#like i’m on vacation. why can’t i just take a fucking chill pill

[abowlofpetuniasandawhale]

i wish i could just handle someone being a little thoughtless and rude without it getting under my skin and poking at my wounds so much like. it’s so frustrating that the most inconsequential things just have me spiraling dramatically

[cigardadmasterdj]

"You insolent. Fucking. Dipshit. You're a fucking flea. Say it." His boss smacks him around like he would any other fag.

"I'm a flea, Sir."

"You're a great big dummy and you fucked up. Say it."

"I'm a great big dummy and I fucked up, Sir."

"You're gonna suck my dick now. You know why? Because I caught you stealing my goddamn money and if you don't suck my dick, I'll fire your ass, and you'll be on the goddamn street. And you think the government is gonna help you out then, huh?"

His newest prize looked sadly down at the floor.

"Hey. Eyes up at me, Stupid," his boss told him. The thing about his boss is he always spoke so calmly and certainly. He didn't raise his voice and he didn't have to. His words were ice going down his new slave's veins. And that's what he was going to be now. A sex slave.

"I'm sorry, Sir," his subordinate croaked.

"Yeah, I know you're sorry," his boss told him. His voice betrayed no emotion. "I've told a few of my associates about you. Men that like a nice hot younger man to service them. Some of them are old and fat. But they're rich and powerful. So you'll be servicing them, won't you?"

"Yes, Sir," his dumb little office drone answers.

"You like dick, don't ya?"

"Yes, Sir. I am gay, Sir."

"You're a fag is what you mean. Gay men can do a lot of things. Fags are just cocksuckers. They obey real men. Repeat that."

"Fags obey other men. Fags are cocksuckers."

"Are you a fag?"

"Yes, Sir," the fag whispers.

"Good. Because from now on, if you want to survive, you'll do as I tell you. And don't think about running, because if you run, I'm connected. I'll find you. And I know people that can do horrible things to you and you don't want that, do you, fag?" Again, the calm voice mixed with threats sends chills like ice water down the fag's body.

"Please don't hurt me, Sir. I didn't know you were connected, Sir."

Thugs had captured him one night and taken him to a warehouse. They had talked with his boss, who told him all about what was going to happen. He knew about the money laundering and it wasn't going to go well for the faggot. He had him roughed up that night, enough to be scared.

"I think we need a new name for you. How about Kyle? I like that name. From now on, when you get fucked and used, you're going to be Kyle. Kyle the boy whore. Kyle the slut. Kyle the sex slave," his boss says, holding his new slave's chin firmly in his hand. "That sounds very good to me."

"Yes, Sir," the fag says, but it's difficult for him to speak with his new Master holding his mouth together.

"What's your new name, slut?"

"My new name is Kyle, Sir."

"Very good, slave. You're being obedient. Now, tonight, you're going to go away for a little mini vacation," his new Master tells him. It scares the new slave that his Master is actually using the word "slave". It seems like reality is crashing into him, finally.

"Where? Why?" Slave Kyle is panicked now.

"Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhh. It's fine. They're going to give you some pills and make all your bad thoughts go away. They'll make it easier for you to do the things I want you to do, that's all." Slave Kyle doesn't understand yet. His mind is racing with fear. Master continues: "It's going to be easier in the long run. There are techniques that can help make you more accommodating, more docile. You want to be more docile and gentle, don't you? That would be very pleasing for me."

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."

"Good boy. Now you're going to suck my cock like a good slut and you're going to swallow all of my cock. It's very big so I want you to breathe through your nose, okay?"

Slave Kyle makes a whine sound of pain the way a dog would, sharp and clear. A puddle of drool escapes from his lips before Master takes out the cock he's going to suck.

Slave doesn't know this yet, but he is in for a lifetime of sex slavery, of obeying powerful men and bowing to them, serving them, and soon all of his bad thoughts will go away.

Slave will learn to accept being a slave.

Acceptance of one's fate is a good thing in these uncertain times, after all.

MY NAME IS MASTER DJ. I AM A CASHMASTER, AND I HAVE ENSLAVED HUNDREDS OF MEN OVER THE YEARS. THEY ALL BOW TO ME. THEY WORSHIP ME. THEY CRAVE ME. THEY LOVE ME. I DESERVE IT ALL.

LIKE MY BLOG, STORIES AND CAPTIONS?

THANK ME VIA AN AMAZON GIFTCARD.

https://www.amazon.com/gift-cards/b?node=2238192011 

Send it to:

cigardadclassic@yahoo.com

I KNOW ALL. I SEE ALL. I SEE INSIDE YOUR FAGGOT SOUL.

https://www.amazon.com/gift-cards/b?node=2238192011

ALL FAGS LOVE ME. ALL FAGS WORSHIP ME. ALL FAGS CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF ME. YOU CRAVING SOME ORDERS, YOU LOWLY MAGGOT? HUH? COME MESSAGE ME ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO SERVE. MASTER DJ IS HERE, AND I’M BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY WAY.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends

Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.

It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.

And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.

I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.

Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.

Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!

Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.

Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.

I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.

Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.

Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.

Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.

Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.

My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.

We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.

Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.

Comic books are wild, y’all.

Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command,  is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.

Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.

Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.

Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…

Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?

So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.

The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.

Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.

Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.

Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.

I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?

Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.

The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.

Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.

Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.

Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.

On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.

Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!

Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.

Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.

Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.

Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.

Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?

They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?

Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.

Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.

The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.

And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!

No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.

Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?

The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.

Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.

Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.

Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.

Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.

Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?

Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!

This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.

WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG

Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.

The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.

Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.

That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?

Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.

Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.

They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.

It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.

Okay, time for Plan B.

I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.

Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…

I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.

The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!

This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.

Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.

Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.

If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!

Red herring!

Red herring!

Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.

Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.

Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.

Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.

That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.

He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.

And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.

Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?

The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.

Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.

Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.

Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.

Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.

Big oof.

Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.

Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.

Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.

Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.

...Well, shit.

[buffysresources-archive]

╰    🔪    *    SENTENCE  STARTERS    ─     SUMMER  OF  ‘84    !

feel  free  to  change  pronouns  around  for  whatever  fits  best  .    fair  warning  some  of  these  are  “nsfw”  in  the  teenage  boys  are  gross  kinda  way  &  some  mentions  of  dead  things  /  dead  bodies  /  killers  .

‘  even serial killers live next door to somebody .  ’ ‘  tough pill to swallow , i know , but it’s true .  ’ ‘  people hardly ever let you know who they really are .  ’ ‘  the suburbs are where the craziest shit happens .  ’ ‘  what’s with all the dirt ?  ’ ‘  lame , you’re better than that .  ’ ‘  vaginas are magical .  ’ ‘  it was on vacation dipshit .  ’ ‘  i would live up here if i could .  ’ ‘  i don’t know how safe that would be .  ’ ‘  it’s a conspiracy , it’s all connected .  ’ ‘  there’s literally no proof of that .  ’ ‘  you guys are animals .  ’ ‘  you are so dead !  ’ ‘  doesn’t mean i’m ready to give it up .  ’ ‘  always something that needs reporting .  ’ ‘  you asked to touch her boobs & she threw you over the railing .  ’ ‘  okay , now i know you’re full of shit .  ’ ‘  it smells like werewolf crap .  ’ ‘  i got needs , ( name ) .  ’ ‘  she’s like scientifically the perfect woman .  ’

‘  what kinda games ?  ’ ‘  what kinda games ? naughty games ?  ’ ‘  the future is doomed , ( name ) .  ’ ‘  let’s not gossip . . .  ’ ‘  something big is going down .  ’ ‘  it’s a serial killer !  ’ ‘  this is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to us .  ’ ‘  there’s no way it’s gonna hit us .  ’ ‘  you’re desperate for crazy shit to happen .  ’ ‘  incoming titties , twelve o’clock !  ’ ‘  you guys are disgusting !  ’ ‘  aw , i’m so fucked .  ’ ‘  unlike you idiots , i actually come here to study !  ’ ‘  cut the shit !  ’ ‘  he’s bored so he’s raising the stakes .  ’ ‘  jesus , ( name ) , it’s not like you’re gonna break it !  ’ ‘  peak a boobs !  ’ ‘  free porn , bro .  ’ ‘  is he just gonna take that ?  ’ ‘  let’s go get the little shit .  ’ ‘  uh , this way dick weeds .  ’ ‘  don’t even say it .  ’ ‘  whatever , i’m out .  ’ ‘  i got a book to finish anyway .  ’ ‘  congrats , you’re getting your calcium . so what ?  ’ ‘  i blame myself .  ’ ‘  i also blame ( name ) .  ’ ‘  redheads all look the same .  ’ ‘  ( name ) , what the fuck ?  ’ ‘  god damnit , fine .  ’ ‘  still not convinced ?  ’ ‘  he can plant evidence to throw them off .  ’ ‘  who would suspect a cop ? it’s the perfect cover .  ’ ‘  okay , magnum p.i. . what’s your plan ?  ’ ‘  well we have to find out the truth & be able to prove it .  ’ ‘  this is batshit crazy , i’m in .  ’ ‘  probably wanks it & cries himself to sleep . . . loser .  ’ ‘  we catch this fucker & become heroes .  ’ ‘  they’re aliens & they’re highly intelligent !  ’ ‘  now if it was gremlins i’d buy it , maybe .  ’ ‘  stick to shit that could actually happen .  ’ ‘  dude , i told you to stop talking about my mom .  ’ ‘  would you rather i acted it out ?  ’ ‘  let’s break into his garage .  ’ ‘  trust me , i’ve got a plan .  ’ ‘  what the hell are we doing ?  ’ ‘  there could be evidence in here .  ’ ‘  do you know me at all ?  ’ ‘  i am not digging through trash !  ’ ‘  if i find a used condom in there , i’m gonna be so jealous .  ’ ‘  you guys are crazy .  ’ ‘  quit crying , ( name ) .  ’ ‘  you know you can get aids from looking through trash , right ?  ’ ‘  the only way you’re ever getting aids .  ’ ‘  i can’t believe it , nothing .  ’ ‘  a lair ? he’s cobra commander now ?  ’ ‘  we could always look through his mail .  ’ ‘  ask & you shall receive .  ’ ‘  i’ll take care of that responsibility .  ’ ‘  night one , no luck .  ’ ‘  kinda don’t wanna be home .  ’ ‘  we can make popcorn & watch close encounters .  ’ ‘  you’re so good .  ’ ‘  dude , what took you so long ?  ’ ‘  expecting someone so late ?  ’ ‘  wow , guess i haven’t been here in a while .  ’ ‘  better view of my room than i thought .  ’ ‘  sucks how much things have changed .  ’ ‘  oh , fuck me .  ’ ‘  get down , shit for brains !  ’ ‘  i’m dead shit !  ’ ‘  you look like you’re thirty , it’s gonna be fine .  ’ ‘  where were you last night ? i thought you were coming over .  ’ ‘  you’ll never believe who showed up at my door instead .  ’ ‘  she was about to kiss me .  ’ ‘  we’re picking up this convo later .  ’ ‘  we’ve gotta keep following him , go .  ’ ‘  you drive like my grandma , dude .  ’ ‘  freak this !  ’ ‘  i’m never doing this again , you guys are dicks !  ’ ‘  let’s just get home as fast as we can .  ’ ‘  oh shit , fuck !  ’ ‘  it’s a cop !  ’ ‘  i don’t have my license genius !  ’ ‘  i’m so screwed !  ’ ‘  we were just borrowing it !  ’ ‘  you could be in some real trouble .  ’ ‘  ( name ) , what a surprise .  ’ ‘  ( name ) , we meet again .  ’ ‘  get your asses home where it’s safe & stay there .  ’ ‘  unless he stashed it some place .  ’ ‘  we’re onto you , ( name ) .  ’ ‘  i thought everything was fine . . .  ’ ‘  they didn’t even seem upset .  ’ ‘  i just feel like my life has been one big lie .  ’ ‘  who knows what really goes on behind closed doors ?  ’ ‘  people keep stuff like that private .  ’ ‘  honestly , i can’t wait to get out of this stupid town .  ’ ‘  can i tell you my secret ?  ’ ‘  yeah , that’s what he wants you to think .  ’ ‘  i know how your brain works but you’re wrong .  ’ ‘  i’m not gonna get caught .  ’ ‘  just let the cops handle this .  ’ ‘  i don’t want anything bad to happen to you .  ’ ‘  you’re like the only person left in this town i actually like .   ’ ‘  finally using those brain powers for good , about damn time .  ’ ‘  guess you dickheads just aren’t men yet .  ’ ‘  what’s the deal with you & ( name ) .  ’ ‘  we have like a connection .  ’ ‘  the only connection i want with her is vaginal . or oral if she’s into that .  ’ ‘  everyone keeps their doors unlocked around here .  ’ ‘  you said he killed kids , not adults .  ’ ‘  they said something must have gone wrong  ’ ‘  fuck that , i mean you wanna go in there be my guest .  ’ ‘  dumbasses first .  ’ ‘  ( name ) , i was kidding !  ’ ‘  i’ve got a bad feeling about this .  ’ ‘  the light doesn’t work .  ’ ‘  you guys smell that ?  ’ ‘  it smells like road kill .  ’ ‘  if there’s dead bodies in here i’m totally gonna shit my calvins .  ’ ‘  you guys still think i’m crazy ?  ’ ‘  he could still be in the house .  ’ ‘  we scared you ? !  ’ ‘  it’s easy money usually .  ’ ‘  wait were you really talking to her ?  ’ ‘  what’s going on here ?  ’ ‘  you guys hooking up ?  ’ ‘  you are my god !  ’ ‘  i fucking love you !  ’ ‘  can i get a picture of you for my shrine ?  ’ ‘  no way , you still have those ?  ’ ‘  audio surveillance , smart .  ’ ‘  found you , you big tittied butthole !  ’ ‘  why don’t you shut the fuck up & get out of here before i pound you , you little shit !  ’ ‘  whatever , pussy !  ’ ‘  freaking hate that kid .  ’ ‘  holy shit , he’s got blood on him !  ’ ‘  do you think he’s onto us ?  ’ ‘  we’ve gotta make it work .  ’ ‘  you scared the hell outta me last night .  ’ ‘  guess you didn’t see me coming either though .  ’ ‘  i’m ready for you this time .  ’ ‘  thanks for the offer .  ’ ‘  i’m freaking the fuck out !  ’ ‘  oh my god , he’s onto us !  ’ ‘  i should have just gone to space camp .  ’ ‘  it’s fool proof .  ’ ‘  what are you , a chicken ?  ’ ‘  hello ? someone there ?  ’ ‘  that was way too freakin close .  ’ ‘  there’s nothing here .  ’ ‘  i got this .  ’ ‘  i’m just good at working the hole .  ’ ‘  unless he’s killing people with his lawnmower , we got jack shit .  ’ ‘  well this whole night’s been a waste of time .  ’ ‘  you got a death wish ?  ’ ‘  you’re not gonna believe what we found .  ’ ‘  how the hell am i supposed to know ?  ’ ‘  classic ( name ) .  ’ ‘  are you high ?  ’ ‘  your summer’s fucked .  ’ ‘  this is way too heavy , i’m out .  ’ ‘  do not come out of your room until i say so .  ’ ‘  no way , it’s a classic !  ’ ‘  everyone’s talking to me like i’m already gone .  ’ ‘  it’s wigging me out .  ’ ‘  the closer it gets , the more i feel alone .  ’ ‘  i wish i could get out of this stupid neighborhood . . .  ’ ‘  i’m gonna be locked up til i leave for college .  ’ ‘  i might have snuck out .  ’ ‘  i know i’m right about it , it’s the shittiest part about it .  ’ ‘  you only get the chance to be a kid once , believe me i know .  ’ ‘  if i’m right who is gonna stop it ?  ’ ‘  just kinda wanna make sure that we’re good .  ’ ‘  why haven’t you found him yet ?  ’ ‘  if you want i can stop by , give you updates ?  ’ ‘  i can tell you have an interest in this stuff .  ’ ‘  wow you really have it in for me , huh ?  ’ ‘  the last thing i want is for there to be bad blood between us .  ’ ‘  i’m pretty sure my parents hate me now .  ’ ‘  you’ve got quite the imagination .  ’ ‘  my dad says it’s because i read too many mysteries .  ’ ‘  it’s exciting , the stuff that’s going on .  ’ ‘  he might be at practice or something .  ’ ‘  look , i’m sorry for being such an idiot .  ’ ‘  how are you guys not freaking out right now ?  ’ ‘  this proves he’s guilty !  ’ ‘  justice will be served .  ’ ‘  you’re clearly fucked in the head .  ’ ‘  dude you just sound desperate now .  ’ ‘  just admit you were wrong .  ’ ‘  tape doesn’t lie .  ’ ‘  i know you guys all think i’m crazy , but i’m gonna prove it to you .  ’ ‘  i just need you guys to watch my back .  ’ ‘  i’m done with this shit , okay .  ’ ‘  you’re gonna get caught !  ’ ‘  are you with me ?  ’ ‘  if shit goes sideways , i’m pinning it all on you .  ’ ‘  this is your last shot , ( name ) .  ’ ‘  i mean if you think there’s something down there , i guess i’m in too .  ’ ‘  this is so not fair !  ’ ‘  it’s go time !  ’ ‘  don’t you ever talk to me that way again !  ’ ‘  it’s no wonder those kids are such fuck ups .  ’ ‘  can’t take a little family time ?  ’ ‘  fuck off , (name ) .  ’ ‘  why , you need an alibi ?  ’ ‘  hold this . . . this too !  ’ ‘  i’m not gonna let my best friend go into a serial killers house alone !  ’ ‘  let’s just make this quick okay ?  ’ ‘  why do you keep doing that to us ?  ’ ‘  i figured you’d need some help .  ’ ‘  listen to me , it’s over .  ’ ‘  i’m sorry man but you’re on your own .  ’ ‘  i mean , we’re already here . we might as well just check it out .  ’ ‘  we have to look .  ’ ‘  we’re about to find the proof , i know it .  ’ ‘  please tell me somebody brought a flashlight .  ’ ‘  creepiest basement ever . . .  ’ ‘  jesus fuck !  ’ ‘  calm down , it’s just a light .  ’ ‘  oh my god , take a chill pill !  ’ ‘  shine a flashlight on the lock .  ’ ‘  did ( name ) teach you this ? it doesn’t work !  ’ ‘  vagina !  ’ ‘  the whole things off .  ’ ‘  are you fucking kidding me ?  ’ ‘  it’s a long story , just trust me .  ’ ‘  fuck that , i gotta hear this .   ’ ‘  maybe i could sleep at your place tonight ?  ’ ‘  parents again ?  ’ ‘  how bad’s it this time ?  ’ ‘  let’s just say i don’t wanna witness a murder-suicide .  ’ ‘  but i’m not watching gilligan's island  ’ ‘  you think he keeps his victims here or something ?  ’ ‘  just make sure you’re filming .  ’ ‘  no , ( name ) , wait . . .  ’ ‘  is this enough proof for you ?  ’ ‘  we need to go . . . now .  ’ ‘  i’m next . . .  ’ ‘  it happened because of you .  ’ ‘  i’m proud of you , i’m real proud .  ’ ‘  you guys are safe now .  ’ ‘  i wonder where he is . . .  ’ ‘  it’s just a matter of time .  ’ ‘  nothing’s ever gonna be the same again .  ’ ‘  you think they’ll catch him ?  ’ ‘  there’s nowhere left for him to hide .  ’ ‘  it’s over , we got him .  ’

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

When a God Finds a Girl (Part 9)

Inside the diner, the air is crisp. It’s comfortable, old fashioned booths and mismatched tables at chairs. It could be any small town diner in America. You wave at a waitress in a hello you give someone you’re only a little familiar with, and she smiles, “Take a seat anywhere hon, I’ll be around with water and Coffee in a minute.” You beam, “Thanks, Gracie.” You lead them to table big enough for everyone and don’t bother with a menu. You and Natasha compare notes on coffee creamers, and Bucky tries to distract Sam, Steve tries to explain to Thor why biscuits and Gravy is a menu item. 

It’s a beautiful morning sipping coffee and eating breakfast. At least until your phone rings. You look down at the screen and sigh, “What, Flenner?” you say just barely containing an eye roll. You listen intently and sigh, “No, I’m on Vacation until Monday.” The change in the voice on the phone is noticeable, and your face gets stormy, “You better change your tone, quickly,” you say calmly, “You got me 50 shades of fucked up if you think that it’s my job to come in and clean up YOUR mess.” The person on the phone is shouting. Actually shouting at you. “You can’t fire me if I quit, Consider this my notice.” The voice on the phone is suddenly contrite, “This is not a power play. This is my notice. I’ll be in on Monday to clean out my office. I won’t be your fall guy. Enjoy sitting on a Death Committee.” 

Natasha pats your arm, and you smile. It’s a smile that looks brittle. “Well,” you say to Sam, “I guess I only have 83 jobs now.” Sam frowns, “What happened, baby girl?” You shake your head, “Our interim Facility director managed to actually kill someone. They snowed him out so bad he just... never woke up. He was trying to say that it was my fault since it was MY caseload and I should have been at work to prevent it.” Thor lays an arm over your shoulders and kisses your head. You shrug, “I have 6 job offers right now. I’m not exactly hurting. And I won’t starve or anything. I don’t really have many expenses.” It’s evident that the circumstances of leaving this job are breaking your heart, but no one can be too upset at you having one less responsibility to do. You smile, you talk, but your heart just isn’t in it. Sam won’t let you pay for your meal, and when you pout, he kisses your cheek, “Consider it a reward for doing something for your mental health. That job was starting to treat you like an abusive relationship that you were staying in for the kids.” You give him a look, and he smiles, “It’s true, baby girl,” he said, “You were overworked, underpaid, and they acted like you were disposable... I’m sorry that the client is gone, but I’m not sorry that you left.” You sigh, and he pulls you into a hug, “I know,” he says hugging you tightly.

Thor can only watch, he’s thankful that Sam knows what to say. Because he does not. Natasha and Stever drag you off to go look at the storefronts. Or at least Natasha does, and Steve takes your arm on your other side happily along for the ride. You all ramble the main street, looking in shops for the heck of it and all you really want to do is go home and hide in the lake. Still, it’s nice just being around comfortable people. It reminds you of Clay bringing buddies to the lake. The same banter. The same casual disregard for feelings. The same kid gloves when it came to your feelings for fear that an older brother figure would pound them to dirt.

Returning to the Lakehouse is soothing. It helps. There are no demands on your time. Everything outside this property doesn’t matter. You toe off your sandals and untie the halter of your dress, letting the fabric pool around your feet and expose your swimsuit. There are whistles of approval from Bucky and a groan of irritation from Sam. You whistle to Traeger, and before any of them can follow suit, you and Traeger both hit the water with a splash. It isn’t long before they all follow suit. Thor discovers the unique joy of swinging off a rope into the water and in the sunset, fireflies starting to glow, you and Natasha are calling out scores as the boys try to outdo each other.

Around the fire, there is music and food and more beer. Everyone is slightly foxed. Everyone is sunburned slightly. Everything is right. That night, as everyone sleeps, you sit on the dock watching the stars. The quiet moments are the worst. When all you can do is think. That’s why you had never done pot or heroine. Or any other drug that slowed you down. Taking life at a sprint, moving from one thing to the next kept these moments away. You wanted to call someone. See if you could get a hold of anything, but you knew it would break Sam’s heart. 

You stare at the sky, trying to count the stars. It’s a useless task. A worthless endeavor. But maybe it’ll keep your mind occupied. Perhaps it’ll keep you from grabbing your Adderall out of it’s hiding place. The need to be stimulated, to do something. To feel like you’re flying is like a physical burn. You take a deep breath, and you’re about to go get your pills and just go alphabetize your kitchen when muscular legs appear at either side of yours, and then strong arms pull you against his chest as he drops a kiss on your neck. “Nightmares?” he asked softly. You sigh, “I haven’t even closed my eyes yet,” you say. Thor frowned and cuddled you softly. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, kissing your shoulder, “Sad about your client?” You sigh, “Yes, but I’m mostly just trying not to let the existential dread set in.” Thor frowns and chafes your chilly arms with his hands. He’s never had to think about his place in the world. Never had to wonder. Never had to worry about what his path would be. He knows your life will be short compared to his. He knows the need to prove yourself. But he can sense this isn’t that. This is a different need. Something so raw and all-consuming you don’t notice the chill.

It hits him finally when he sees the involuntary movements of your hands and turns your words over in his mind. You want drugs. You’d rather be high than feel all the emotions pressing on your chest. You were fine when it was bright, and there were people around you could look after but now, in this quiet. Everyone in the world asleep but you. There is no escape from the pain. There is no way to block it from your mind. Thor tightens his arms around you reflexively and looks up at the sky with you. He can’t stop the pain, and he can’t bring himself to use sex to distract you, no matter how much he wants you. So he holds you to him, silent and watchful, praying to the gods that it was enough. 

Neither of you sleeps. You because you cannot and Thor because you can’t. In the morning as you make coffee, Thor stays near you, hovering. You fix his cup and then fix yours, and the god pulls you into his lap. “Are you feeling better, love?” he asked softly, keeping his voice out of anyone else's hearing. You nod mutely. You’re exhausted, but the need burnt it’s self out with the daybreak. Sam watches this with narrowed eyes. When you get up to make more coffee, he tilts your chin up to look into your face, and you rip your jaw out of his hand irritated as you slap it away. Hard. Sam watches as you whistle to Traeger and trot up the drive, working into a run, concern all over his face. Thor clears his throat, “So far as I know,” he said, “Nothing happened... I was with her on the dock. All night.” Sam nods, feeling like an ass. He’s seen you come down off lots of things. Mostly after being awake for days. After not eating. He should know better. He doesn’t mean to treat you like a child, but, in his heart, you are a child. You’re always and forever 8 years old.

When you come in from your run, sweating and panting to get water for the dog, Sam does what Sam always does when he’s hurt your feelings. He slips you a Cookies and Cream Hershey bar and walks away. It’s enough. A peace offering. If not an outright apology. You go to the shower, and Thor sits on the couch. The others are outside, lounging in the sun, enjoying the last full day at the lake house. You’re in the shower forever, and Thor gets bored, staring at photos and trying to stay awake. He noticed the CD cases and opens them. He’s overwhelmed when he sees the painstaking labeling. He’s heard stories, but he needs to know. He watches the first one he finds. It merely says “Birthday Message Afghanistan 2006″. He puts it in, and Clay is on the screen. He’s singing to you, a guitar in his lap,

...My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to, Your dreams stay big, your worries Stay small That you never need to carry more than you can hold, And while you’re out there gettin’ where you’re getting to, I hope you know  Somebody loves you and wants the same things too, Yeah, this is my wish...

It’s sung with so much love that Thor can feel tears sting the backs of his eyes. Clay wanted the world for you. He sacrificed his own happiness to give you the life he thought you needed. It was no wonder to the Asgardian why you cherished his memory and why his loss had affected you so profoundly. As the song ended, Clay beamed into the camera, “I love you, baby girl,” he said, “Happy Birthday! I’m sorry I’m not there, but I’ll be home soon. I hope this year if everything you want it to be.” He waves at you, and the video ends. Thor takes a deep breath, he feels like he’s intruding on something private. Some intimate part of your past that hardly anyone has seen before. He feels terrible, but he can’t stop watching the videos. He watches you sing with your mom, with Clay, with Sam. He watches you perform alone. It’s intoxicating, seeing the moments in your life where you were truly happy.

Before your foundations crumbled to ash. He’s so engrossed in a video of you accompanying your Mother as she sang that he doesn’t immediately notice that you’ve sat next to him. Not until you say, so softly, “Please. Turn it off,” you ask. Thor starts but complies. You aren’t crying or angry, you just look, tired. “I’m sorry,” he stammers, “I just, I didn’t know and then...” You hold up your hand to stop him, putting the case away. “Just... Can we take a nap?” you ask, “I’m so tired.” Thor nods, pulling you into his arms and onto his broad chest. You’re asleep so quickly he barely has time to get you settled. Thor smiled, holding you secure against him, one hand on your lower back and the other tangled in your long hair. It’s sweet, and you’re beautiful warm. It makes it so easy for him to drift off.

Tags: @thekairos @lancsnerd @amalthea9

[loneleesoul]

Starker: Party Games Pt. 3

I'd call this a story, this is the first time in a while ive loved what ive written and gotten so deep into a story.

💛💛💛

Peter waits while Ned's mom is in the kitchen to tell him about Tony. His changed demeanor, defending him and that god awful cringey hug-like thing.

Ned is smirking the entire time, the only thought on his mind. "He so likes you Peter."

"What? No! That's insane!" He's shocked at the accusation, never in a million years would he have thought of something like that.

"Listen, he treats you like shit for what- five years, then a traumatizing experience sets him straight and his true love for you blooms out, reaching out for you because he's cared all this time! He-" He runs out of air, fanboying taking over for a second.

"I honestly don't think that Ned, maybe he's just messing with me." Peter shrugs and Ned belches "Maybe it's Maybelline Peter, it's real." He slams his hand on the table.

"Like with children, they bully the ones they like because they don't know how to handle their feelings. Hey, maybe you actually shook him, so now he feels bad for treating you like shit."

"Ned! Will you please stop with your dumb love story theories please! I don't like Stark!" He growls, silencing Ned.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. "Maybe he feels bad, but he'll turn back to beating the shit out of me. Maybe he's having a hard time at home, his dad seems like an asshole every time he's at school. I don't know and don't care Ned, sorry but the only thing I worry about is having to explain my injuries to Aunt May."

Ned stares down at his hands as his mom returns with desert. "Peter honey, do you want to bring some of this home for May?" She smiles, obviously hearing the conversation a few seconds ago.

__________

Michelle is right by his side as he arrives at school. "I've got open lunch, as should you and Toe-knee s-dork." She smiles, her iconic lazy grin.

"What's my nickname?" He asks, genuinely curious. "Penis Parker, I didn't come up with that one... Uh, Dickwad, Loser, Bones-"

"That's pretty cool, Bones." Peter shrugs and MJ giggles. "Come on, are you that stupid that you don't get it? No one has ever seen you eat and you are literally skin and bones, skin isn't a good nickname however."

"Excuse me??" Peter shouts, starling MJ. "What? Don't shoot me, Stark came up with that one. Plus, it's true.. you don't eat." She shrugs and Peter is fuming.

"How about you prove S-dork wrong and take us to lunch because you are a loser." MJ grabs onto his arm. "Pleeeease, pretty please with Penis Parker on.. top? Geez that's wrong."

"Fine! I'll prove S-dork wrong! Tell him we are going to lunch." He's too pissed to think of what he's getting into.

"Thanks Petey, I'll drive us." She kisses him on the forehead and rushes away.

He wipes the spittle off, moaning in disgust. Not that MJ was disgusting or anything, it's just that she's more of a criticism friend. One that treats him like shit to improve him.

Boy, was he really that obvious when he didn't eat? He wouldn't say he had an eating disorder or anything, just that he eats when he's hungry.

And he just so happens to not be hungry during the morning or school hours.

Most people scoff at him when he sits at lunch, alone, with no food, looking like his usual loser self.

"How do you stay so skinny Peter?" "Are you starving yourself for attention or something?" "You know, some people are actually starving with no access to food." "Why don't you eat?" "Do you need to talk to the school counselor?" "Peter, we talked about this, you are worrying everyone."

It was all fine, brush it off okay until Stark got involved. Which, he's been getting mad at Stark a lot in the past three days.

After all this time, doesn't Stark deserve it?

__________

He's going to see Peter, holy shit.

Hooooly shit, he's going to screw this up. "That's cool, today?" He asks, voice breaking slightly. "Yeah, meet me by my trash van.. Peter's paying so get some expensive shit." MJ finger guns him and walks away. Tony sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

As long as I don't touch him, look at him or even breathe in his direction, I should be fine.

__________

It doesn't take Peter too long to find MJ's "trash van" she had mentioned a few minutes ago. It was truly a piece of garbage.

The brown paint was peeling, a rust colored metal beneath it. Random stickers and decals were littered all over the vehicle.

And, best of all, there were only two seats.

MJ had the other two rows removed when she went on a spontaneous vacation for three weeks in Louisiana.

"Hey, be glad I got rid of the mattress that was in here. I spilled food all over that disgusting thing. Now you can either sit on Tony up in the front with me, or sit on the floor in the back." She gestures to Tony, who looks ahead ignoring Peter.

Oh, what else was new? What the hell was wrong with him?

"I'll take the floor, thanks." He mutters, swinging open the door and slamming it behind him.

MJ gets in the drivers seat and laughs. "Are you sure you don't want to sit on Stark's lap? I know how uncomfortable the floor is, I haven't had a chance to vacuum the floor in like... months."

Tony audibly sighs, looking down at his hands and Peter rolls his eyes. "I'll manage a two minute drive Michelle."

"Oh I think it's gonna be more than two minutes Pete." She looks at him through the mirror, smiling deviously. "Ever been to that new joint near the public library?"

Peter groans, remembering him and May looking at the high-end luxurious establishment with want. "I can't pay for that!" He exclaims as MJ starts to drive.

"You lost, you agreed to buy us food." MJ taps on Tony's elbow. "This loser has to pay, back me up here."

He takes a deep breath and looks at Peter through the mirror. "You lost fair and square, and as a loser you suck."

Peter glares at him "You swallow."

A spark of suprise in Tony's eyes. "You choke."

"Nope bitch, I could shove an entire cucumber in my mouth and not gag." He retorts and MJ busts out laughing.

He turns red immediately, wanting to take those words back. He could just imagine the rumors now.

But a dark look is now in Tony's eyes, something that Peter has never seen before. Is it a new level of anger? Embarrassment?

He looks away quickly, eyes now glued to the floor. "YOU ARE A FUDGING HOOT PARKER." MJ screams out, shaking from all the laughing.

He can feel Tony's eyes still on him as Michelle speeds to the restaurant. "Are we gonna be back in time for class?" Peter asks worriedly.

"Okay you freaking psycho, you need to take a chill pill, everyone has skipped classes before. You'll survive without English." She gasps in awe at the restaurant. "Beautiful, plus we only have like 20 some minutes until class so we are definitely gonna miss class." She shrugs as she nearly hits a car while parking.

Peter clamours out of the van awkwardly as Tony waits impaitenly behind him, silent unlike usual.

MJ grabs Peter's arm, dragging him to the front. "Get yourself together, you look awful. They'll turn us down if we look poor. Tony is fine." She messes with his hair in attempt to fix it.

Peter looks at Tony and can't help but blush. He did look good.

Tight jeans and t-shirt which both hugged his godlike figure. A baggy letterman jacket hides those chis-

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

Peter shakes his head and sighs. It's best to just pay attention to Michelle's bullshit.

God no.. -he did have a godlike figure, it's undeniable. No wonder he was fucking girls every other night. Those "chisled" arms have beaten the shit out of Peter more times than he could count on seven hands.

What the hell was he doing? This jerkweed had been beating the shit out of him relentlessly for the past like five years. Tearing him down emotionally, mentally and physically without remorse.

"Table for 3?" He asks to the beautiful hostess. She smiles at him with kind eyes. "How old are you?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Stop hitting on this loser and get us a table." Tony cuts in, a grimace on his lips.

Her smile fades, turned to a growl. "There's an age limit in this establishment mister, I'd watch your mouth." She hisses and Michelle pulls Tony back. "Me and the jackass are 22, the angel is 21." She bluffs.

The smile returns "Great, if you will all follow me." She leads them to a booth. Luckily, Michelle seats herself between Peter and Tony. Unluckily, they face each other and Tony tends to stare.

"Guys... please go easy on me, I only have like 30 right now.." He begs. "Fine, what are you having?" Michelle puts down her menu.

"Oh, probably nothing.. I made manicotti in Culinary this morning." It's not exactly the truth. "I'm just getting this out of the way now so you won't bother me about it later." He shrugs, pulling out his wallet. "If I give you the money right now can I just leave?" He pulls out a wad of cash and holds it in front of MJ.

She looks a bit worried. "Seriously? I meant that we all have dinner, in this case lunch, together." There's a hint of hurt in her tone.

He sighs, exasperated. "Look, I'm not like you two where it's cool and okay to be late or skip class. You're right I'm a loser, I can walk back to school. Run to make it on time." He scoots to leave the booth but a waitress arrives.

"Would you all like something to drink?"

MJ puts on a fake smile. "Manhattan please."

What??

"Sazerac, with a little more absinthe if you could." Tony grins, voice smooth like melted butter.

"And you sir?" She turns to him, book in hand. "I.. uh-.. Dr. Pepper?" He feels stupid saying it, but what the hell????

She nods, smirking slightly and walks away. MJ giggles uncontrollably and Tony sighs. "We are not over 21! She didn't even ID us!!! This is wrong!" He accuses.

"Peter, relax for the first time in your life. Haven't you ever had a sip while your parents weren't looking?" MJ raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"First off, I don't have any parents and second, no! I don't drink and neither should you! It's expensive as hell! I bet what y'all just got was over 30 bucks!" He whispers violently.

MJ looks at the menu. "No actually 12.35, so you better check that wallet again."

Tony bites his lip, foot tapping unconsciously under the table. "MJ? Why did you choose such an expensive restaurant when we don't have time and Peter doesn't have the money?" The latter bothers him more.

Peter stares down at his hands, biting his lip. "Tony, lets just have him get drinks now and he can buy us food when we have more time." She waves at the waitress.

She rushes over with her toothy smile. "Yes?" She tries to hard to be like all of the other waitresses. "Something came up and we can only get drinks, is that okay?" MJ sounds polite for once.

She nods and hurries back into the kitchens, a few seconds later the drinks are here.

"Peter, try mine." Michelle waves her drink in his face. "No, we shouldn't be drinking especially when you are driving!" He hisses at her, keeping his voice low.

He hears Tony scoff and the rage just builds inside him. "That's why you should drink this so I can drive." She smirks, pulling the drink up to her lips and sighs. "You are missing out, drink your Dr. Pepper you virgin."

What kind of insult is that?

[rosytteok]

50 questions tag.✍🏻

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tagged by the sweetest human ever;; @stuipdgirlxbtsx ily bud ty💞‼️

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1. What takes up too much of your time?

lmaooo school, schoolwork, homework. anything related to school.

2. What makes your day better?

To be honest, scrolling through tumblr, laughing, talking to mutuals, writing when I’m very inspired. basically a lot of things make my day.

3. What’s the best thing to happen to you today?

My mom brought me my nana’s soup and other goodies for lunch and I was THRIVING!!!

4. What fictional place would you like to go to?

Maybe Hogwarts, P.K Academy, Ouran Academy(even though I’m poor as fuck) and that would be it.

5. Are you good at giving advice?

I think I am??? Sometimes in certain topics I can really let loose and advise someone from experience or from what I’ve been taught growing up.

6. Do you have any mental illnesses?

None at all.

7. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis?

Nope.

8. What musicians inspired you the most?

Hm, Freddie Mercury(or Queen as a whole), BTS, and many others.

9. Have you ever fallen in love?

Yup.

10. What’s your dream date?

Nothing special nor fancy either—prolly something like going out to talk or eat fast food or ice cream. maybe a simple movie date.

11. What do others notice about you?

I have no idea lol. Probably like my face, mostly my eyes I think.

12. What is an annoying habit you have?

For me, since I bite the insides of my lips a lot, I find it annoying cuz I wanna stop but I just can’t??? ugh skskskks.

13. Do you still talk to you first love?

Never have had a bf. So no, I don’t even know where the hell my first crush at kdkdkdk.

14. How many exes do you have?

None.

15. How many songs are in your playlist?

A. Whole. Freakin’. Lot.

16. What instruments can you play?

None lmaooo but I’d love to learn how to play the piano, or the guitar.

17. What do you have the most pictures of?

Probably most kpop/bts related pics or pics of me lmao.

18. Where would you like to go before you die?

Truly...I’d love to travel the world but places like Italy, Japan, Korea, Thailand, Spain, France, etc. They really catch my attention so maybe one of those, hopefully, in the near future.

19. What is your zodiac?

Gemini.

20. Do you relate to it?

Sometimes I do, not frequently though. I just think back on a Gemini’s attributes and characteristics and be like: “oh! maybe that’s why I’m like this.” but then poof. I don’t pay them much attention.

21. What is happiness to you?

The people that surround you. Your loved ones, precisely. Family and friends to me are happiness. Also, my hobbies and interests. Like dancing, listening to music, and writing.

22. Are you going through anything right now?

Stress. Lots of finals to be done and I’m s t r e s s e d. But I’m managing.

23. What’s the worst decision you ever made?

No idea. Currently, can’t remember any.

24. What’s your favorite store?

I normally dislike shopping so I don’t know. Maybe somewhere with a makeup aisle, or like beauty related stuff kdksksk.

25. What’s your opinion on abortion?

(yikes oh god) although the thought of killing an innocent human being disgusts me, if it’s the product of some sort of sexual abuse then, if the female feels uncomfortable having the child since it may remind her of the assailant and/or the memory, it’s her choice to abort or not. Now, if the child were to be a mistake made by reckless behavior or malfunctions(?) on behalf of the pill or condom, then I believe the baby should certainly not be killed. Just because you didn’t plan it or if it was a mindless error it’s not the child’s fault. They shouldn’t be immorally punished.

26. Do you keep a bucket list?

Nope.

27. Do you have a favorite album?

Not precisely. Since I mostly listen to just some songs from a certain album and not like the whole thing, I can’t say. Maybe MOTS: Persona??? Idk man kdksksk.

28. What do want for your birthday?

Makeup maybe??? Money??? the MOTS: Persona album?? A vacation??? I have a lot of things in mind ksksk.

29. What are most people’s first impression of you?

Can’t say, really. Prolly that I’m a saint with no sense of dark humor. Like a nun maybe. Lmaoooo skskks.

30. What age do you seem according to most people?

17-20 ksksks.

31. Where do you keep your phone while you’re sleeping?

If it’s charging then, it’s on a table in front of the foot of my bed, sitting on top of a Bluetooth speaker. If it’s already charged then it’s in my purse.

32. What word do you say the most?

Somethings like: “uwu”, “hot”, “cute”, “baby”, “lmao”, “look—bye.”, “what the fock.”, “specimen” (weird selection, right? lsksksk.)

33. What’s the oldest date you would date?

Max one to two years older than me. MAX. M A X. I can’t go any higher than that, sorry fellas.

34. What’s the youngest age you would date?

This is going to sound so stupid but again, max a few months younger. I stand being like years older than a guy. It’s just not in my persona.

35. What job/career do most people say would suit you?

God forbid but, a teacher. Especifically, an English teacher or like a Science teacher. I’m shaking but God, no.

36. What’s your favorite music genre?

Pop, rock, kpop, and a little bit of R&B on the side.

37. If you could live in any country in the world, where would it be?

Hm, maybe just America or Canada. Although, I like other countries, I don’t feel like I’d be ready to live in a foreign country yet skskks.

38. What is you current favorite song?

Killer Queen by Queen, bad guy or COPYCAT by Billie Eilish.

39. How long have you had this blog for?

No freaking idea. Maybe for like a year now? Two maybe soon? This blog initially wasn’t planned ksksks it just came out of nowhere but I’m glad now that I made it.

40. What are you excited for?

My birthday and summer vacation.

41. Are you a better talker or listener?

A mix of both. Sometimes when I don’t know what to say, i just lend my ears all the way. But when I do, the words flow through as I advise skskks.

42. What is the last productive thing you did?

Do the dishes later today skskks.

43. What do you want for Christmas?

A miracle sent from Heaven and makeup(maybe??? Or like an album possibly??? Too soon to tell y’all).

44. What class do you get the best grades in?

Not to FLEX but honestly, all of them. Although, English is my forte (it has been since I was little) and I always get the highest grade rank in my class.

45. On a scale from 1-10, how are you feeling right now?

A pretty chill 9.

46. What can you see yourself doing in ten years?

Studying hard on what I love, cramming for exams in some dorm late at night. Maybe even finishing my dream. Living the stressful life that is college skskskks.

47. When did you get your first heartbreak?

Never have gotten one lol.

48. What age do you want to get married?

I truly do not want to get HUSBAND UP but who knows??? Maybe in my early to middle twenties??? I don’t know since I haven’t put much thought into it.

49. What career did you want to have as a child?

I remember like wanting to be a model, singer or like an actress or fashion designer.

50. What do you crave right now?

For school to hurry up and end, something sweet, and a good fucking nights’ rest skskks.

-

this took so much skskksks anyway,,,,I’m tired so imma post this and chill.🤟🏻

-

💌;; @gukgalore @palepinksuga @carry-on-my-wayward-bts (not an obligation since i know it’s a pretty long tag)

[canaryatlaw]

alright, well today was interesting. it started at like, 8:10 am when I woke up to a phone call from the amazon prime delivery person delivering my computer cable, saying the door wouldn’t open (it’s the door to a fucking apartment building?? it’s locked???) and if she should just leave the package there, and I said yes just leave it there, which is why I specifically spelled out in the delivery instructions to just leave it at the door and not interrupt my sleep....ugh. whatever. I went back to sleep and woke back up to my alarm at 9:45 since I was supposed to do a phone interview at 10 but I was hella tired because I couldn’t fall asleep last night AGAIN, so I kinda was in and out of sleep for a few minutes until the call came. I proceeding to give a phone interview while I was still half asleep and laying in bed, but it ended with them wanting to do an in person interview with me tomorrow, so I guess that’s good. The position is interesting, it’s with the ABA as a pro bono coordinator of sorts working with military cases and helping them find lawyers to take on their cases, ranging from all sorts of different types of law. It’s not something that like, I’m dying to do, but it would be more steady than my current gig and the salary would be better because I’d at least be doing 40 hours a week of work which is more than I’m doing now (I think they said the salary was around $55K, which is fine with me) so that would be cool. It would also look better on my resume going forward just because it would be more public interest focused work, especially if I wanted to get in with a nonprofit that does pro bono work. so that could be good. I am slightly anxious about like, if I got a more conventional job I wouldn’t have the freedom I have now to take trips whenever I want, but they did ask about scheduled vacations and I told them about SDCC and Dragon Con (and possibly LA for KCon there, but that would probably only be one day missed) so that’s helpful at least. but yeah we’ll see, I don’t like, have my heart set on it or anything, if it happens it happens, if not oh well. Once we finished I had to convince myself to actually get out of bed and not go back to sleep, which I managed to do with some coaxing and reminding of how much shit I had to get done. So I got up and had some breakfast, started doing laundry, went on my computer for a bit and then started working. I’m still working on the statement of facts, mostly cleaning it up and finding the proper cites for all the info (it tends to be easier to work backwards by writing out the important parts from a summary and then going back and finding the cites for them in the record rather than combing through a 750 page record in order to determine what’s important). So that took a while, with trips up and down to do laundry. I had to call my chiropractor’s office when they opened at noon because when I cancelled on Thursday due to the ER situation I hadn’t had any future appointments scheduled, but they were able to get me in the 5 pm slot for tonight where I’d been scheduled, so that worked perfectly. Around 4:30 I started getting ready and then walked over there. I’m building up a really good rapport with the PT guy there, you can tell he’s like, very much enjoying the fact that I’m playing soccer now and wants to know all the details about the games and such and is always giving me tips, and it’s nice, it brings a little more entertainment to the session. Rest of it went well, afterwards I walked down the street to the grocery store to grab a few things. When I was checking out my total came to $23.19 and right after the cashier said the number he launched into a Monsters Inc. reference “2319! we have a 2319!” and him, the bagger, and I all dissolved into laughter. it was a small moment that just left me like man, people can shit on millenials all they want, I love my generation. Anyway. I went home afterwards and spent a while chilling out and icing my back, and then called my parents for a bit and mostly just ranted about everything I’m mad about, starting with the children at the border situation and telling them I’m seriously considering up and moving to Texas at this point, and then evolving into abortion because my mom has been getting involved with the local pro-life campaign so I was just telling her you know, legislation isn’t the solution here, if we really want to reduce abortions we need to treat the systemic issues that cause a need for them, and that will actually reduce numbers rather than blanket bans that only put women’s health in danger and spark a gigantic backlash. And I know she knows much of this and is actively working on a project to help provide housing for young pregnant women who might otherwise have chosen abortion, I just feel the need to make sure she’s thinking about these things. I know everything’s in a huge uproar about the issue right now and I won’t get too far into this mostly for the sake of time as it’s almost 3 am, but my experience with both the pro-life and pro-choice camps has led me to believe what may be an unpopular opinion- but the majority of people who consider themselves “pro-life” are not women hating monsters, but truly want to do what’s best for women, they just disagree with how to get there. And I’ve been saying this for years now, but there’s so much vitriol between the two camps right now and just constant demonization of the other that makes any actual progress on addressing issues that would actually improve the lives of young would-be mothers, which should be the goal of both sides, but they can’t stop bickering long enough to come together to accomplish it. I know it’s a very complicated issue and I could talk your ear off for way longer than that about it, but as someone who considered themselves very pro-life for a number of years but has since distanced myself from the movement significantly, I feel like I have a unique perspective on things. Anyway. I also ranted about parents not accepting their gay children and how that drives up suicide rates, which I know is something my mom is not very keen on talking about but I keep reminding her about it and just not going to let it ignore it. so it was a bit of a loaded phone call, but overall it was good. Once that was done I got back to work for another two hours or so before stopping for the night and watching some Anthony Bourdain since twitter had declared today “Bourdain Day” since today was his birthday. Once I finished a few episodes of that I went to get ready for bed but had to fold and put away all my laundry first, and then showered and then had to do all my pills for the week, all of which took forever and is why it’s now almost 3 am when I’m finally getting to write this. I think that covers most everything that was important about the day, so I’m going to leave it at that and hopefully get some sleep now. Goodnight my dears. Sleep tight.

[bigbtx7-react]

BTS Reaction: You cry from stress

Jin:

You were currently studying your life away so you could get a good grade on your finals. Not to mention the fact that you had to balance your relationship, your part-time job, and other homework on top of it. 

You sat at your desk, head in your hands as you desperately tried to lull the lingering ache in your head. You let out a pained whimper as you slammed your pencil down, the loud snap that echoed causing you to whimper again. 

Soft foot steps pattered outside the doorway before you heard the faint creak of the doors hinges. Your head slowly turned, the pops from your spine aching your head even more. You spotted Jin and gave him the weakest smile you could muster. 

Jin gave you a pitied smile as he walked closer, cup and medicine in hand. Just the kind gesture made your eyes tear up. What seemed to make you snap was the soft kiss Jin placed on your temple. Your lip wobbled and Jin cooed as he pulled you close, tears now soaking the shirt he was wearing. “Oh, Princess… I’ve got you… Everything’s okay…”

Yoongi:

You swept up the floor for what felt like the fifth time today. Yoongi would always bring the boys over to hangout and they never seemed to clean up after themselves. Letting the broom fall to the floor, you covered your face and shook your head as you only imagined what the living room looked like. It pained you to peek out around the corner, and you regretted it immediately. Soda cans, empty pizza boxes, and pillows littered the floor. 

Letting out a pained sigh, you walked in and grabbed the closest things off the floor. You tossed the pillows back on the couch before moving onto the soda cans. After minutes of picking up, the room seemed to have not changed in the slightest. Your eyes stung and you blinked rapidly as you picked up another pizza box. As you stood up, the tear fell, then another, and another as you threw the box down and plopped down on the couch. 

Your face was still shoved into the same pillow when you heard voices and keys from outside. You cursed and shook your head as the gang of boys pilled in. You couldn’t help the strangled sob that left your throat that instantly silenced the boys behind you. 

Yoongi’s soft voice chimed in behind you. “Jagi?” Rushed footsteps sounded from around the couch and the next moment, you were curled into your boyfriends side. The tears fell freely now, the sobs rolling in like rushed tides behind them, followed by the waves of your cursing. “You guys never clean around here! I’m tired of it, Yoongi! I cook! I clean! All day! And you guys leave this place in such a dis-!” You were cut off by soft lips on your cheek. “Go lay down, Jagi.. Let the boys and I finish…” More soft kisses pattered onto your face as Yoongi kissed off your tears. “I’m sorry…”

Hoseok:

Your feet dragged along the stones leading up to your front door, you fingers lazily sliding up the key pad. You shivered and sniffled as you typed in the code as fast as you could, attempting incorrectly a few times before the soft ding rang. You slid the pad back down and opened up the door, walking in and closing the door behind you as fast as you could. 

“Welcome home, Kitten!” Hoseok sang from upstairs. You could only grumble back as you kicked off your shoes and stepped inside. You walked to the living room and tossed your work bag onto the kitchen table. You walked around the couch and switched on the lamp before plopping down on the couch. 

Hoseok walked down the stairs apprehensively. “Kitten? Is everything okay?” He noticed your back tense and then your shoulders slowly start to shake. “Oh no..” He whispered out as he rushed over and kneeled in front of you. “I just don’t get it! I do all this work at fucking work! And they just send me home with more! It’s never enough! I can’t fucking take it!” You spit out as you sobbed loudly. 

Hoseok felt his eyes tear up as he listened to you. “Oh kitten… No more work.. I’ve got us now.. No more..” He climbed onto the couch and pulled you close. “I’ve got us..”

Namjoon:

Propping up the final pillow on the bed, you backed away and cursed as you pulled at the sheets. You groaned as the pillow collapsed onto the bedsheets. You shook your head and sighed as you walked back downstairs, giving up on making the bed picture perfect. 

Starting with dinner, you set the ingredients out and turned on the burner on the stove. You hummed to calm yourself as you mixed the batter for the chicken. 

Namjoon’s loud footsteps echoed from the front door as he walked into the kitchen and gave you a sweet smile. “Let me change and then I’ll come help.” He disappeared upstairs and you continued to concentrate on the dinner you were making.

Thirty or so minutes later, Namjoon trotted downstairs and into the kitchen. “Hey, babe? Why’d you leave the bed so messy? Do you not clean?” Sucking in a harsh breath, Namjoon decided to continue. “And there were clothes all over the floor in the bathroom.” Your lip trembled and your ears turned red as you turned around. “Did you just.. ask me!” You pointed to yourself for emphasis. “If I don’t clean! Did you really just ask me that Namjoon!” Your voice raised and your tears followed, tears pouring out after your words. “That’s all I do! That’s all I fucking do while you’re gone! I make everything picture perfect and you ask me if I don’t fucking clean?!”

Namjoon seemed to shut up immediately once he spotted your tears. “Oh, babe.. I didn’t mean it like that.. Oh no..” He walked over and enveloped you with his arms. “Oh no… Everything you do for me is perfect… I’m so sorry…”

Jimin:

Soft music was the only noise that reverberated throughout the house. It seemed like it was the only noise the walls had heard for the past two months. With your boyfriend never home and refusing to let you work when he could take care of you both, your life had turned into an endless and boring cycle and it had definitely started to take a toll on you.

You laid in the middle of the carpet, your eyes glazed over slightly as you stared up at the ceiling. Your ears perked up however when the sound of the garage door opening cut through the endless cycle of the music. You didn’t make an effort to move however, afraid that it was just your mind playing tricks. Even when your boyfriend loomed over you, you still thought of it was a joke. “Are you crazy? Why’s all of the furniture on one side of the room? And why are you playing such shitty music?” Your bubble popped as you looked up at him. You instinctively blinked quickly as you stared at him. “Crazy? Shitty music? Well I wouldn’t have to listen to shitty music if you were home!” You sat up and huffed softly. “I wait day and night for you to come home and this is how you repay me?” You felt tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I can’t believe you, Jimin..” You whispered out as more tears fell down your cheeks. 

Jimin felt his heart squeeze and he shook his head with a frown. “Oh, baby… I’m so sorry… I love you so much… I didn’t mean it…” He walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I know I’m never home… It’s so selfish of me..” He pulled you closer. “Why don’t we dance to your music, hm?”

Taehyung:

You sat on the couch scrolling through twitter, just seconds after Tae had posted one of his infamous selfies. You couldn’t help but giggle at some of the frantic and wildly inappropriate things that some people commented, knowing not long ago you were right by their side. 

You were about to give up on your scrolling frenzy until a few keywords caught your eyes. You scrolled back up, squinting your eyes as you read over the words repeatedly. They repeated in your head but you couldn’t help but to continue reading over them.

‘He’s so pretty. Why does he date such a fat pig?’

You set your phone down with a soft thud and looked at the blacked out TV in front of you, it seemed to accentuate your features making them large and misshapen. You stared your slight double chin and the roundness of your cheeks. You looked away quickly and sat there thinking to yourself. “Am I really that fat? I didn’t think I’d gained any weight.” In a panicked frenzy you ran to your shared bathroom. Tae was sat on the bed and watched you bolt by with a curious eye. “You alright, babe? Did you see my picture?” He teased.

Ignoring his comments you ran to the scale and stepped on, looking away before down at your feet. You sucked in a harsh breath as you read the numbers. You’d gained a few. You shook your head and started to pace, slowly stressing yourself out in disbelief.

Tae walked into the bathroom and frowned as he watched you for a few seconds. “Is everything alright? What’s wrong, baby?” He kneeled in front of you, grabbing your arms softly. “Tell me what’s wrong?” You refused to looked at him before letting the words tumble from your lips. “Have I gotten fat, Tae?” 

Looking at you as if you were losing your mind, Tae huffed and stood up. “Is that why you’re all stressed out? Of course not, baby.. Besides, if you did what’s the big problem? You’re still my pretty princess.” He scooped you up by your legs and tossed you over his shoulder. “Let us escape these bad thoughts, princess! We shall take a small vacation from this castle!”

Jungkook:

Sitting there and watching your boyfriend attempt another round of Overwatch had become exhaustingly repetitive. You understood that he adored the game, but he seemed to adore the game every second that he wasn’t in the studio recording or at dance practice. 

You let out another sigh of annoyance, hoping that making it louder this time would gain your boyfriends attention. It only gained you a sigh in return. Rolling your eyes and shaking your head as you crossed your arms over your chest and looked away from the computer, a rush of angst running through your body. Your eyes prickled with tears as you couldn’t even remember the last kiss let alone hug you and Jungkook had shared. 

You stood from your seat and walked out onto the balcony, the cold chill from the air relieving your eyes of the tears, causing them to roll down your cheeks. You shut the door behind you and leaned on the railing letting your tears fall freely. You covered your mouth and shook your head as you let out a weak and tiny sob. 

You were cut off by the door squeaking open quietly. “Babe? What are you doing out here? It’s freezing, come back inside and let me finish this round and warm up.” You shook your head as another ugly and gut wrenching sob broke from your lips. “No! I won’t sit there and watch you play another round! That’s all I ever do! I watch you play another round! We never watch movies let alone cuddle anymore! I wait for you every secon-!” You were cut off by the soft lips you had craved so desperately for. 

A weak whimper left your lips as you melted into his arms. You pulled away after a few more seconds. “I-I’m still mad at you..” A soft chuckle left his lips as he gripped under your thighs and hoisted you up before carrying you back inside. “We’ll see how mad you are after all these kisses I give you.”

[literarygoon]

So,

Jesus wanted to know if I was taking my medication. 

The saviour of humanity was rocking back and forth in one of our deck chairs, his bare feet propped on the railing of our front porch, as the evening horizon simmered blood-red in the distance. I had just finished putting the kids to bed when I found him chilling there in an orange T-shirt, gazing serenely out at Lake Quamichan and running his fingers through his luxurious beard. It had been years since we’d last spoken, but somehow he knew all about my brain meds.

The thing was, it frustrated me that my mental health relied on a handful of daily pills. Especially because they didn’t change anything about the circumstances of my reality. Shouldn’t I be able to wrangle my thoughts in a positive direction? I was scared I’d be handcuffed to lithium for life, that my bipolar diagnosis would ultimately kill me. My brain felt like an intricate puzzle I couldn’t solve, my mindscape an exhausting treadmill of depression and dark thoughts. Was this the God-shaped hole they’d talked about when I was growing up in youth group? Was I being bullied back towards faith?

As I stepped on to the porch, Jesus motioned to the empty chair beside him and I sat down, a little reluctant and weirded out by this supernatural appearance. My wife was doing dishes in the kitchen, the banging and sloshing creating a background soundtrack to the eery quiet of our mountain neighbourhood as an elderly woman wearing headphones power-walked by with her shaggy white dog.

“I heard you haven’t been taking your meds regularly,” he said. “Is that true?”

I sighed. “I forgot on Tuesday night and it wrecked me for like three days. All I could do was sleep and complain. I honestly can’t believe how patient my wife is with this shit. I’ve been like this for six months now.”

He nodded knowingly. “It’s important to stay on schedule.”

“I hate being this fragile.”

“You won’t feel like this forever. Trust me.”

“That’s why I started praying, you know? Things were just getting so dark that I didn’t know what else to do.”

He smiled. “Most people don’t pray until they really need to. I’m used to it.”

Being in the Lord’s presence was kind of like standing beside a particularly burly bouncer; I felt safe. He didn’t look the same way he did in the paintings, or in that Mel Gibson movie — he was olive-skinned, with wrinkles around his eyes and jet black hair that hung sun-damaged and coarse around his face. I’d invited him into my heart when I was eight years old at Vacation Bible School, and apparently I’d never successfully evicted him. But he’d never bothered to show up like this before, not even back when I was a missionary and a camp counselor. He seemed preoccupied, and a little sad. 

“You know they’re burning down churches, right?” I asked, motioning to his shirt. In capital letters it read EVERY CHILD MATTERS. 

He shrugged, smiled knowingly. “My real cathedral is in here,” he said, pointing one finger to his temple. He then swept his arm in the direction of the horizon. “And out there.”

“Still, it’s not a great time to be Catholic.”

He frowned. “This is a time for atonement. It’s not fun, but it’s necessary. People have the right to be angry.”

“These mass graves, man. It’s hard to square with the concept of a benevolent creator. I mean, I know we have free will but...”

Human guilt had been on my mind for a while now, collective and otherwise. I was having sleep issues, waking up hours before work, and repetitive intrusive thoughts flooded my headspace while my wife slept beside me. I was dredging up sins and mistakes from years and even decades ago, my memory systemically itemizing my fuck-ups, and I didn’t know how to forgive myself. Was this shit going to follow me all the way to my final resting place? I wanted desperately to repent, to access the grace I’d learned about as a kid, but I just didn’t believe in Christianity anymore — no matter how much I wanted to. 

Now here we were trying to repent as a country, whether that meant wearing orange shirts or vandalizing churches. I couldn’t help but feel that nothing would make any real difference to those children, long forgotten and buried underground. I thought of my own kids, and what it would be like to have them torn away, how that would destroy my soul. I wanted to believe there was some sort of God waiting for them on the other side.

“We had a fisherman staying with us for a couple days, a friend of my wife,” I said. “He went to work on one of those big commercial boats, came back with all these wounds all over his arms. He said they could carry like 40,000 pounds of fish at a time.”

“Certainly different than it was in my days.”

“Yeah, he said sometimes they would catch these epic like 10-foot fish that couldn’t fit in their conveyor belt so they just went to waste. Just got cut up and thrown back in the sea.”

Jesus didn’t say anything. The horizon was starting to go dark.

“It made me think of that Bible verse where you talk about being a fisher of men, and I figure some men are just too big to catch, you know? Makes me wonder if I’m going to end up as spiritual bycatch. Like God’s just going to throw me overboard.”

He mulled this for a moment, then held up his arm so that I could clearly see the gnarly nail wound in his wrist. I could see where it had been hammered through, and also where his body weight had tugged it open further. It was surrounded by crusted blood. “You want to put your finger in here?”

I shook my head. 

“And yet still you doubt, don’t you?”

I pressed my knuckles into my eyes and groaned. My wife was finishing up with the dishes inside, and I didn’t know how much longer this hallucination would last. No matter how comfortable I was, I still felt like we were living in the End Times. A few days earlier Lytton had burned to the ground in a forest fire, razing the whitewater rafting resort I’d done my guide school at. Between COVID, climate change and the culture wars, it seemed like the world was on a downwards trajectory. 

I was scared for the future of my children.

“Listen, before you go,” I said. “I know we haven’t really been talking for a while, but...”

He turned, and raised his eyebrows.

“Will you look out for my kids? No matter what happens? Like I’m not asking for special treatment or anything. I don’t know how long I’m going to last here, and I want them to have beautiful lives. I’m just worried I can’t give them what they deserve. I’m worried the world is going to shit, I’m worried they need something that I can’t give them. Can you take care of them?”

He patted me on the shoulder, and smiled.

“You can do that yourself.”

The Literary Goon

[hellomissmabel]

“I can’t fall in love without you”

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Angst but with a happy ending. Mentions of car accident, death, loss of left arm.

Word count: 2.507

Summary: Five years after moving away from her friends and everything she knows, Y/N receives a surprise visit by Tony, bringing some bad news with him. Sequel to the fic I wrote for @bionic-buckyb that you can find here: “Someone will love you”

A/N: I know I promised you a fluffy fic @mrshopkirk but that’s coming next, okay?

Bucky was your happy pill. He told you he’d hold you until you died. So when you left, every single time you scratched your nails down another man’s back, another man that wasn’t Bucky, you forgot about everything cordial and just let go. Because you have nothing but a memory to hold on to now. A memory and some curse words you’re about to get thrown to your head in order to deal with some overdue debts. Because you’ll pay in order to heal your wounds and those of others, too.

You had set up shop in a little sunset town in Europe. Your motivations for travelling all this way were as clear as day but you feed the same story, the same lie to everybody who showed at least some interest in your previous life; A family member died and left you a generous amount of money, enough to give you a fresh start. They didn’t need to know that you broke your lover’s heart and asked your ridiculously rich best friend Tony Stark if he fancied funding your escape to Europe, to which of course he said yes. With a little pushing and shoving from Caroline, your partner in crime.

You turned your key into the lock, opening the door to your two-bedroom apartment you shared with your colleague Henrietta. You both worked two jobs, not that you needed to with all of Tony’s money, but it was more to keep your mind from wandering to Bucky. Henrietta worked as a waitress at the diner around the corner with you and was a house sitter on the side. But your job at the diner is only your side-job. Henrietta needs all the help she can get since she can’t run the place on her own with the owner always passed out between the liquor bottles. Your actual job however is at a little pastry shop two blocks down where you have built up quite the loyal clientele thanks to your mad baking skills.

“Y/N, my love, would you mind sharing a piece of your famous apple pie with us?,” Henrietta asked you from her spot on the loveseat in the living room as the door falls back in the lock. Unaware of any visitors you might be expecting, you cautiously followed the sound of her chipper voice.

“Yes, Y/N,” a slippery charming voice pipes up, a familiar dark-haired man sitting next to Henrietta. Your groceries bags slip from your hold and through your fingers, crashing onto the floor with a clattering noise.

“Tony you motherfucker Stark what the living fuck are you doing here?” you scream at the top of your lungs. But it’s all inside your head, because once you open your mouth to let the words out, you have lost all ability to speak.

“I ran into this handsome stranger at the diner. He asked me if I knew a certain Y/N Y/L/N and I told him of course I knew Y/N, she’s my roomie!”

You rush towards the kitchen and taking out the leftover apple pie, the need to escape from Henrietta’s good-natured chatter too great. Yet you soon feel his presence hovering behind you and as you turn around, you dive deep inside the bubble of pain growing inside your chest. The apple pie is soon abandoned on the kitchen counter as you begin a staring contest with Tony, Henrietta having vacated the room the give you two some personal space.

You’ll be damned if you let him be the first to speak, so you clear your throat and ignore the chills running down your spine. “Is there something wrong with Bucky? Is that why you’re here? Because I clearly remember our agreement like it was yesterday and I’m fairly sure it didn’t involve any impromptu visits.”

“Just calm down first,” is all you get. A sarcastic chuckle and a friendly warning. So you turn your back to Tony and take out a knife from a nearby drawer. Whilst cutting the apple pie in three pieces, one for Tony, Henrietta and you, your gut feeling tells you it’s a lie. He is withholding a very vital piece of information from you.

“Where’s Caroline?”

“Home. Taking care of our two kids.”

There’s so much left unsaid behind those eyes but you’re too proud and too scared to probe any further. Nevertheless, there’s no goodbye hiding behind that picture perfect smile, all your goodbyes discarded a long time ago when you couldn’t be bothered to tell anybody you were leaving. Anybody but Bucky.

“How long have I been gone?”

“Like you haven’t been counting, Y/N,” he strikes back with sharp precision. You have been counting, that much is true. But your tongue is tied.

“I need to hear it from you,” you press with a stubborn insistence.

Tony sighs a desolate “Five years.”

Your old home is now a place the world around your forgot. There’s nothing you can do except forget about it too, forget about the brightness of Bucky’s smile and the longing, the aching of your heart for his touch. “How’s Nat?,” the masochist inside you asks.

“Y/N…,” Tony replies with another languid exhale.

What follows is an unfortunate reunion with the tiles of the kitchen floor, your knees giving out instantly due to the shock. Tony’s there to catch you before you hurt yourself, lifting you up and sitting you down on the kitchen counter, locking eyes with you as he cups your face in the palms of his hands. His thumbs stroke your cheeks lightly, scared that his touch will somehow make you combust into flames.

“That’s exactly why I’m here. Nat and Bucky were in a car accident. She… She didn’t make it.”

“They were arguing,” he explains and it’s as if all the tiredness you’ve ever experienced in your entire life comes like a tidal wave right back at you. Mind reeling, eyes red from the tears, you listen to his quivering voice.

“Bucky and Nat separated not long after you left. Well, it was Bucky’s decision and Nat just went along with it, much to her dismay. And not long after their break-up, they got back together. The two of them have been dating on and off again for as long as you’ve left the country.”

Tony heaves out a dry laugh but there’s no humour to be found in his expressionless eyes. Taking out a handkerchief, Tony hands it to you and you gladly expect it, wiping away the excess tears. “The only reason they stayed together is because all their other romances failed.”

You want to wash out your brain with bleach the moment those words reach your ears, processed by every single brain cell tainted by the memory of Bucky Barnes. “I don’t want to hear it, Tony. Just tell me when it happened.”

“The car crash happened just yesterday. Like I said, we planned an intervention at my place. The medics said Nat died on impact. Bucky suffered some severe injuries... They immediately took him to the OR and according to the doctors he’s out of the woods. For now.” Tony looks down at your shaking hands. “I came here as soon as I heard.”

“Why? Why would you ever think about coming to me first? You should be there with Bucky and everybody else. I’m not a part of this anymore.”

“Y/N, you will always be a part of this. Bucky needs you, he will need you now more than ever. He’s… He’s lost his left arm, Y/N.”

So this is what it feels to have hit rock bottom. Tony tries to save the conversation by ensuring you that you have a flight back thanks to his private jet, already getting prepped for take-off. Part of you wants to come, wants to go with his so desperately you can’t even be bothered to pack your things. Bucky is badly injured, the thought following you like a ghost.

But there’s another part of you that whispers like the devil, coaxing you with wrong intentions. You can’t go back. You can’t face all your friends, or now former friends, after eloping half a decade ago without another word. “They’ll hate me, Tony. As soon as they see my face, they’ll cast me out.

“They might. What you did was ugly, Y/N. You were unfair to so many people, so many people that loved you. But I have come here to make peace, I’ve come here to offer you a way to make amends.” He takes your hands in his, squeezing them softly. “Pack your bags, sweet thing. You’ve been hiding for long enough.”

You never set a foot in a hospital unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s ironic that a hospital is the first place you set foot in after five long years.

“Y/N Y/L/N and Tony Stark here to see James Buchanan Barnes,” Tony announces to the woman at the nurse station. Her light blond hair is tied back in a neat bun, her sharp facial structure on full display. But her soft lips cut off the edge of her symmetric face, adding a kindness to her obviously very beautiful face.

“Mister Rogers is still with him so you’ll have to wait until he leaves to visit mister Barnes.”

“Very well,” Tony concludes and with a curt nod thanks to lovely woman.

Nervously you sit down on one of the chairs nearest to the nurses’ station, staring at the people passing you by in order to give your mind a welcome distraction. That is, until your name falls from Steve’s lips with the utmost indignation.

“You brought her back?” he then turns to Tony. “You brought Y/N back? You actually thought this was a good time to bring back the one that got away? Nat just died, Tony!”

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” you say in a meagre attempt to save Tony’s ass as well as your own.

“Damn right you shouldn’t be here. You left, Y/N. I’m never going to forgive you for that.”

Tony’s vice grip on Steve’s wrists prevents him from turning away, his eyes spitting the fires of hell whilst darting back and forth between you and Tony. “Let go of me, Stark,” he snarls in a hostile tone.

“You know, Steve, I never pegged you for the type that holds long-term grudges.”

“Fuck off. You had no right to involve her in this. She’s not our friend anymore. She stopped being our friend when she left without a word five fucking years ago.”

“Please stop. Both of you,” you snap in the middle of their hurricane.

Addressing Steve directly, you waver slightly as your system drops into a critical mode. He is so angry. He is fuming. He is pissed at you and he has every right to. Before you and Bucky, there was you and Steve. You were friends with benefits and even though the transition back to just friends went smoothly, you don’t think he ever let go of you. Maybe he’s still cross with you for going from his booty calls to romantic dates with Bucky and not some other dude you picked up at one of Tony’s parties.

“Steve, I’m not going to overstay my welcome at all. I promise you I’ll be outta here by nightfall.” You take a deep breath and finish with an insecure “But only if Bucky wants me.”

The blond huffs, eyeing you suspiciously, but agrees to your terms after which Tony releases him. “If you hurt him again, I’m going to come after you.” Giving Tony the stink eye, he albeit power walks around the corner.

“C’mon darling, let’s go see your boy,” Tony encourages quietly, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you towards the right room. You’re afraid to walk inside, so you let Tony do the knocking first, hoping that Bucky will already be fast asleep and didn’t hear anything of the altercation that occurred earlier.

“Yeah, I’m awake. Come in, whoever you are.” He still sounds the exact same, your heart skipping a beat at the sound.

Shortly peering your head inside, you quickly retract again as your nerves catch up to you. Steve was right. Steve was right and you shouldn’t be here because Nat just died and they were still together even though their relationship wasn’t all too stable and they weren’t faring well at all and…

“Y/N, is that you?”

It’s Bucky’s voice that snaps you out of your insecure ramblings. You had only shown your face for a feeble second, how on earth could he have known it was you?

“Tony kept his promise,” he mumbles to himself and suddenly all the pieces to the puzzle fall together. Your feet lead you through the door and into Bucky’s hospital room.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers softly. “Sweetheart…” And then he starts to cry.

You rush over to him immediately, cradling your ex-lover into your loving embrace. It’s then that you notice he indeed only has one arm and that there’s a firm bandage around his left shoulder. But you’re not given too much time to think any further about it before Bucky’s ugly cries turn into whimpers and his heartbeat levels out to a steady thumping.

Pulling back a little so you can take another good look at him, you finally get to see the changes behind his eyes. The long hair, the lush and thick, black eyelashes together with that million dollar smile. It’s all still there. But his eyes, his baby blue eyes carry a dead sentence. They show you the five years you’ve been gone in just mere seconds, all the hurt and the misery he’s been through, trying to fix himself up with little help from Nat.

“Nat’s dead,” Bucky chokes out in between loud sobs. “I lost my arm. My God how I’ve missed you,” he croaks out in a hoarse voice.

“You don’t have to talk about that, Bucky. Not now,” you reassure him, weaving your fingertips through his chestnut hair.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to say that, Bucky. Not now,” you repeat weakly, your movements having come to a stop.

“Do you still love me?,” he questions as he looks up at you, baby blues drowning in a sea of tears.

“Of course I still love you, Buck.”

“Then what took you so long? Why didn’t you come back until now?”

The questions hovers mid-air, mingling itself with the air in your lungs. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know if you’d still want me. You will always live in my heart, I just can’t fall in love without you. But I hurt you, I hurt you so much.”

“Don’t. I’m also to blame for this mess. Just – Just stay. Please stay this time, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod softly, “I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” he smiles and in the heat of the moment Bucky makes a rash decision, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, chaste kiss. He inhales deeply, savouring this reunion as much as he can.

@beccaanne814-blog @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyries @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @bovaria @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @hymnofthevalkyries @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @austinamelio @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @justareader @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15  

[whatwouldfrogsdo]

Peeling Back the Layers (Part ii: After Hazeapalooza)

In terms of Fresh, this fic lines up with chapter 5, but it's actually more of a sequel to Mistake. It also repeats a part of Surprise because it didn't make much sense without that section. (actually it's more accurate to say that I used an extract of this for Surprise).

Nursey finally tells Dex about his bipolar

Content warnings: - Discussions of bipolar (including paranoia and dissociation) - Discussions of medication, and mixing medication with alcohol

AO3

Part i (does not have to be read to understand this part): Tumblr | AO3

“Oh, hey,” Skye said, glancing up as Derek walked into their freshman suite after class the day after Hazeapalooza. Derek raised an eyebrow. Skye was the quietest of all the girls in their suite, and he wasn’t sure that she had ever spoken to him directly before. “A girl came by looking for you. I let her into your room.”

Derek frowned. He wasn’t expecting anybody. Lardo, perhaps?

It wasn’t Lardo sat in Dex’s desk chair and looking incredibly amused as she pushed his pens slightly out of line with each other.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He flips out if I touch his stuff.”

She turned to grin at him. “And here I thought you’d learnt not to touch other people’s things after I confiscated Tigger.”

“You didn’t confiscate him, you stole him, Lei. And I was three, you could have just let me play Barbie with you.”

She laughed, and jumped to her feet to throw her arms around his neck. “I missed you, Der-bear.”

“What are you even doing here?”

Her expression turned to serious when she pulled away. “Shitty rang me.”

It took Derek by surprise, sometimes, that Leila and Shitty were friends. He and his sister hadn’t overlapped at Andover at all, her being five years older than him, but she had been there the same time as Shitty. In fact, she had known him before he became Shitty, and it frustrated Derek no end that she wouldn’t reveal his real name. “What did he ring you for?”

“He said you weren’t doing so well.”

Derek groaned, and backed up so that he could sit on his bed. “I’m doing fine. I stopped sleeping, so I went on the antipsychotics and my first day on them they decided to do hazing. It just took me by surprise, and shit happened, but I’m fine. I’ve been taking benzos, too, just to be sure. It’s all chill”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I rang my one in Andover.”

Leila sighed and flopped down next to him. “Okay, aboowe , I’m glad you’re trying to take care of yourself, but you do need to get a doctor closer to here, and you need to let other people look after you properly when something happens.”

“It’s chill.”

“It’s okay if it’s not, though,” she told him. “And I’m serious about the doctor. If only because it’s ridiculous to have to drive up to Andover every time you need a prescription.”

Derek let his head come to rest on his sister’s shoulder and breathed out a sigh. “Okay.”

“Promise me you won’t deal with all of this on your own.”

“I promise. There’s a few people now, on the team, who know at least bits and pieces.”

“Including your roommate?”

“Er, no. Dex doesn’t know anything.”

“You know it’ll be easier if he does.”

Derek didn’t know what to say. Leila had no idea of the relationship between him and Dex, and trying to explain the complexities of how they got along, or the way that there was only a small collection of things Derek could actually talk to Dex about, was impossible.

When he didn’t respond, she just knocked her shoulder against his and pulled his laptop onto her knees, guessed his password right on the second try and brought up Netflix. Derek tried to remember the last time things were so calm and simple between he and Leila. Childhood had been arguments and tension and the constant feeling of being overshadowed. Even at Andover, the upperclassmen had all looked at him and immediately said “You’re Lei’s brother.” That had become his persona for two years until everyone who had known her had graduated. Derek wondered if what fixed their relationship was just them growing up or him finally going to a school where the only person who knew her was Shitty.

“I’m glad you came,” he muttered, and when she looked at him, he could see she wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that.

“Of course I did. You’re my baby brother. It wasn’t too bad a surprise, then?”

“Nah.”

They watched a film, and then two episodes of Brooklyn Nine Nine, and then Dex walked in. As Leila scrambled to cover her hair with the scarf she had abandoned on his pillow, Derek tensed. They had barely spoken the past couple of days — not since before Hazeapalooza. Dex didn’t look over at Derek’s bed as he strode across the room and dropped his bag in its place under his desk. He froze, head bowed over the desk, then a shaking hand came up to slowly fix the crooked pens. He turned back to Derek, eyes narrowed.

“That was her,” Derek said quickly, pointing at Leila.

“You always were a tattle-tale. Hi. I’m Leila. Sorry about that. He was late.”

Dex looked between them. “Derek’s sister, right?”

“That’s me!”

“He didn’t say you were going to be visiting.”

Derek scoffed. “Ch’yeah, you need to talk to me for—”

“Well, to be quite honest, I didn’t tell him, either,” Leila interrupted

Dex flexed his hand. “Oh. Just… I mean, no offence or anything but I kind of thought you two didn’t really—”

Leila snapped her head towards Derek. “What the hell have you told him?”

“Nothing about you!” Dex said quickly, hands up in surrender. “Just about your parents, and—”

Derek sucked in a breath. “Shit. Shut up, Dex.”

“What did you say?” Leila asked in Gujarati.

Derek flinched. “Nothing, just— Fuck.”

“Tell me,” she demanded of Dex.

“That they forgot his birthday,” he replied.

Derek flinched. “Lei, it’s not—”

“You ungrateful little brat,” she snapped, and he shut up.

“Is that not—?” Dex looked bewildered now.

“Ever since I went to Andover we’ve celebrated birthdays in the school holidays,” she told him, then continued in Somali for Derek’s sake, “And Diri knows better than to use mental illness as an excuse to be a dick about it.” Derek sunk backwards in shame.

Dex blinked. “That was a different language.”

The comment made Derek snort. “Yeah, ‘cause she doesn’t know how to say mental illness in Gujarati. That’s something we’ve only ever talked about in English or Somali.”

“Mental— What— How many languages do you speak?”

“English, Gujarati, Arabic, some Somali and AP Spanish,” Derek listed off.

“Oh my God, AP Spanish doesn’t count, you nerd,” Leila interrupted. “And fucking tell him before I do, because you need someone who can keep an eye on you so that the shit show of Monday night doesn’t happen again. You notice he wasn’t sleeping?” She pointed at Dex, whose eyes were bulging out their sockets.

“Uh… Maybe, yeah, I guess. But I didn’t think— That’s just college, though.”

She huffed. “Yeah, for some students it might be. Where’s your bathroom?”

Derek sighed and pointed the way she needed to go. When she had slammed the door behind her, he spent a few seconds pulling at the blankets where she had been sat. Finally, he looked up to meet Dex’s eye. “I’m sorry I lied about my parents. That’s not why that birthday sucked, but it was always the easier thing to say. It’s always what I told everyone else, and soon as I knew the truth about yours, going back on what I’d said seemed like it would hurt you more. I can’t— I don’t want you to think I’m a mess if I tell you.”

“I already think you’re a complete train-wreck, Nursey, it’s okay.” An amused smirk played on his lips, but he quickly seemed to realize it was the wrong thing to say, because he got up and took up Leila’s vacated spot on the bed. “Shit, I don’t mean that. I mean, you let me think you had shitty parents just because mine are dead, which is a bit messed up, but whatever it is, you can tell me, okay? No judgement.”

“I don’t know how to—” Derek shook his head and fell silent.

“Why don’t you start with what happened on Monday night. At Hazeapalooza, does she mean? You weren’t even drinking that much, so—”

“Yeah, but I was on pills that I’m not supposed to drink anything with. Well, technically, the ones I take every day say not to drink with them, but I know my limits with them normally and I can work around it. When I’m taking the extra lot I can’t. I got paranoid quicker, and dizzy and shit which didn’t help. But, uh, the short of it is that I have bipolar. And recently I’ve been slipping into a manic episode, so— Uh. Yeah, so that’s a thing, and now you know.”

Dex reached out and wrapped his hand around Derek’s. “What, uh… What exactly does that mean? For you. If you don’t— I mean, I can Google symptoms and stuff if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right. Yeah. Uh, well before I was on medication, it got really bad. I used to hallucinate. It was like someone was sat there telling me to do things, and I had no sense of why it was a bad idea. There was this one time I was absolutely convinced that me and my friends would be able to go clubbing even though we were fifteen and none of us had fake ID. Mostly back then it was compulsively buying things, booking holidays, that sort of shit. I don’t sleep, and just feel really pumped up. I could do anything.”

“But Monday—”

“Monday we fought, and then I found out something I shouldn’t, and I got about as stressed as is possible for me. I hit a limit and it’s like my brain short circuits, and I dissociate. It’s like having an out of body experience, but… less spiritual or whatever. It wasn’t too bad. Shitty sort of knew what was going on, and caught it early. The further I’m into it, the harder it is to get me out, but Monday I was aware. I don’t think I even lost any time.”

Dex frowned and rubbed his thumb over Derek’s knuckles. “How long can it last, then?”

“I’ve lost three days before. I woke up on Monday thinking that it was Friday. The whole weekend had just gone. The longest I’d count as normal for me is a couple of hours, though, if I’m on lithium.”

“And bipolar… That’s swings, right? So you have, uh… downs? As well?”

“Depressive episodes. I guess I have a few months of mania and then some time of just normal, and then a few months of depression. But I’m on mood stabilisers, so you shouldn’t have to worry about that happening.”

“Let me know if it does, though. Please? You’re my d-man, I’ve gotta have your back. I won’t ghost you again, I promise. I just— it’s hard to fight with you when we can’t get any space from each other to cool down after. But me having your back is more important than a stupid little fight.”

Derek sighed and rested his head on Dex’s shoulder. “Okay. Thank-you. I will. Let you know, that is.” He felt the brush of Dex’s lips over his forehead and he smiled softly.

“So everything’s okay?” Dex asked, “With your parents?”

“They’re the best. They’re both coming to family weekend, actually, so you’ll meet them.”

After a moment’s silence, Dex spoke again. “AP Spanish definitely doesn’t count. I did that, too, and got a 5 and I only count myself as speaking one language. It’s like knowing a bit of ASL doesn’t count. I couldn’t hold up a conversation with a native speaker.”

“Are you saying you know ASL?”

“Not much. Most people can at least do the alphabet, right?”

Derek shrugged. “You wanna take Spanish with me next semester? Get the language requirement out the way?”

“Couldn’t you just take Arabic?”

“It’s more interesting if I get to learn something new. We only have to do one course of it if we got a 5, right?”

“Your sister’s right, you’re a nerd.”

Derek grinned and snuggled into Dex’s neck. After a pause, Dex tugged on him so that Derek ended up in his lap, and lay back against the wall, cradling him in his arms.

“Tell me what helps?”

Derek hummed. “This is helping. Touch. It’s grounding. I have my blanket and Tigger for that too. Reminders to eat and drink and take my pills are important but I’ll probably get irritated with you for not trusting me to remember them on my own. It depends on my mood, I guess. But… Yeah. This is helping a lot.” He suppressed a yawn. Dex’s lips brushed against his forehead, and Derek lifted his chin for a proper kiss.

They sprang apart when Leila walked back in, Derek tripping over himself to get out of Dex’s lap, but she regarded them both with a discerning look and shrugged. “Hey, I’m not going to judge what you two get up to in your own bedroom. I’m craving Thai.”

“Okay, let’s go get food.” Derek pulled himself up off the bed, and looked back at Dex. “Are you coming?”

“Uh, no, I told Chowder I’d meet him at dinner so we can work on some coding. Uh, and I think I need a bit of time to process. Research. Stuff like that.”

Derek nodded and walked away without saying anything else. He wasn’t sure how to handle the fact that he really wanted to kiss Dex again to say goodbye. That wasn’t something they did.

[youreghanamissme]

Carol Getting Married, Or Coming to America

8/14/17

My trip to America in a nutshell: Holly (the cat) hops onto my lap as I sit on the porcelain throne, scrolling through my Facebook news feed.

It's recommended that y'all put Calvin Harris' Funk Wav Bounces Vol. 1 in the background while reading forward. That album has been giving me life the past month and is somehow emblematic of this post.

Mona and I at Target. Initially, we tried the headbands on ironically, but then we kept wearing them around Target as we looked at stuff we didn’t need. When we got to the register, we bought them for their sentimental value. 

Adhering to the better judgment and insistence of a trusted friend, I took half an Imodium (anti-diarrheal pill) before my 14-hour journey from Tamale to Accra, and booooy was that rough but so, so necessary. I had been running (Ghana speak for recurrent diarrhea) for a week prior. Being a kitty-corner from a toilet/latrine was not just necessary; it was equal parts redemption and self-preservation. And while that plug kept my pride intact on the bus, it nearly made me want to commit seppuku. Accra was the same as usual: foreign to me (as a northerner), expensive, and awkward. Highlight of being in Accra two days before my flight: I got my (seven) cavities taken care of. Lowlight: half of those fillings chipped away or fell out entirely in America. Oh, Ghana.

My flight to Paris was an adventurous one. Without going into too many details, I sort of held up the flight. But only by no more than 5-10 minutes! And it wasn't really my fault!! The flight attendants blew the whole ordeal out of proportion, even going so far as talking smack about me—in my presence—in French. They probably needed to take half a chill pill. We got to our destination on time, and I don't regret what I did. Don't worry—it was neither illegal nor immoral.

Paris to San Francisco was one of my worst experiences to date. I felt restless. My body was tense, my neck was killing me, and I was in the thick of a four-seat row. It didn't help that European airline food is leagues better than what I had been eating lately, and I was losing the fight to reject free brie cheese, butter, and ice cream en route. Lactose intolerance, be damned!

My three week stay in America was split between San Jose and San Francisco, my parents' home and my sister's/BIL's house. I no longer had my apartment in Oakland, and while my friends and former flat-mate were more than willing to let me crash at their place, I felt a little weird about it. They had real jobs and some had real families, and I didn't want to loaf around on netflix all day in front of them... which is what I often did in San Jose. Hours and hours spent catching up to beloved shows and binging on ice cream, cake, chips (party size), and cookies. I gained about 7lbs by the time of the wedding, two days before my return to Ghana. Most of my SJ friends didn't live in the area anymore, and even if they had stayed to reside in the 4-0-8, we had drifted apart so that a lot of what we did together was reminisce. I spent as much of my free time as possible meeting up with old friends in Oakland and San Francisco. For those who have yet to revisit America, here's what's up:

Hawaiian poke bowls are now a thing

There are now many apps to have food delivered to you. Be the recluse you aspire to be!

Boba tea has expanded into the mainstream, something us Asian-Am's have known and drank for years

Kick-boxing-ballet is on the rise

Homelessness has increased significantly in the bay area

You can order your weed online and have it delivered to you via a phone app (in CA, at least)

Coming to America was... weird. It wasn't too much of a culture shock. Maybe because it takes a lot to faze me; maybe because I've gotten some pre-America exposure to department stores and grocery markets in Accra, but having set prices was oddly comforting. No more haggling over a couple Cedis and wondering if I got a fair price or an inflated foreigner price. And the American merchandising of consumer products? Alarming, alienating. I never realized how greatly consumerism and commercialism ruled Americana. Or how courtesy is a real form of currency.

I watched a YouTube video one day that convinced me I needed to go buy, or at least check out, some LUSH products because they were all natural and good for you and better for workers and the environment (1: covert advertising). I went to a LUSH store in San Francisco, and the people were all so nice and accommodating, if not a little too eager to have me sample something (2: everyone is kind of fake-nice in USA, but I know everyone is good people, especially retail workers. I've been there; I've done that). The store smelled divine; the products seemed truly high-quality. And then I looked at the prices. Holy Jesus, Mother of Mercy, and the ineffable Buddha. FUCK. Those prices were eye-gougingly high. But then it is America. And then I converted the costs into Ghana Cedis—something I had to intentionally prevent myself from doing as my vacation continued to preclude a moral quandry at every run to CVS—and I felt like an asshole. I then spent the next hour musing in the small shop to look for the cheapest thing to buy (3: because manners matter in America, and they were all SO nice. I didn't want to be one of those people who actually talked to the workers, stayed forever, and then left without buying anything. This is why I can never work in a book store, no matter how romantic and cool it seems... and how much I want a 10% employee discount). I left the store with a shampoo bar I could use but didn't really need. I won't reveal the cost, but rest assured that for the same price, I could have bought three shampoo bars on Amazon.

And that's another thing: Amazon! The paragon of consumerism in America! I am critical of it all, but I can't deny that I'm in it; they have me, my wallet, and my soul. Disregard my rants as I lather my tresses with my new sea salt LUSH shampoo bar. And you know what? It feels really fuckin' good, and it does voluminize my hair, I think...

Y'know, I feel like something of a celebrity in Ghana. I'm a foreigner and a novelty and most strangers want to be my friend. Why, the kids scream my name—“Deeshini! Deeshini! Deeeeeshini!!”—everywhere I go in the village. And while I didn't have the same A-lister power in America, a lot of people did want to meet me. I felt like the Queen-motherfucking-Bee in a teen movie. It sucked that I couldn't hang out with everyone since conflicting schedules and locale were an issue, but for the folks that I was able to see and spend some time with, I am so grateful and thankful. It meant more to me than I can articulate.

Since I've been gone, my friends got engaged/married, are making strides in the pursuit of their dream careers, and evolving into cooler versions of themselves (and they were already pretty dope creatures). I love all of that. We talked lives, marriages, politics, failed connections, social unrest, self-discovery, and all the minutiae over good beer and better food. That's mostly what I did: enjoy the best food (Thai food, Vietnamese che (desserts), sushi, smoked salmon, burritos, cream donuts, STRAWBERRIES and PEACHES and CHEESE #sighpies ...and PIE. All the pies, yespleasethankyoumuch) with high-quality company and drink my weight in liquor. I was reminded how lucky I was to not have to drink Club beer (aka Bud Light's even less impressive cousin) for another three weeks. Don't get me wrong—Club will do, but why drink Club when you can have a Rasputin? Or a quality IPA?

My sister and Nathan (BIL), bless their hearts, had a few crates of beer available at their wedding. I drank a few Anchor Steams to calm my nerves before my sister-of-the-bride speech. I wasn't drunk, but I got the hiccups anyway. The speech itself was worse than a train-wreck. It was a dumpster fire that somehow rolled down the street. I wish I could have also left the building and escape onto the streets of SF.

...Okay, no, I didn't. But I ended up ugly-crying/ bawling the whole way through... to the point where my sister AND our father told me, 30 seconds in, that I didn't have to finish what I had to say. I wanted to though; I'm no quitter! And especially not on a night that would be remembered for the rest of my sister's life!

Well, I tell you what, neither she nor the other 340-plus guests will forget the night I read my speech—something that should have been one minute but took three instead—through tears, frequent mucus snorting, and awkward pauses into a microphone. By the way, my mess was not only filmed on camera for future generations' sake, it was also live-broadcasted for all the guests on the mezzanine to see since they didn't have ground-floor views. So much for all that expensive make-up. It washed away in three minutes. I didn't think I'd cry. That's the problem. I should have known better. I'll cry at anything, even a drop of a hat if it happened in a way I deem poetic.

It wasn't something I shed a tear over, but seeing family was a huge joy of being back home. Carol's wedding became the impetus for the reunion of my paternal cousins. They hail from all over the world—Paris, Portland, Calgary, Vancouver, Montreal, LA, New York. It was pretty cool. Some cousins I had never met before, and for others, it had been at least a decade since we were in the same room. I knew it meant a lot to my dad that several of his siblings made it to the wedding. He hadn't seen some of them in almost two decades. I don't think I would ever want to let that happen with Carol. Reuniting with my maternal cousins was something that I was also fortunate to do. I'm lucky I had cousins to grow up with; I know that's not the case for a lot of people. A lot of them had moved northward, towards Sacramento, as the Bay Area became too expensive to live in. It had been such a long time since I sat down and talked to the few that were in my age range. And on top of that—the baby cousins were no longer babies! Now they were in high school and finishing college, and I wondered to myself where did the years go?

The rest of the wedding banquet was bomb-diggity. There was a photo booth with props. Music was on point (leave it to my BIL to play the theme song to COPS at his wedding). The in-laws are Chinese, so of course we had a Traditional Chinese Ten-Course Meal. Yumsville, population: Diana. I ate until I couldn't eat anymore. Best part was the cake. I even ate other people's uneaten and half-eaten slices left on their tables as they headed home. Want not, waste not—cream and all!

By the end of the night, I was walking barefoot as I could no longer walk in those four inch heels that prevented my dress from dragging more on the floor than it did. My mom has night blindness, and my dad has avoided driving on the freeway for the past 15 years. It was up to me to drive us all and a fellow bridesmaid back to San Jose that night. It was a little nerve-wracking as I had only driven once before while being back, but it all went fine. Maybe driving is one of those things you don't really forget, like riding a bike.

Most of my time in America was spent before the wedding. Really, the whole point was to make sure my ao dai (one of my bridesmaid's dresses; an ao dai is traditional Vietnamese garb for gals) fit. I came back as early as I could to have alterations made in case the measurements I gave my sis didn't work out. I also wanted to help out with pre-wedding prep. While we never did go to the tailor before the wedding due to laziness (it fit, thankfully), I was glad to assist with the flowers and some small tasks.

When I was preparing to leave for America, I just couldn't wait to return to Ghana. I had work to do; a life to get back to with a purpose, but by the end of my stay, I wish I had more time to spend with my parents. They look older, more tired. I'm still in the selfish phase of my life: the unsparing twenties where hedonism is the choice idea, responsibilities feel better suited for my 30's, and I have few qualms about being an ocean away from my ma and dad. Good news is that they're both more or less retired now. Better news is that our relationship, no matter how frigid or awkward, is improving. They spent most of my time in America running around getting the house ready for the wedding. We're not Christians, so the house was renovated and the backyard landscaped to be presentable for the ceremonies—the American one (an officiant... who happened to be my sis' bff and a fellow bridesmaid!) and the Vietnamese/Chinese one (tea ceremony... where the groom's side of the family comes into the house in a procession, dowry-like gifts in hand)—at home. I was humbled by the tea ceremony, with all its intricate formalities and greetings and ancestral acknowledgment. I wondered quietly to myself: “Wow. This is a lot of bowing and citation to this person and that person... and who is that guy? I don't even know who they're talking about, but everyone else seems to. Will any of us second-generation American kids know how to guide each other through another tea ceremony when everyone from the old country has passed?” I'm sure my cousins and I will manage, somehow, but it did make me hyper-aware of how disassociated I feel from my Vietnamese culture sometimes. Not quite American enough for America, and not Vietnamese enough for the Vietnamese... It's sometimes a kind of limbo being the child of immigrants. Just a thought.

I think when everything was all over and everyone could finally breath a sigh of relief, both my parents and I regretted not spending quality time together. I say so because my dad said it indirectly. It's unfortunate, and I understood. I was in the same boat: the only reason I was even back was because of the wedding! My parents... they're old school. They didn't grow up hearing their parents say “I love you.” A roof, plentiful food, and all necessities met (and a few gratuitous material pleasures here and there) meant love. I'm learning more and more about how they communicate all the time, and I'm learning more about their lives too. They didn't like talking about it when I was little. I think it's an immigrant/ refugee thing. I've heard similar situations amongst friends and family. But the older I get, I think the more comfortable they feel about detailing their lives and all the struggles within it. It's the same for myself too. I'm learning more about the way I express myself—feelings, thoughts, friendship, and all. And I'm trying harder to communicate with them. It's humbling to realize how we will always be discovering more facets of ourselves. I can't wait to know what I will know and feel how I will feel at 40. In the meantime, I need to call home more.

[blackrosesfanfic]

Chapter 138

Sevyn

I kiss Chris. "One more week on tour."

"Then we going to South America."

"Bae." I say kissing his lips.

He gets sad. "I don't want to hear what you have to say."

"Come on. I haven't been to see Cammie since the baby was born. I don't want to go..."

"I seriously don't want to hear the shit." he says mad.

I blow. We've been having a good few days. But I can't sit up here and act like my fucking girl ain't going through some tough shit right now. I've been putting Chris in front of most of my priorities this week. He isn't making me stay away from her for a fucking vacation. Fuck going on a vacation when she has to deal with her husband being in Europe.

"Okay, fine. Don't act like you don't know."

"Well, fuck it. I'll go to Europe then since we running to friends."

I nod. "That's great. He needs support as well. I know you rather chill but damn he sacrificed being with his wife for an extra week for you. I think it is time for you to be a bit supportive."

He shrugs. "I have to hear shit constantly, huh?"

"Yeah." I say kissing his lips. "You need to be reminded what kind of person you want to be."

"A sexually pleased one."

"I'm sure you get enough sex." I say pushing him.

"Sevyn." he snaps like I hurt him. "You hear that shit Kae saying about me?"

I roll my eyes. "All after she showed up at your fucking concert to chill."

He takes out his phone. "I didn't tell you about the shit in my phone. I tried my best to ignore it. I feel like her and Jess working together with this shit. Look at this. You playing wifey with her like I wasn't shit for you. You need to be worrying about that baby you got on the way with your deadbeat ass. And when I didn't reply to that she said. Fuck you and your aimless ass cheating ass dick."

"Like she wasn't fucking anybody that gave her no talent ass self some attention."

"That's what I'm saying."

I stand up on the couch. "I be telling you about these girls you be talking to. No, you want to fucking give these fake ass bitches time."

"Like you." he says grabbing me.

"I can't warn you about me." I laugh pushing his head. "You have been knowing me for years. You should already know what I'm about."

He laughs then stops. He laughs again. "I thought you would change just a little bit and be less... Like you."

"Oh you make me sound great."

"Aye, I'm glad you still the same. We can talk about the relationship... Not relationship. You know the female issues that haunt my life without there being an argument. That's what I like the most."

I fall down on the couch. "You should know me. I'm not getting my hands dirty with mindless bullshit. Now if I needed you to say... boost my reputation, I would create drama via social media and shit. We all know you love social media."

"Man, it loves me."

"No, I told you before the problem is where your mind is when you get on those things. You thinking about clearing your name or you not thinking. You know. I'm not going there with you. You will be on there alone. Hell you would just be alone."

He gets on the couch. "I've noticed that your name stays out of shit."

"They probably think we just fucking and this not serious."

"Shit, they couldn't be more wrong." he says kissing my stomach.

I laugh thinking about something else. "Today Joyce called me asking who that man was that Gui was talking to."

"A man?"

"She meant like dating. She thinks that girl is a man."

He chuckles then laughs loudly. "I thought that... Aye, that is a man she talking about. That's not the girl that he is talking to. Ma needs to stay out of everybody's busy. I know who she talking about."

"Your boy might just go that way."

"No." Chris laughs.

I pull on his ear. He didn't have too long before he has to be at a photoshoot. He has been ignoring time a lot lately. It's not like him to be this careless with the time.

"Is everything really okay with you?"

He gives it some thought. "Yeah."

I pull on his ear. "Wrong answer."

"I've been thinking really hard about shit." he says. He takes a deep breath and stand up. "I've been really considering saying fuck the good role. I get into shit whether I'm doing the right thing or not. Why not get blazed and get into shit? It's the same shit."

"It do feel like that but it's not the same shit. It's better to be able to stand up and say I'm innocent and really not have shit to do with it. You want to feel good inside."

"Pills and shit does that."

I pull his waistline towards me. "That's like an invisible cloak. It may feel better but it's all going to be there at the end of the day. Plus more shit."

He leans over me. "Why weren't you always in my life?"

"I have been." I snap.

"You being a friend ain't good enough. Friends don't make you feel like you got something you not supposed to have. I'm not supposed to have such a positive person in my life."

"I can be a bad influence if you want." I say pulling him on the couch.

"No." he says kissing my neck. "You not that good."

I grab his dick. "Am I not?"

He kisses my lips. "Fuck yeah."

"What?"

"What?" he repeats.

I laugh really hard. "Too much blood rushing through your mind for you to keep up?"

He stares at me. "Fuck it. I don't know."

"You have to leave in a few minutes."

"We can do a lot in that time." he says grinding against me.

I laugh. "We aren't alone."

He smiles. "Oh."

"Yeah." I chuckle.

"You started the shit. You got me hard as fuck."

I sit up pushing him back. "That bathroom right there."

"A bat..." he stands up. "Some fucking angel you are."

"Not once did I say that." I giggle.

He pulls me up then picks me up. "I know I've told you how beautiful you are."

I shake my head. "I don't think you have."

"You are beautiful." he says carrying me to the bathroom.

"Says the man about to fuck me." I whisper then pull both of his ears.

He chuckles. "I'm your man, though. I can do that. Like suddenly remembering why I love you."

"While getting ready to fuck in a bathroom." I laugh.

"Yes, on a cold damp sink with mold growing underneath."

He sits me on the counter then closes the door. We do better than I thought we would. I love the fact that after a few months of trying not to be friends we fall back into being friends. The down side is when he wants to get a little stupid out his mouth with friends thinking I'm a friend. But me leaving put him in his place. If only for a while.

"How long do we have?" he asks taking his shirt off.

"30 or 40 maybe?"

"Somebody will come find me." he says grabbing my sides. "I love you, Amber."

I kiss his lips. "Don't say my name bitch."

He laughs in between kisses. I pull him in closer. This feels so right.

  Cammie

I throw the fork at Rollie.

"Yo." he says after it hits him. "You fucking childish."

"Fuck you."

He comes over and snatch the plate. "You've been fucking eating out of styrofoam boxes for two days but when I bring your ass some real food you want to act ungrateful."

"Rollie." I snap then cover my face.

"No, fucking Rollie shit." he says.

"Sorry." I say trying to stop crying.

He kneels down in front of me. "What is it?"

"Everything." I cry.

"You got to fucking take it out on the food?"

I wipe my face. "You don't understand."

There's a tap from the nurse's entrance. The door opens. "Mrs. Neverson."

"What?" I snap.

"You have a package in the next room." Paul says. He is my bodyguard.

I stand up with my arms folded across my chest. He stands there waiting on me. I take my time getting across the room to the door. He had a gentle smile on his face. Matter fact he always has that smile on his face. I step into the security room with him. In the middle of the floor is a big box. I walk around it trying to figure out what could be in this box. I snatch the ribbon trying to untie it. It causes everything to come loose and the sides of the box collapses. I laugh. It's a life size cutout of Trey and Lane.

"This is ridiculous." I giggle.

"What the hell?" Rollie says coming in the room. "Leave it to a famous nigga to think someone would want a life sized image of them."

I hug it. "I like it."

Rollie stands next to it. "Jay, this is awkward."

"Doesn't Lane look handsome?"

"He looks just like his uncle. Damn, them genes strong."

"Yeah those jeans are strong." I laugh.

He chuckles. "I guess you will have Trey and Lane in here with you tonight."

I laugh. "Who really sends some crazy mess like this though? It is a bit much."

"Your real present is here." Paul says handing me a small box.

"Thank you, Paul."

I open the letter attached. "I saw this in a store and couldn't stop thinking about you."

"That would have funny on this thing." Rollie laughs.

"Rollie hush."

I open the small box. It's a tiny glass giraffe with gold spots over its body and diamond eyes. I smile and take it out of the box. I don't have very many other sculptures that aren't elephants. I hold it up closer to the light. It is beautiful regardless of what it is.

"That is pretty." Rollie says.

"Yes." I nod placing it in the box.

Rollie opens a second box. "French chocolate."

I snatch it from him. "I'm not sharing with you."

"Suddenly shun a brotha."

"Oh please." I say smelling the chocolate. "Caden still doesn't have a middle name."

Rollie smiles. "Chocolate."

"Oh shut up. His first name has meaning should I give his middle name meaning? I mean a middle name with meaning?"

"No. Name him after Dad."

I walk back to the room. "Caden Elijah Neverson? What does Elijah mean?"

Rollie shrugs. "Ask your phone not me."

I call Trey.

"Jay." He says loud. "Everything okay?"

"Yes."

He says something away from the phone. "What's on your mind?"

"Why you say that?"

"Cause you calling during my interview. You usually remember unless you have something to say or something is wrong. I'm at the radio interview."

I gasp then giggle. "Oh, call me back."

"We already on the phone."

"What about Elijah for the middle name?"

He doesn't answer right away. I get a little sad inside. I was already attached to the name. Caden Elijah Neverson. I don't know what I would pick after that. I didn't even come up with that.

"Isn't that your father's name?"

"Yeah. You hate it don't you?"

"No." he says really fast. "I like it. I love it if you like it. Caden Elijah."

I smile. "Okay, call me after the interview."

"Somebody wants to talk to you."

"Hey, Mommy." Lane says.

"Hey."

He giggles. "Mommy said hey."

"Who you talking to?"

"A dog." Trey says into the phone.

"Mommy the Booty said hey."

Trey laughs really loud. "Moody. Named after the Harry Potter character."

"Like I know who that is." I say.

"I'll be back Lane." Trey says. "Jay?"

I get a little sad. "You have to go?"

He pauses. "No. I wrote you a song."

"That's nothing new."

"I'm going to put it on Instagram. Oh, I have an album to do. My team thinks it okay for you to pick the final songs for the album."

I smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean they pick the list but you have the final say."

"And I get to pick your style for the album?"

He chuckles. "What do you want?"

"The pre Ready Trey Songz."

"Okay." he chuckles.

I couldn't stop smiling. "I'm excited about that."

"Maybe you will do a song with me."

"Maybe not. I'm not a singer and I don't want offers to sing."

"You no fun."

I laugh. "You can write a song worthy enough for me to do a video to."

"I damn sure fucking will."

"That 3 word sentence needed all that."

"Shut up." he says.

I walk over to the baby. "I can't wait to breastfeed tomorrow."

Trey laughs. "Record it."

"No." I snap. Caden opens one eye. "I wanna close my eyes and everything be my way."

"Close them long enough and it will."

"Why don't you have to get back to your interview?"

"Cause I run shit."

I smile. "Call me back."

"Okay, love you."

"Yeah yeah. I think I love you."

"Bullshit." he says hanging up.

[bbyrina-blog1]

The Bald Headed Girl Who Was Allergic to the Color Blue

You probably have no idea what you’re about to read. I must first state that I am not asking for pity by writing this, nor am I a professional writer. I probably won’t even proof read or edit. If you came across this you might know me from life experience or just from my internet presence. If you don’t know me, my name is Marina and I am 19 living in South Florida. But let’s cut to the chase: my disease.

I’m not one to open up to others, for the sole reason that I understand that most people don’t give a fuck about other people’s problems. Harsh truth? (TBH I don’t fall into this category, I actually care a lot so if you ever need a listening ear, I’m here). For this reason, most people don’t know a lot about me, because I either choose not to share it, or because nobody ever seems that interested. However, I woke up this morning feeling a bit alone in my situation, and thought that maybe writing about it would help. If you made it this far, I applaud you and honestly thank you. But the story starts here.

As a child, I lived under the roof of two pretty “perfect” people in Perry Hall, Maryland. Obviously, everyone has their own set of flaws, but these two people, my parents, specifically valued being the best. They are type-A personalities, you know, always having to be perfect. Everyone always looked to my mom, dad, brother and I as something to be envious of. When I entered middle school, I started my battle with mental illness and realized I wasn’t as liked by boys like the rest of the girls. Everyone goes through their insecurities and battles as a child or young adult but I was able to find a place eventually and get over it until I entered high school. High school was the peak of my insecurities. I always got up early to make sure my makeup and hair was looking right. I still got bullied in school and had no real friends for a long time, but I also enjoyed being called beautiful by a lot of people. I don’t want to discuss all the details of that time, but being “beautiful” came to a quick close by the end of my high school career.

Because of family issues, I moved from Maryland all the way to Miami. The few people I spoke with were jealous that i was getting to live near everyone’s favorite vacation spot. However, it was a huge change for me. All of the changes had a play on my physical and mental health. You may think that in this essay I’m going to just go into depth about my depression or my anxiety. But I’m actually going to skip that all together. When I moved to Florida, what I noticed most was that: my hair was falling out. If you knew me, my butt-length thick head of hair was what people complimented me on the most. It was  my favorite physical trait of myself. Because I thought the rest of me was ugly, and not favored by society, I thought I would never cut my hair. I almost hid behind it. So when I started noticing long strands of black hair, at the time, all over the floor and furniture I was confused. I honestly don’t remember thinking that much of it because I was used to my hair being everywhere, because I had so much of it. But over time my mom and I realized that it wasn’t normal.

In 11th grade I continued dying my long hair black, but during the summer before 12th grade I decided to make the big chop. I thought that maybe if I cut the inches and inches of hair that I grew out for so long, that maybe the hair quality would be better. But I was mistaken. By the end of the summer, I decided to never dye my hair again. I thought that over-processing my hair was the cause of my hair loss, mixed in with my mental state. I went to all types of dermatologists and doctors, they all told me it was something everyone went through. This is one of the reasons why I don’t like doctors. They ASSUMED everything was fine, by the looks of my thick hair. No one believed that I was losing so much because I had thicker hair than most. So, I believed what they told me and just tried to be stress-free so it would stop.

When I started my senior year of high-school, and my hair loss was getting worse by the day, my dad decided to reach out to a commercialized or “famous” hair loss doctor who happened to work in my city. He was featured on that Dr. Oz show. So I was hopeful since he had so much credibility from what I could understand. I started doing monthly visits to his office. An appointment would really consist of doctors measuring hair strands and taking photographs of my head, to keep a watch on hair growth or loss. They would ask me questions, wash/massage my scalp, do treatments, stuff like that. The measurements concluded that my hair loss was getting worse, even though they tried to act like it was getting better, so the business would continue. There’s a limited amount of things to do to help someone with hair loss. You either need to “take a chill pill” or spend money on some sort of treatment that may not even work. The options here were to either take their Minoxidil treatment, A.K.A. what you may know as ROGAINE (Minoxidil is the only proven drug to help hair loss, but it only works for a small percentage of people and it must be taken daily for the rest of your life), or do a PRP treatment. Platelet-rich Plasma is when they take a certain amount of your own blood from your wrist and then mix that blood with platelet proteins and its supposedly supposed to promote hair growth. PRP treatment is used for variety of other things, but I don’t know much about it. The treatment cost about $3000 I believe, and with my families situation, it was not in the picture for a while. But the day came in December 2015 that we decided to move forward with the PRP.

I remember it being sooo painful for me because I’m a pussy when it comes to needles. They basically numb your head, which is where I felt the pain from, and then inject the PRP. There was atleast 10 numbing needles in my head, I was literally crying and having to take breaks because the fact that NEEDLES were going into my head seemed like a situation that I would never come across. When the procedure finished, my head was extremely swollen. It was the worst week post-procedure. I couldn’t even sleep because I had to tape up my head until the swelling went down. I can barely remember the entire thing. I don’t think I told anyone I went through that because I didn’t feel like explaining. Some people knew that I went for “head surgery” but none asked why. I assumed my hair would grow super fast because of that treatment, because of all the pain I endured and money that was spent. But obviously if PRP was a cure to baldness, then no one would be bald. (LOL).

My last few months of high school, it was obvious, at least to me, that my hair was super thin compared to its previous state. I even remember at my last visit with that doctor that the thinnest section of my hair, the front, was measured to be thinner than someone with actually thin hair from birth. I was so disappointed and just overall shocked. How could someone with thick hair, with no family signs of hair loss go through this? I got super depressed. No one could give me a real diagnosis and my family, being the only ones who knew, just kinda shrugged it off. “It will go away if you just do yoga, or try to stop being sad” kinda thing. I know no one else who had to go through this at my age. It really is something that no one talks about, especially girls. I was supposed to find my peace in knowing that I had beautiful hair and now that part of me was taken from me.

In 2016 my mom found a doctor that worked at the University of Miami hospital that was supposed to be really great. This time, I didn’t really have high hopes. The appointment had to be scheduled like 8 months prior because she was booked so much. I got to finally go see her in December 2016. The day I was in, she had a bunch of college students shadowing her, so it was me and like 12 people in a room. I have social anxiety so when she ended up doing a small procedure I had to ask everyone to leave hahaha. The students were actually my favorite part of the visit, all of them were so sweet and comforting. They traveled from all around the world just to shadow this doctor so I felt better about it. Before the procedure, though, she analyzed my head and showed me it on a screen. She was able to see the future of my hair follicles, this was something the previous doctor didn’t have. She meant business, and she was going to diagnose me with something other than just “stress”. When the images of my scalp were portrayed on the screen, the students around looked fascinated but kind of sad. I saw it in their eyes, something was wrong. The doctor continued by telling me that there was something abnormal with my scalp. She said that she needed to conduct a biopsy. When she told me this I think I passed out just from being overwhelmed, that’s when the students were asked to leave. A biopsy is usually taken when looking for cancer. The doctor had to make sure that I didn’t have a tumor. A biopsy is when a piece of your skin is cut off, basically, and taken for research. With the numbing, it didn’t hurt that bad. We were told that we would receive a call with the results, and that we had to schedule another set of appointments to check for allergies.

A couple days later, my mother got the call. The doctor told me that I was diagnosed with Androgenetic Alopecia. I’m pretty sure I went up to my room and cried for like an hour. I think I knew that I had alopecia. Everyone tried to tell me otherwise, to either make me feel better or from just being ignorant of how bad it was. I still do everything I can to try to hide it. I have basically a quarter of the hair I used to have 3 years ago and it worsens by the day. I also have side effects that influence the pigment of my hair. I have random chunks of gray hair and it truly sucks. I still can’t even process the fact. It’s not something people ask or talk about so I haven’t really told anyone specifically about it. The few I’ve told don’t really believe me, and my parents still think it’s all in my head. I wrote this to tell the world that I indeed DO have alopecia. In other words, one day, I may not have hair anymore. Only 2% of people are at risk for alopecia. My parents have very thick hair, and no one that we know of in the family has this. It must have skipped a few generations then to get to me. When I was called back for my allergy testing appointments, it was found that I was extremely allergic to cobalt. Who knew? My entire life I had an allergy I didn’t know existed. There really is nothing online about an allergy to cobalt specifically, though a lot of people connect it with other metals like nickel. Cobalt is in most foods because it is found in vitamin B. It also is found in a lot of products so I have to watch what I use now. I started using wooden utensils and have to paint my keys with clear nail polish. And I can’t forget, I’m also allergic to the color blue. A percentage of cobalt is used to create blue dye, so I’ve had to watch to not buy anymore blue clothes or makeup products lmao. It’s not deadly because of how small cobalt is used in these products, obviously I’ve been alive this long without knowing. But It really made me more conscious of what I was doing with my body.

So yes, I have alopecia. I’m allergic to the color blue. I have mental illness, I’m anxious, I’m skinny, I’m an outsider but I’m still amazing. At some point I may have to shave all of my hair off, which I don’t think my family wants to understand or think about. I still don’t feel accepted by them. It’s hard for me to hear jokes about bald people. I do the most to hide it as much as I can everyday and I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t go out unless I have to. Most people don’t think twice about having hair. Most of us have it. Only when something is taken from you do you recognize it’s importance to you. I thought that maybe If I shared this with you that I would feel better about being open. I still think I’ll always be beautiful no matter what, because beauty to me comes from the inside. I know I have a long road ahead of me. A tough one. But I know that everything inflicted on me is for a purpose. I know that these things happen to me so I can help other people struggling with the same thing. This is my reassurance. Thank you for reading if you made it to the end. The purpose of this is to share the message that you don’t know all the little things someone is going through. You need to be loving to everyone you encounter. It’s important. We must be the light for the world, no matter what we look like.