Prices: TOO HIGH (im poor)

108:Designer Clothes: SO SPENDY (im poor)

107:College: SO EXPENSIVE (im poor but need a degree)

106:Sports: I’m bad at them

105:My family: They’re bat shit crazy

104:The future: Hopefully it’s good[ Last time I ]103:Hugged someone: Last night

102:Last time you ate: I’m eating applesauce atm

101:Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: Today I saw a doc I used to work with

100:Cried in front of someone: Not sure

99:Went to a movie theater: Ummmm 7 months maybe more?

98:Took a vacation: December 2015 and that was my only vacation

97:Swam in a pool: A few years ago

96:Changed a diaper: When my nephew was a baby so fourish years ago

95:Got my nails done: Two years ago

94:Went to a wedding: Four years

93:Broke a bone: Never

92:Got a peircing: Had my nips pierced for a while about two years ago

91:Broke the law: A few days ago

90:Texted: Like 25 minutes ago[ MISC ]89:Who makes you laugh the most: Depression memes

88:Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My dog

87:The last movie I saw: Zodiac

86:The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: Moving out

85:The thing im not looking forward to: Being in clinic

84:People call me: Sarah

83:The most difficult thing to do is: Have strangers in my personal space

82:I have gotten a speeding ticket: Nope

81:My zodiac sign is: Cancer

80:The first person i talked to today was: My mom

79:First time you had a crush: Four or five?

78:The one person who i can’t hide things from: My therapist

77:Last time someone said something you were thinking: Last night “ That’s so gross”

76:Right now I am talking to: No one

75:What are you going to do when you grow up: Be a teacher

74:I have/will get a job: Have

73:Tomorrow: Work

72:Today: Work

71:Next Summer: Be less chunky

70:Next Weekend: Go on an adventure

69:I have these pets: The best dog in the world

68:The worst sound in the world: Cutting Styrofoam or it rubbing together

67:The person that makes me cry the most is: Myself

66:People that make you happy: All my friends

65:Last time I cried: A couple weeks ago

64:My friends are: Pretty sweet

63:My computer is: Really loud

62:My School: I’m a adult

61:My Car: Is really REALLY sad

60:I lose all respect for people who: Are rude to waiters/ waitresses and children

59:The movie I cried at was: Marley and Me

58:Your hair color is: Dark brown

57:TV shows you watch: Stranger Things, The OA, Criminal Minds, The 100

56:Favorite web site: This hellhole of a site

55:Your dream vacation: Some place with lots of fun hikes and good food

54:The worst pain I was ever in was: The time I quit my job to go to the ER because my cramps were so bad I wouldn’t stand and I was crying and it was bad

53:How do you like your steak cooked: I don’t eat steak

52:My room is: Covered in dog hair

51:My favorite celebrity is: Jake Gyllenhaal

50:Where would you like to be: At a happier place in my life

49:Do you want children: Yes!!

48:Ever been in love: Nope

47:Who’s your best friend: Liam

46:More guy friends or girl friends: It’s even

45:One thing that makes you feel great is: Taking a shower

44:One person that you wish you could see right now: Any of my internet friends

43:Do you have a 5 year plan: I’m just trying to make it through the day

42:Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Kinda

41:Have you pre-named your children: I like the name Zena for a girl

40:Last person I got mad at: My sister for being an ass

39:I would like to move to: Washington maybe

38:I wish I was a professional: Adventurer [ My Favorites ]37:Candy: Sour patch kids

36:Vehicle: 1970 Chevelle SS

35:President: Shoutput to Roosevelt for making national parks a thing

34:State visited: Washington

33:Cellphone provider: AT&T

32:Athlete: ????

31:Actor: ????

30:Actress: ???? theres to many options and I don’t remember names

29:Singer: anyone who sings sad songs

28:Band: Being as an Ocean

27:Clothing store: A lot of my shirts are from target

26:Grocery store: Fred’s is the closest so thats where I go

25:TV show: Criminal Minds

24:Movie: Pacific Rim

23:Website: Here

22:Animal: Elephant

21:Theme park: I’ve only been to Silverwood

20:Holiday:  HALLOWEEN 19:Sport to watch: Soccer I guess

18:Sport to play: None I fucking suck at them

17:Magazine: National Geographic specifically any issue on space

16:Book:I really like the Shannara Chronicles 

15:Day of the week: I really don’t mind Mondays

14:Beach: I loved the ones in Maui

13:Concert attended: I’ve never been to one :/

12:Thing to cook: Pancakes

11:Food: Fried Ravioli

10:Restaurant: Jewel Lake Pizza and Chinese Food

9:Radio station: I don’t really listen to it

8:Yankee candle scent: ??? probably apple orchard or something like that

7:Perfume: Tuscan Blood Orange

6:Flower: All of em

5:Color: Yellow

4:Talk show host: Not sure

3:Comedian: Not sure

2:Dog breed: Muts

1:Did you answer all these truthfully? Yeah