#masshole problems

[ukulelekatie]

therapist: sad beige dunkin donuts isn't real it can't hurt you

sad beige dunkin donuts:

[ask-nyc-boroughs]

I know this hc maybe is losing its popularity, but I never see anyone do it well. By this I mean, people hc Alfred as being from New England specifically from Massachusetts and see him as some sort of Harvard intellectual.

And yeah but no when I say Alfred is from Massachusetts, his true nature deep down behind that American boy next door facade- he is a Masshole. And he may deny it to everyone else and put on a show that hides his true nature, but drop him back in Massachusetts- see how he acts in his natural habit.

Like I think deep down, he’s got this pissy New England attitude in him and he’s just really good at keeping it in. He swears like a sailor. He drinks a concerning amount of Dunkin’. He is weirdly proud of the most random things that he claims are only in New England but yk are everywhere else. His driving skills are questionable. He has no problem just wearing shorts and a tank top in a blizzard.

He may put on a general northern US accent for everyone else, but once he gets back home it’s “youse” and a lack of pronunciation of the word r (ex: car -> cah). He’s a big patriots fan too.

(I do hc him from New England just cause I do take a regional folk ways approach and I have US states and US cities to fulfill other needs/ cultural influences and discourses).

[bandyriddles]

I finally got to play the Werewolf: The Apocalypse - The Book of Hungry Names demo by Kyle Marquis and it’s great.

Marquis' Vampire: The Masquerade - Night Road is not only one of my favorite text games - it's one of my favorite games I've played in the last few years. The player character is a vampire courier in the American Southwest, and the vibes are Fallout: New Vegas meets Vampire: The Masquerade. Like D&D, World of Darkness is a system I'm more familiar with from video games than actual tabletop play, but Marquis really captures the tabletop experience through interesting combinations of character builds, stat checks, and branching narrative paths.

I was thrilled to learn he was working on a follow-up Werewolf: The Apocalypse game set in rural New England. I'm way more of a werewolf girlie than a vampire girlie (I nearly always play Gangrel when it's an option in VtM), and I was really interested in the character writing he would bring to a setting where pack dynamics are more important than being a lone predator.

It's fun. The Werewolf system, unlike VtM, is a much messier amalgamation of new age beliefs rather than traditional folklore and so it takes a little while to understand how things like moon auspice, pack, and spirit patrons interact in actual gameplay, but the game does provide very helpful in-game descriptions and glossaries. I went in completely blind, and ended up accidentally building a ragabash (new moon) werewolf with high dexterity, wits, and intelligence and pretty much zero strength, charisma, and endurance. 

While I initially thought that would make the game basically unplayable, I ended up with a fabulous upstate dirtbag who's great at sneaking, breaking and entering, stabbing, and analog library research. She almost never actually transforms into any wolf-forms, and in fact is so mild-mannered that she frequently loses the ability to transform at all because her rage stat is so low.

While you'd think being shitty at being a werewolf would be a problem in a werewolf game, she's actually been a stat-passing beast who can single-handedly take down powerful monsters because she is just that good at reading books and stabbing.

While the demo only lets you recruit three out of the four main pack companions, they all seem great so far. You've got Massachusetts' only black goth widower werewolf. You've got the wolf-born girl with communication issues who speaks partially via guitar riffs. You've got a crust punk camboy who shows up at one of your first encounters wearing a t-shirt, baseball hat, and booty shorts that all say "MASSHOLE". 

Marquis gets that urban fantasy needs both horror and humor, and I cannot wait for the full game to drop in late April.

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

~More incorrect quotes while I figure out my next fic revolving around my fav WTTT characters~

(Also, Y’all are amazing 🥲🤍✨)

=======================================================================

Gov: What are you planning to do? 
Florida: Hey, now. "Planning"?! Do you KNOW who you're talking to?!

============================================

York: WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?! HE COULD HAVE HAD HOPES AND DREAMS, HE COULD HAVE HAD A FAMILY!!! 
Mass: York- Bud-
Penn: It- it was just a rat-

============================================

Cali: Isn't it weird that people kill mosquitoes just because they're annoying? 
York: D*nm, if people did that to each other, Mass woulda killed me years ago.

============================================

Loui: Slash gamemode creative. 
Jersey: Dude, this isn't Min- 
Loui: *starts levitating*

Jersey:

Jersey: OI MASSHOLE COME GET YER THING-

============================================

York: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

============================================

Cali: Oh gosh I wish I got more sleep I only got six hours! 
Tex: Six? I only got three! 
York: You guys got sleep? 
Gov or Loui (you decide), comes stumbling out of their room and grabs a jug of coffee before saying: What year is it??

============================================

Gov: A mouse! 
Loui, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you. 
Florida , pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal! 
Mass, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy. 
York, gasping with pure joy in his eyes: It's Ratatouille! 
Cali: His name is Remi, dumb*$$. 
Gov: ...I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

York: No, I wanna keep im’!!

============================================

Gov: Ok, first of all, what the f(speaks sleep-deprived coffee bean)?

============================================

Loui: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? 
Jersey: Technically a mix of green and blue? 
Loui: So blurple. 
Mass: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. 
Loui: Would you rather have f(speaks New Orleans) bleen? MOTHERF(speaks New Orleans)IN’ GRUE? 
Jersey : You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

============================================

York: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! 
Tex: How can you still say that? 
York: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

============================================

Teacher: Your little brother was in a fight. 
Connecticut: Oh no, that’s terrible.
Mass and Jersey: Did he win?

============================================

Florida: It's locked. You got a lock pick? 
Loui: Yeah- 
Tex: *kicks in the door*

Florida: Or y’know what? That works too.

============================================

York: BWWAAAAAAAAAA! Oh, you hear that? That's the wrong opinion alarm. 
Jersey : That is not something you actually have installed. 
York: Sorry, say again? I couldn't hear you over my alarm that YOU SET OFF with your WRONG-*$$ OPINION.

Jersey: …. You are so lucky that Masshole is sleeping or I would’ve made you eat those words.

============================================

York: *chokes on something* 
Loui: Jeez, Yorkie, don't die on us. 
York: Don't tell me what to do, I'll die whenever the he// I want!

============================================

Jersey: Loui seems really zoned out. Whaddya think he’s thinkin’ about?

Mass: I can't imagine what Loui is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

============================================

Cali, shooing York away: Can you go be depressed over there? You’re bumming out my whole area.

============================================

York, very high and disoriented: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!

============================================

*York drunkenly wanders around the house and Tex is drunkenly giggling* 
Cali, completely sober: *sighs* Well, looks like it's just me and you against the world, Jersey . 
Jersey , going to their room: Nope, just you. *shuts door*

============================================

Jersey: How would you like your coffee? 
Loui, trying to be dark and broody: As dark as my soul. 
Jersey : Got it, one cup of milk coming right up!

============================================

Mass: What’s it like being tall? 
Mass: Is it nice? 
Mass: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards? 
Tex: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want. 
Loui: It was one time!

============================================

Connie: York, can I speak to you for a minute? In private. 
York: Ooh, someone's in trouble. It's me. I don't know why I did that.

============================================

*Tex is casually searching around the room* 
York: Hey cowboy, what’re ya lookin’ for? 
Tex: My will to live. 
*Loui walks into the room* 
Tex: Oh, there it is. (Loui is pretty much everyone’s will to live tbh)

============================================

Mass: We all have our demons. 
Mass, grabbing York: This one’s mine.

York: 👹👹👹

==========================================

Mass: Okay, what does A stand for? 
Loui: Arson. 
Mass: Aw, you're so good. Okay! B! What does B stand for? 
Loui: Barson. 
Jersey: *laughter* 
Mass: What stands for C? 
Gov: Commit arson. 
Jersey: Oooo. Mass: D! 
Loui: Don't come near me, I'm going to commit arson. 
Jersey: *more laughter*

============================================

Loui: I am darkness. I am an power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am- 
York: A doll. 
Florida : A cinnamon roll. 
Mass: A sweetheart. 
Loui: 
Loui: ...stop it. IM NOT BLUSHING SHUT UP-

============================================

Loui: So, what's it like living with Mass? 
York: He once referred to sand as "heterosexual glitter." 
Loui: ... 
York: I both love him and hate him so much.

============================================

York, looking over Tex’s shoulder: You can draw? 
Tex, stopping what he was doing: You can speak?

============================================

Loui: Sometimes I like to place my hands on my enemy’s cheeks, look into their eyes... 
Loui: ...And violently jerk their head until it snaps. 
York: ...That took an unexpected turn. 
Mass: So did their neck.

============================================

Texas, popping up behind York: *cocks gun* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

York:*turns in his chair* Just put me out of my misery please.

============================================

Penn: You disgust me. 
Jersey : *eating a kitkat sideways* I realize this and don’t care.

============================================

Jersey : I think we should have glow stick juice injected in our bones when we're born, so if we break our bones, we get a fun little surprise. 
Tex: What's the surprise? 
Mass: Blood poisoning.

============================================

[allycat75]

Can we revoke a few People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alives?

You may not agree with some, but that is ok.

Posthumous- sexist asshole who had no problem hitting women.

Scientologist. 'Nough said.

Anitsemetic, sexist pig. Actually, that is an insult to pigs. Sorry, to the pigs.

Sure, married a narcissist. But takes one to know one.

Masshole. Doesn't take responsibility for his problematic behavior. Support of sick little brother.

Masshole. Sticks his foot in his mouth regarding Me Too and the other "F" word. Peacocks in a toxically masculine, privileged Super Bowl commercial for Crypto, saying "Fortune Favors the Bold". But fortune favors the rich and many lost their life savings. Also supports Ben Affleck's rapist brother.

Masshole. Near Pathological Liar. Hypocrite. Untrustworthy. Inauthentic. Soulless. Empty. Manipulator. "Married" an antisemetic, racist, fatshaming, lazy, arrogant, childish, clout chasing narcissist. You are the company you keep, alienating his most loyal fans and taking advantage of friends and family, ruining his career and loosing control of his life. Seems to have forgotten the basics of acting, what a good script looks like and how to be discerning with whom to trust for advice and decision making. Could redeem himself- probably knows what he should do but looks too beaten down by now to do it. Dumb Fuck!

Faked Black Adam box office results to disguise failure. Intimidated DC Comic execs to try to get his shitty way. Is the same character in every movie, so much so that when describing Red One, he named a bunch of his other movies to compare it to. Set up a charity with Oprah for the Maui fire disaster and asked regular people to donate, despite both of them being the richest citizens in America. Apparently late to everything and doesn't give a fuck, in the worst way.

Yes, my most controversial pick. Say what you will about Angelina and if she broke up him and Jen, it takes two to tango, and how it ended for Brangelina was truly terrifying.

But my problem with Bradley lies in his complete tone deafness. He knew Harvey the Hutt was a predator. He went after the monster when he was dating Gwenyth Paltrow for "coming on to her". Angelina expressed to him she was afraid of the producer and hadn't worked with him since "Playing by Heart". So what did he do when he was desperate to produce films with Quentin Tarentino, who would only work with Harvey? He said a big "Fuck You" to his wife and all the women he knew were hurt and ran straight for them. Then had the nerve to produce the film "She Said", the story about the women who had the courage to take Harvey down. Well Bradley, respectfully and with all my heart, you can eat a bag of dicks!

[aceontheline]

CaliYork Fic (Pt. 15)

Cali and New York decided to spend the majority of the day together, starting off with some wholesome activity. York made breakfast for the two of them. He was humming something the whole time, but Cali couldn't make it out. York muttered something under his breath. It sounded like Italian. Cali genuinely wanted to know what York was saying, so he pulled out his phone. He remembered the phrase with ease and typed it out on his phone.

"Ti amo così tanto, Bello" or... I love you so much, Handsome (rough translation). York smiled as Cali swooned over this. Cali went up to York while he was cooking and hugged him from behind. His head perched onto York's shoulder so contentedly. York kissed Cali, chuckling to himself. Since they were still on the Northeastern side, they saw others walking about. Mass, though, was alone. He came up and asked what the "two lovebirds" were up to. York said he was cooking breakfast for the two them, feeding Cali a piece of bacon. Cali laughed, ate it, and said it still needed a little more cooking.

"My God, if you two get any sweeter, I'm gonna have cavities just from being in close proximity" Mass teased.

"Oh shut it, Masshole!" York responded in a teasing tone, making Mass laugh.

Mass left the two alone after watching them cook for a bit. York and Cali dined on Pancakes, bacon and eggs that morning, enjoying each other's company. York would feed Cali at some points, and Cali reciprocated. After cleaning up from breakfast, the two went for a nice walk outside. The weather was warming up a bit, so the two just went out in light long sleeves and jeans.

The two ended up in a shopping square, where they shopped away for a while. York got some new clothes that made him look a bit more "Work Casual". Cali got more of his typical "Hipster" type clothing. York teased Cali about having a "too full closet", to which Cali playfully shoved him in response. After clothes shopping, they went to a couple random stores... Before once again running into Mass. He had Virginia with him, and spotted the couple. He waved at them, inviting them to say "Hi". York walked over, holding Cali's hand.

"I swear, I keep seeing you two everywhere. You followin' me or something?" Mass asked teasing. York chuckled, stating that following Mass around would get boring fairly quickly. Mass agreed, asking what the two were doing here. Cali said that they did some clothes shopping & were now just looking around.

"Doin' a little 'Window Shopping', eh? Well, York's here so... You've got plenty to choose from" Mass replied with a wink.

"Shut up! Enjoy your time with ya' date!" York teased back, shoving Mass into Virginia.

York and Cali walked away shortly after. That remark swam around in Cali's head for a moment, to the point where he had to comment on it. He asked about Mass and York's current relationship. York insisted that the two were merely friends & that anything else was completely out of the question. "After all, I've got you" York said, kissing Cali's cheek. Cali blushed, apologizing for seeming worried. The two continued "window shopping" for a bit before going back home.

The states all had a "Table Meeting", where York vocalized his frustration that Louisiana wouldn't help him with the alligator he found in his lakes. Cali reeled him in, saying that he was sure it'd be take care of well enough. York sighed heavily and reveled in the fact that Cali was confused about the snowfall in the Southern region. Just then, Mass said something about fixing lights. Gov insisted that the lights were working fine. "The lights are already on" Gov stated matter of factly. "Yeah, there's the problem" Mass said, shutting the lights off. He chuckled to himself. While the lights were out, York and Cali kissed for a while, before Florida asked Cali about the snow.

Mass explained that a certain high school in his division couldn't turn the lights off for years and now they could. The others went about their business as usual for a few more moments, before Gov turned the lights back on. Michigan and Ohio talked about the train derailment and the effects it had on them, with Michigan insisting that Ohio keep his "radioactive dirt" to himself. That made York and Cali chuckle. The two practically tuned the rest of the meeting out and instead focused on each other.

York allowed Cali to sit on his lap, cuddling into him. York's head perfectly rested onto Cali's back, making him blush. Once the meeting was over, the states all disbanded, except for... Yep. Mass ran into the two again. He asked about the "Lovey Dovey" stuff that was happening during the meeting. When the lights were out.

"Do I gotta tell you 'bout every time Cal and I kiss? Weirdo" York teased.

"Fair, fair. Now get outta here, Lovebirds. And go make out somewhere else, would ya'?" Mass retorted, chuckling.

The three laughed, then parted ways. There was a sinking feeling in Cali's chest. Why was Mass seeming to intrude so much on their love life? Cali stored this thought in the back of his mind, as York took him out to dinner later. It was a low-key dining experience, but still nice enough to where they had to change clothes. The two were pretty much talking and laughing the whole time. Flirting a little too, of course. "York is the one. Stop overthinking it. Mass is just messing around" Cali reassured himself, after York said that same Italian phrase he did earlier.

"Ti amo così tanto, Bello". The way York said it. So dreamily, happily. The soft smile on his face. Cali melted a little, hugging York. The two finished their dinner & shared a dessert, before heading home.

Immediately when the two got back into York's room, they cuddled up to each other. Cali loved hearing York's heartbeat. It was so relaxed and mellow. He tapped along to the rhythm of the beats. "What're you doing, you dork?" York teased, kissing Cali's forehead. "Mimicking your heartbeat" Cali said. York just chuckled and kept petting Cali all along his back. York's arms eventually draped over Cali, as he kissed the top of Cali's head. Cali's arms Immediately wrapped around York. "Warm" York muttered, sounding content. Cali giggled, playing with the collar of York's shirt. York gave Cali a mildly suggestive look.

"Keep playing with it like that, and I won't be responsible for what happens afterward" York teased, making Cali's face turn a deep shade of red. York chuckled, kissing Cali & apologizing. Cali insisted it was okay, just that he didn't expect such direct flirtation.

"Whatever you say, Gorgeous" York replied, in a dreamy tone.

"You're one to talk, Handsome" Cali replied, stroking a finger along York's chest.

York smiled at that, kissing Cali's forehead. The two remained cuddled up to each other like this for a while. They were talking and saying sweet nothings to each other, before Cali fell asleep. York watched his lover sleep for a moment. He smiled to himself. "So peaceful, my lil' angel" he thought. After a few more moments of bored silence, York just scrolled on his phone, before seeing a message pop up from... Massachusetts.

"You good to hang?" He asked. York's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wasn't sure about this, considering he'd be doing this without Cali. "Cal's asleep tho" York replied. It took a minute or so for Mass to reply. "It's okay. Come hang with me, I'm bored" Mass replied.

York had to think about it... Before remembering how deep of a sleeper Cali seemed to be. York sighed, leaving Cali alone to see what Mass wanted.

Prev ( Here ) ; Next ( Here )

Masterpost ( Here )

[shatar-aethelwynn]

I feel like it can't be just a northeastern states thing to grumble about their neighboring states ability to drive. Tell me other states do it too.

Massachusetts drivers are called "Massholes" by neighboring states. Maine drivers are "Mainiacs" but the biggest road hazard there are the Moose. New Jersey drivers can't drive because they don't know what a left turn is. New Yorkers the problem is the people from the City who can't drive outside of it (though I stg no one in this State knows how an intersection works).

[piedoesnotequalpi]

The problem with visiting Boston is it makes me miss being a Masshole

[mariacallous]

#oh i wanna get dragged#sean it's the masshole in you

[ukulelekatie]

if I had a nickel for every time an MBTA bus driver asked me for directions on their route I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice right?

[wsl-chelsea]

kristie's your typical masshole, she can get stuck in. it's one reason I think she can excel in the wsl, she can get physical no problem. she's tall and deceptively strong and can barge people off the ball. she's not going to take any crap. can't wait to see it actually. let's make it happen. 🙏

please yes!!

[crimeronan]

2020 in review

it’s been a weird year for me.

by all accounts, it Should be a bad year.  

lots of bad things happened to me this year.  i found places i adore in my new town - a certain cozy chair in the library, a corner table at a 24 hour coffee shop, a park bench in direct sunlight for most of the day - just in time to lose them all.  i started pursuing health answers in january, only for all the hospitals to close on my birthday, rendering answers impossible to find.

i waited months for the hospitals to open again, from home, unable to pursue any of the nightlife or queer meetups or community theater i’d vowed to get involved in.  eventually i found out i have scoliosis and a serious vitamin D deficiency.  i hoped to get better by treating these things.  instead the health problems continued, worsened.  i slept through most of may and november, i had intermittent weeks where i’d sleep for 20+ hours a day and be in too much pain to get out of bed upon waking.  i missed rent a few times.  borrowed money too many times.  relied on my loved ones way more than i’ve ever been comfortable with. (it’s the adam parrish ass in me.)

i developed a painful deformity in my leg.  spent stupid amounts of time in urgent care and the ER.  thought it was a dislocation due to connective tissue issues, but my x-rays came back clean.  so did an ultrasound for blood clots.  my doctor referred me to a dermatologist, who did a biopsy.  not super pleasant considering i faint when punctured with needles, but i’d already had my blood drawn and IVs stuck in me, so whatever.  found out i have an autoimmune disorder.  went from the most-perceived-as-able-bodied person in my house to the one most likely to get killed by the pandemic in the span of a single phone call.  might have a shortened lifespan, might not.  don’t know yet.  probably will know by the end of the year.

so it should be a bad year.  none of this was pleasant.  i’ve had spans of time where i’ve cried harder than i’ve ever cried in my life.  had to keep myself from calling my mom and telling her i needed her, because i knew she’d drop her job and her responsibilities and her plans to race across the whole-ass country, and i didn’t want to do that to her

but i don’t think it was a bad year.  not really.

it was my first full year living in the portland metro area.  which, don’t get me wrong, deserves some of the Cringe Hippie Liberal Anarchist Moron reputation it gets.  but it meant living in a city full of queer people and openly trans-friendly businesses.  it meant having enough healthcare providers near me that i could actively seek out ones who could treat my complex mental and physical health issues without some of the biases i’m used to.  it meant that i found an adequate psychiatrist within 10 minutes of me, an adequate primary care doctor within 20.

i used to live in rural new hampshire.  i drove 70 minutes to see my psychiatrist.  i never found a primary care doctor for physical health issues.  i would have had to go to boston, and i don’t like driving in downtown boston.  (masshole reputations are real and boston’s city planning is hell on earth.)

i also had the very strange experience of being taken seriously by every doctor i interacted with.  i am not used to this.  without getting too deep into it, i have been pretty badly scarred by experiences with having my autonomy violated because of my status as a psychotic individual, even though my fears were not psychosis-related.  also less scarring but equally off-putting experiences with being a perceived-as-woman individual whose pain was shrugged off by men as, like, normal hysterical woman agonies.  or whatever.

so, i had a leg deformity.  and doctors took me seriously.  because it was a visible, inexplicable symptom.  and because a lot of them looked at it and thought, oh fuck, this girl is dying.

(i could still be dying, i guess.  just a lot slower than they worried i was.  i’m not about to keel over from a blood clot or from my rotting bones decaying into my bloodstream.)

this has gone a long way toward alleviating my intrinsic fear of doctors.  being SICK is scary, sure, but it’s odd to be able to (cautiously) expect that doctors will try to help me instead of hurt me.

it was also my first full year living in an apartment of my own, with the family i chose.  my first full year of having my own space that i built.  my first full year of being independent, aside from the times i wasn’t.  my first full year of interacting exclusively with people who make me feel happy and loved instead of people who drain me.  and i felt better, mentally, than i have in a long time.

which is reflected in my creative work.  this was my most creative year in... ever, i think?  even though i was so sick and slept through so much of it.  even though the pandemic kept me from seeking out inspirational experiences.  i made a lot of fandom friends & got closer to friends i met last year.  i got a lot more confident in writing what i wanted to and talking about what i wanted to and not worrying about pleasing anyone but myself.

i published over 150k words of fanfic.  the vast majority of it was exploring feelings about chronic illness.  i outlined an original fiction project from beginning to end, added about 30k words to it.  i started fucking around with digital art a bit, although i have nothing even Remotely worth showing people.  i gained something like 900 tumblr followers from a combination of shitposting and earnestly talking about my feelings re: chronic illness, mental health, fictional meta.  i gave some ppl life advice that i guess was helpful.  apparently i inspired some people to survive the year, which is very weird to think about, but also very nice.

so, uh.  that’s my year i guess.  should be bad, but it wasn’t.  dunno how to conclude this so i will simply say:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

Here’s some Massachusetts headcanons for you lovely sleep deprived beings 🙂✨

-Nicknames: Mass, Masshole, Ma (much to his "displeasure")

-His human age is 23 and his state age (or in my au, how long he’s existed as a state) is 235

-he is brothers with Connecticut (who is 25, cuz I want him to be the oldest for some reason-), New Jersey (who is his twin and is also 23), and New York (the youngest and is 21)

-he has PTSD, ADHD, social anxiety, and depression

-Mass is our skrunkly viscous lil’ coffee bean who needs a hug and some cuddles because he is extremely touch-starved

-Sleep? Don’t know her. Five cups of coffee? ✨y e s✨

-I think we’ve all decided that he is the nurse of the statehouse

-This poor thing gets jumpscared so easily, you don’t even have to be trying to scare him. The other states have tried to not scare him unintentionally, but alas they have failed

-he passes out at random times due to low iron, and the other states always try to catch him so that he doesn’t end up being on the receiving end of a concussion

-he is the shortest of his siblings (he’s only 5’6 meanwhile his siblings are 5’8, 5’9, and 5’10), therefore he is the one that randomly gets picked up like Simba (he is thoroughly unimpressed)

-his best friends are Penn and Loui

-he had a self-harming problem for a long time, and nearly died one time. That was when some of the others found out, and he soon got a bit of the help he needed. He still relapses sometimes, but the others that find out help him (no matter how stubborn he is)

-his father is England, and we all f(speaks Boston) hate him because he was emotionally and physically abusive to Mass and his siblings

-NY had to get his purring from somebody, and that somebody is Mass (but hell will freeze over before he tells you that-)

-I think it’s a universal agreement that Mass is a f(speaks Boston) nerd and knows how to hack

-every state has their own weapon, and his is an axe 🪓

-he plays the guitar, bass, and piano and actually sings pretty well

-Mass’s hair is extremely fluffy, which makes it really hard to take him seriously without his hat. Example:

Mass: If you don’t give that back right now, I’m going to tear you apart piece by piece while you’re still alive-

Tex, who is holding his hat high up where Mass can’t reach it: *whispering to York who is right next to him* It’s like being threatened by a damn cupcake…

[irwintry]

The Tilt-Shift Effect

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of drugs

Author’s Note: i think i spent too much time on this honestly i dont even know how i feel abt it

playlist

Word Count: 6.2k

–– a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths.

Ashton had wealth, but he ate his cereal out of two-dollar plastic bowls from Target. He owned fourteen, specifically, so he could let them pile up in the sink for two weeks before he was forced to accept the grimy challenge of washing dishes. He had the cabinet space to hold up to twenty-one, though he figured that was a bit excessive. His laziness could only be condoned for so long. If he chose to purchase more, he’d be better off hiring a maid.

Sometimes, Ashton took up weird hobbies during his downtime. His works of crochet were hung on the walls of hallways, and his ceramic mugs got their daily use through early morning coffee fixes. Once upon a time, he tried beading, and his old girlfriend received most of the precious pieces. He had to do something other than songwriting or else it would fry his brains out.

He purchased a new pair of winter gloves the other day. He lived in Los Angeles–– he didn’t need a pair of winter gloves, let alone a new one. Ashton wasn’t spending money on pointless things because he was bored of his life. No, he loved his time on tour with friends. He loved sharing moments and memories that would last forever. And then, he would be home again, cooped up in the confines of his expansive home with fourteen plastic bowls and crocheted hallways. Ashton needed his life to be fast-paced, otherwise, he’d start beading again.

A few weeks ago, he considered writing a novel. He purchased a Nalgene, hiked up whatever mountain was closest (while simultaneously sweating enough to fill his new water bottle three times), and jotted down whatever emotions slammed into his head. He was hit with nothing. The destructive instinct of tossing his journal into the deep brush overcame him, and Ashton decided that if he were to write a novel, he’d need to go somewhere a bit more inspirational than the dry mountains overlooking smog city.

He suffered from tinnitus quite often, especially on airplanes or any high altitude above sea level (to be exact). Maybe it was partially due to his career as a drummer, or maybe it wasn’t. Whatever it was, and whatever the reason, he despised the perpetual ache. It ruined any social event or interaction for the two days following, but in this case, it ruined his right to think. After packing for twenty minutes, Ashton sped to the airport, his ear already clogged from the mountain climb earlier that morning. The information desk was his first destination, and then it was wherever from there.

“’m sorry, Ash, but you’re where?”

Ashton took a glance around at the baggage claim area. So, he could take the silver line, get a taxi or a limo, or schedule an app ride to wherever he was going. It was good to know he had options. But what the hell was the silver line?

He chuckled. “I think I took a flight to Boston.”

The other end of the phone call was silent.

Truth be told, Ashton hadn’t meant to fly to Boston. He hadn’t been tremendously picky when it came to choosing the final destination, so he picked a random time off of the top of his head, and whatever flight was scheduled to board then, he’d buy a ticket. Boston it was.

“Why the fuck are you in Boston?” Luke wondered, his sentence ending with a lilt and a laugh.

Calum entered the conversation. “Are you having an emotional breakdown?”

“Did you try beading again?” Michael quipped.

Ashton had to chuckle once more. He wasn’t sure he would ever tire of his friends. “Needed t’get out of LA, mates. To clear my head.”

“So, you chose Boston?” Luke spoke up through laughter again.

“’s not a bad city,” Ashton replied. The loud buzzer by his baggage claim began to sound, and a second or so later, the first suitcase tumbled down. “There’s Cambridge, too. That place can be pretty.”

“I think Ash will make the perfect Bostonian,” said Michael. “He gives off perfect Masshole vibes.”

Ashton snorted. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Anytime.”

Ashton noticed his bag was the fourth to slide down on the conveyer belt. “So, uh, does anyone know what on earth the silver line is?”

-

There are ninety-five to a hundred billion nerve cells in the human body, and right now, Ashton could feel every single one. The safari app on his phone had close to ten tabs open purely to help him understand the train system, but then he ended up freaking out and taking a Lyft instead. He had started to realize his mistake in coming here the moment he finalized everything with his Airbnb in Back Bay (wherever the hell that was). He could vaguely remember a few designated spots him and his mates hit for yoga or brunch when they had been in the city, but they were never here long enough.

The penthouse he was renting lacked activities, but the bathroom was nice. The lighting made his pores stand out a bit more than usual, so that was another downside. Also, he was two inches taller than the showerhead. Otherwise, he loved the place. The roof would be a nice touch if the temperature outside hadn’t frozen his nips off through three layers of clothing. With a sigh, Ashton tossed his belongings to the floor and collapsed onto the couch.

So, he didn’t know why he was here or what he was going to do while he was here. He hardly made it out of the airport alive, and he assumed that, once people knew he was here, walking the streets would be a damn nightmare. Maybe he could give himself cabin fever and write down whatever psychotic thoughts came into his head. That would be an interesting novel.

Ashton didn’t know what he was thinking, but he did know that he needed a fucking beer. And, like all great cities, there were plenty of bars.

However, despite the lovely array of bars, he needed a place that was lowkey. He needed the place three blocks west in its eighteen-table glory. He needed the distance murmur of conversations from old friends and regulars, and he needed that sharp sting of tequila sloshing down his throat. What he didn’t really need, was the live performance taking place in the closet-sized underground bar, but he felt bad that the ten people in there hardly gave a shit.

Ashton listened from a small round table by the wall. He didn’t know why–– maybe it was the alcohol, but the light strum of guitar and angelic singing voice traveled through every ninety-five to a hundred billion nerves in his body. His heart connected to the lyrics, the strings plucking as if it were on the guitar. Maybe this was why he was here.

You had noticed him from the corner of your eye, though your hands only froze for a split moment before you flickered your gaze back to the few men on barstools. This was the exact reason you had to perform with a lyric sheet before you–– unexpected guests like Ashton Irwin would wander in and listen to you sing.

Truth be told, this was your first time performing in front of a big name, and you were somewhat upset you had worked through your headache to be here. It should have been a sign when your guitar took twenty minutes to tune and when two cars almost ran you over on a crosswalk. It should have been a sign when your vanilla latte from Pavement burned your tongue and made you cry.

But here you were, singing lyrics you no longer felt with a shaky voice in front of a man whose eyes were glossed over from the alcohol. At least, that was what you assumed. His thumbs darted to the inside corners of his eyes and rubbed along the water line. You absolutely could not believe it. You had made him cry.

“Uh, thank you,” you said into the mic. Only Ashton was watching you, so truly, you were thanking him. “I’ll be back soon with some happy songs, I promise.”

He cracked a smile.

You had your back turned for under a minute as you put your guitar away, and when you stood to go talk to him, he had already gone.

-

“I’ve tried approximately seventeen coffee shops in the past week, and only four of them sold bagels, and two of those four had comfortable seating,” Ashton explained. With his phone nestled between his shoulder and his ear, he darted around the kitchen, a spatula for his eggs in one hand and a bottle of orange juice (for some reason) in the other.

“And, how many of those places had good coffee?” asked Calum.

Ashton sighed. “Seven.”

“How ya gonna narrow it down, then?”

Once he set down the bottle of juice, Ashton placed his phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button. A buzz of white noise filled the large kitchen. “Well, two of the seven had bagels, and one of those had good coffee, good seating, and bagels. But the problem is, those bagels weren’t that great. So, like...”

“Life really sucks for you,” his friend replied with a quick chuckle.

“And I still haven’t figured out how the fuck to ride the train, so I’ve spent like two hundred dollars on Lyft rides because I can’t walk, and– “

“Are you doin’ okay, mate?” Calum questioned, worry lacing his tone while Ashton struggled with scraping the eggs off of the pan and onto his plate.

He thought for a moment as he turned off the burner. “I’m– ‘m not doing bad. Jus’...” Ashton sighed. “A part o’ me doesn’t wanna leave, but I don’t have any reason to be here.”

There was silence on Calum’s end for a moment as well. Meanwhile, Ashton was pouring his juice. Truth be told, it was close to one in the afternoon, and he was just now having breakfast.

“And like,” he mumbled before letting out a quick huff due to the small juice spillage on the counter, “I feel kinda stupid. Like, I literally hopped on the first flight that caught my eye. I coulda gone to Milwaukee, or I coulda gone to Paris!”

“Boston’s pretty cool,” replied Calum.

Ashton shrugged to himself. “There was this really good singer at this bar the other day. Thought she was cute n’ all.”

“Did you get her number?”

“No,” he said. “I– I left pretty quickly. Dunno. I panicked. I haven’t been back since.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“You should go back.”

Ashton’s brows knotted together. “Y’think?”

Calum let out a laugh. “You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old.”

Ashton sighed.

“Yeah, go back,” his friend continued. “Why not? If she’s not there, try one more time. And if she’s not there again, go to fuckin’ Belize. Ash, ya flew to Boston on a whim. You’re feelin’ burnt out–– you want to write a fuckin’ novel for Christ’s sake, mate! Maybe it’s all a path that leads to her. I mean, ya never know if you don’t try.”

Ashton nodded as he poked and prodded at his peppered eggs with a fork. They had cooled significantly now, and his hunger was only growing stronger. “I’m supposed t’be the wise one. ‘m older.”

In response, Calum snorted and uttered out a meek “yeah, right.”

“I’ll– I’ll go back tonight.”

And, Ashton did. His stomach twisted tightly as his long legs took him in quick strides across bridges and down busy streets. He kept his head down the entire time, his thin sweatshirt hood loose against his untamed hair (he hadn’t thought to put in the energy). The cold bit, and he figured he would have to invest in a nice winter coat from some store down Newbury. He heard it had a lot of nice stores.

The bar was quiet again, the same few guys still situated on their stools as if they hadn’t left in six days. He paid for a beer – didn’t matter what kind – and stalked towards the same table he had sat at before. Everything was the same, but you weren’t there, and he assumed you wouldn’t be. For a second, he hoped he had gotten the time all wrong, or maybe he had imagined the whole thing. Moments later, his beer had gone down a few centimeters, and you were rushing down the stairs with your guitar case on your back and a music stand in your hand.

“Sorry, sorry Stewart!” you yelped after banging the shoulder of one of the men at the bar.

“Jesus, Y/N, you don’t have t’rush,” he joked, but you continued on hurrying to get your things set up. “We’ll be here all night.”

You huffed. “Well, how ya gonna have an enjoyable night without me?”

Someone else chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

So could Ashton. His heart rate had tripled since you raced in wearing your cute bee socks. He hoped the flush of your skin meant more than the freezing temperatures outside, but he wasn’t entirely confident you had noticed him sitting there until you were situated on your stool.

“You missed out on the happy songs,” you said as you – to his surprise – gazed over at him. “That’s okay. I’ve got a few more in store.”

Ashton didn’t cry often when it came to happy songs–– he truly thought his reactions to music were pretty conventional. Somehow, you were able to evoke more emotion than he even knew he had. His beer had more tears in it than alcohol by the end of your set. He wondered why no one had discovered you yet, but then again, you fit perfectly in the position you were in: playing for only him to listen.

He wanted to do what Calum suggested. He wanted to talk to you and personally get your name without having to know it because he overheard it from Stewart. For some reason, every ounce of confidence that Ashton had spent years developing in the music industry stood no chance in comparison to you. He darted as soon as you smiled his way.

-

Ashton had burned through four bottles of Naked juice by the next evening. It was his compensation for hardly having a thing to drink at the bar simply because his brain chose to be infatuated with you for that short amount of time. Also, he bent the shower head by accident, and he almost locked himself on the roof last night when exploring.

In the morning, he had briefly forgotten where he was. There were ten texts from friends awaiting him as he fumbled with the coffee machine in the kitchen, and most of them had something to do with him flying across the country to a city that hardly mattered a thing to him. Ashton chose not to answer any of them. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his decisions; however, he felt as though he owed you his ears. You deserved to have someone who cared about your music.

You, on the other hand, had been hoping and praying that the previous night would run smoothly. Ashton had no reason to show again, and you assumed he had only been in town briefly. And then, he hid in the corner once more, eyes trained hard on you as the tears threatened to spill. You had to blink a few times to make sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. This man played arenas holding thousands all across the world. You played for your roommates and middle-aged drunkards in a bar with a maximum capacity of thirty. He should not have been there.

Though the nerves were still there as you played through John Denver covers and original songs that would only see the inside of the bar, it was nice to have someone new listen in. It was numbing to only play for Richard, Frank, Steve, and Stewart. Now there was Ashton, the famous drummer who somehow found his way to Boston and somehow wandered into the same bar you played at a few times a week. Had someone filmed you and posted it online? Was he here pretending to be a talent scout?

You needed to know. But Ashton was good. In that same minute you were putting away your guitar, he slipped out again.

So, you figured he wouldn’t show anymore. Nobody of great importance stayed in Boston long enough. And then, he did show. For the third time in a row, Ashton was giving you his full attention, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. He showed a fourth time, and then a fifth. A whole two weeks had passed, and he was still showing up.

By this point, you convinced yourself that it was a-look-alike.

Ashton, meanwhile, was convinced that you were the reason he was here in the first place. He didn’t know if it was the cute giggle that escaped your lips when you slipped up on the chords, or the crinkles by your eyes once you let yourself get lost completely in a song. Or, maybe it was the precious pout you wore when there were mic difficulties.

It was possible he had become a bit too hooked.

“What even is there to do in Boston?” asked Luke while Ashton was busy avoiding ducks and squirrels by the edge of the pond. A part of him considered dropping his phone into the shallow waters, but his friends needed to know that he was doing okay.

“Uhh,” Ashton glanced around, the dead leaves and bundled-up strangers catching his eye. Truly, he should have picked Italy or something. “Ride a train. Eat food. Yell at cars.”

Someone cackled on the other end of the call. “You make me sad.” It was Michael.

“I’m fine,” the dirty-blond answered, “truly. It’s about Christmas time, so the lights are really nice. Depends on where ya go but things are like, kinda calm here. And, there’s this bar– “

“Jesus, Ash, have you even talked to her?” asked Calum.

“Well, no, but– “

“Her?” It was Michael again.

Ashton frowned. “Well there’s– uh, there’s this– “ He kicked at a few stones and watched them tumble into the water. “Girl.”

A chorus of ooo’s and laughter filled the receiver before Luke spoke up and said, “All right, Ash, buddy. What’s she like? Satisfyin’?”

“I-I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

And then, there was a moment of silence.

“She plays at this bar,” Ashton continued, “a few times a week. And, fuck, she’s like if Sara Bareilles and Phoebe Bridgers had a baby or somethin’. ‘m probably the only person in that joint who gives a flyin’ fuck about her. She’s so beautiful.”

“Well shit, Ash,” Michael interjected, “what’re you waitin’ for?”

“That’s what I told him!” Calum shouted.

Ashton didn’t know. He didn’t know after the phone call ended, and he still didn’t know on his walk back home. He thought about you too much to not give this a chance.

At home, he thought about you while making dinner or shaving his beard. He thought about you when coming up with strategic ways to get around the city without being seen. He thought about you once he finally figured out how the train system worked. No matter what, he thought about you, the cute girl who sang her heart out for people who only talked over her.

He wondered if you thought about him, too. There was no possible way you hadn’t noticed his presence–– you locked eyes too many times and it made his heart flop every damn time.

Ashton would spend the walk over to the bar thinking about what sweater you would wear that night. Would it be blue or red? Would it fit perfectly or leave enough room for another human to cuddle underneath? You took your shoes off when performing, so he began to think about what socks you would wear, too. The blue ones with cats? The frilly white ones? The rainbow ones with dinosaurs? His smile grew wide as he climbed down the stairs to the small bar.

Tonight was the night he would talk to you he decided. He couldn’t fall into the habit of coming and going, especially when he truly wanted to talk to you. Somehow, those billions of nerves held him back.

Ashton sat at a table closer to the tiny stage. You were in the middle of a song when your eyes glanced down to his figure, and he swore you could see his cheeks burning hotter than the neon sign beside his head.

“Hey stranger,” you said after the song had ended, and you sent a wink his way. “This next one is dedicated to you.”

His mouth fell open, but he quickly covered up the expression with a long sip of his beer. It was like you knew how to win him over. A few chuckles sounded the bar from behind him, but he couldn’t take it upon himself to care as your nimble fingers strummed a melody that felt like pure honey in his ears. Your voice was what made it sweet.

It was possible the small bit of alcohol that made the fuzz in head travel down his spine. The bubbling in his chest was an artist, for the smile it etched on his face was unlike no other he had felt. Ashton couldn’t imagine the sensation of actually speaking to you face-to-face.

“Thank you to my– my number one fan,” you mumbled shyly with the prettiest smile that could send anyone into a euphoric state. Your eyes were gentle as they peered down at him, and he swore his heart had taken a flight to Milan by now.

You turned around to pack your things, and Ashton had to restrain himself from fleeing like he typically did every time. Usually, he was better at this. He could talk to anyone back home without a single ounce of anxiety, but now, his feet did most of the talking. So, he imagined that he was stuck butt-first in cement and stayed still.

He didn’t know that you would nearly drop everything when you turned to see him there. Ashton fought free of his invisible restraints so he could rush over and help gather your lyric sheets, but he didn’t know he would be so shaky doing so. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first ever performance with his band.

“S-shit, thanks– thank you,” you sputtered, clearly flustered from the accidental mishap. You began to lightly laugh at yourself as you crouched down, and he admired that. “’m a bit clumsy.”

“Is that your name?” he asked and cracked a smile. “A bit clumsy?”

Maybe you had blushed, maybe you hadn’t. Or, maybe it was the few lights shining directly on the two of you from above the small stage. “Uh, n-no. ‘s Y/N.”

He smiled and nodded, reaching out his free hand to shake your own free hand. He knew your hands would be soft despite the guitar callouses, but he hadn’t realized how badly he wouldn’t want to let go. “Ashton.”

“Yeah,” you replied hazily, then your eyes widened before you rose to your feet. He followed suit as you stuttered out, “I-I mean yeah, I– shoot. I mean I know who you are, it’s just– “

“Y’okay?” He grinned. So, he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. That was good.

You nodded. “I’m– I’m great. Just confused.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well...” You shrugged and placed the sheets of music back onto the music stand. “You-you're not exactly a Boston native. And, you keep comin’ to this bar.”

“Cos’ you’re talented.”

“And– wait, what?”

Ashton’s smile grew. You truly did have more confidence on stage than you did in person; it just meant you were destined to perform. “I keep comin’ back to hear you. I like your stuff. I like your voice.”

You gazed up at him, cheeks hot, and you were desperate to get out of the harsh lighting you had been sitting in for close to a half hour. Behind him, the folks at the bar were chatting and gazing back occasionally at the two of you. “You’re... wow.”

“You’re really good.”

“Th-thank you,” you replied, “so much.” The smile had yet to escape you, and it was possible that it had grown larger. “Um, so why-why are you in Boston? Of all places?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that you would ask that question. Surprisingly, in the past two weeks, no one had. He went a few days without getting recognized altogether, but he knew he’d have to answer questions at some point. But, for now, he shrugged. He didn’t know the answer. “Spontaneous adventure.”

You chuckled. “To Boston...”

He laughed a little, too. “Yeah, to Boston.”

-

The simple question of “can I walk you home?” could only go so far. Ashton hadn’t insinuated anything, and you didn’t think he had either. But if both of you were honest, you didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. So, you told him to “hold tight” as you raced up to your apartment to drop your things off. He was in the same spot where you had left him, hands deep in the pocket of his pretty-penny coat that had a hood the size of Canada.

“Y’sure you don’t have plans?” he asked you, letting out a puff of air through the frigid night. Ashton didn’t mind the cold as long as he spent it with someone to preoccupy his thoughts. You were well-qualified for that–– he couldn’t think of anything else but you and the way the lights in the trees reflected in your eyes.

“It’s eight-thirty on a Thursday night,” you said. “Normally, I’d be in bed by now.”

Ashton let out a chuckle, and he couldn’t believe that he could have had this last week. You admitted that you had been hoping he’d stick around after all this time, and ever since that moment, he tried not to mental curse himself.

“Walk fast,” you muttered to him. “My favorite coffee shop closes in an hour and a half.”

You were taking him through parks and vacant neighborhood streets, and he was grateful. These were shortcuts he hadn’t thought to take himself. Besides, he’d rather enjoy them with you anyway. You hopped off of curbs, kicked stones in your path, and jogged across large fields whenever the two of you came upon one. He had never met anyone who found such joy in the little things, and he loved that about you. The night was cold, but you were happy.

Were you happy because you were with him?

Ashton tried to enjoy it as much as you (well, he did enjoy himself, but he preferred watching you enjoy yourself–– it meant more to him anyway). Watching the way your eyes lit up as a few snow flurries fell from the sky was enough to keep his mood steady for the next few months.

“If we get coffee fast,” you said, “we could go to the MFA. I mean, like, you would have to pay unfortunately because I get in for free, but– “

“The MFA?” Ashton asked you as the two of you turned a corner. Before he realized, you were walking up a few steps and opening the door to the coffee shop you told him about.

“Museum of Fine Arts!” you exclaimed before greeting the baristas in the small establishment. “Can I get a small caramel latte with almond milk and a molasses cookie, please? Both to-go”

He grinned, still watching you intently as if you were made of pure gold. Everything you said was drenched in it. Ashton didn’t know how to not fall for you. He pulled out his wallet before you could and handed the person at the register his credit card as he said, “small cider for me, please. Also to-go.”

“Excuse you,” you gasped, and then you pouted, and Ashton thought he was going to lose his shit. Either that or his cheeks would fall off from smiling so much.

“You worked hard tonight,” he said. “You deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dummy.”

Ashton liked the fact that the two of you spoke to each other as if you had been friends all along. It felt natural, and that only made him more nervous. If it felt natural after only knowing you for a few hours, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel later on.

“Want some?” you asked, holding up the molasses cookie as you both began in the direction you came from. “It’ll change your life.”

“Uh, sure,” he replied, pulling off a bit of the cookie before placing it on his tongue. Ashton had never been a huge fan of molasses, but he didn’t mind it all that much. Nevertheless, he nearly moaned at the taste just to please you. “That’s crack,” he joked before taking a sip of his cooling cider. “MFA time?”

“You wanna go?” you asked with a small gasp. “You still wanna spend time with me? I’m shocked.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think tha’s a crime. You’re talented and fun to be around.”

“Half of the world is jealous of me,” you said.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, “luckily, half of the world doesn’t know about you yet. Once they do...” Ashton didn’t want to think about you becoming overwhelmed with personalities and fans. He liked you here. He liked you now. And then, he realized he said yet. But you didn’t notice.

“I can only imagine,” you huffed through a mouthful of cookie. “Dunno how you’re able to get around here without strangers proddin’ into your life.”

“Ah, I’ve recently developed ninja skills,” he said. “And, I’m also Spider-Man, so I can jump from building to building. Oh, and I’m a mermaid, too so I can swim across the Charles if I need.”

You winced, and you even made an euughhh sound before saying, “I wouldn’t even stick a toe in the Charles if you dared me for a million dollars.”

Ashton felt his laughter deep in his chest, and he hadn’t expected it to echo as the two of you prepared to cross the giant field once again. And when you danced your way across the turf, he gladly held your belongings so he could slowly catch up to you. He was amazed that you felt no sense of embarrassment, but that made him even happier. It just meant that you were comfortable around him.

He didn’t mind paying for his ticket whatsoever–– he would spend all of the money in his bank account if it meant never leaving your side. You showed him all of your favorite pieces, like Dance at Bougival by the artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir (who, according to you, was definitely one of the best Impressionist painters), and you took him down to the Ansel Adams exhibit. That was his favorite part in particular; it was the kind of photography he wished he could create.

Most of all, Ashton didn’t mind standing back and admiring you from afar as your eyes scanned the wide canvases before you. He wanted you as close as possible, but he could appreciate your beauty in full this way.

“Do you smell potatoes?” you wondered aloud at one point, and truly, he did smell potatoes. The smell hit both of you before the sounds of whatever event was being held did. Soon after, you could hardly hear your thoughts over the band and loud chatter. “C’mon,” you said, taking his hand and pulling him down a large hall, “I wanna see if we can crash.”

Your hand was in his. Your hand was in his, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Your smile grew as you followed the blaring music into a great big hall. There were servers and chefs darting behind dividers, and from the middle of the room, you could see down into where the event took place. People were dressed to the nines as the band in the distance played a song he recognized from Notting Hill.

“Art installation,” you gasped, tugging on his hand. Meanwhile, he was trying to figure out a way to intertwine your fingers with his. “Do you think I could get them to let me in by wooing them with my magical voice?” you joked, giggling as your entire face lit up with laughter.

Ashton nodded. “You could woo them with your smile, darlin’,” he replied. The next moment, he managed to wedge his fingers in between yours, and you didn’t even think twice about it. Your eyes sparkled while you tried to sneak up further to catch a better glimpse at what was happening.

“Well, you could woo them with your smile... darlin’,” you said, shooting him a wink.

Ashton finally decided that Boston hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

-

“I’m not tired,” you replied despite yawning midsentence. “Promise. It’s only– “ You checked your phone. “It’s only two in the mornin’.”

“Bedtime for me, sweetheart,” Ashton chuckled. “But believe me, I don’t want this night to end either.”

You sighed, wrapped your arm around his as you rested your head on his bicep. Ashton felt the need to thank you for this. He felt warm around you, and not just because you were leaning into him. He had developed feelings for the idea of you during the past two weeks of witnessing your lovely performances, but tonight, he had developed feelings for the actual you. It was quite possible that you had as well.

“Where ya stayin’?” you mumbled against him.

“I have an Airbnb on the next street over from here,” he responded as he glanced down at your tired self all cuddled against him. It made his heart got berserk. “But ‘m gonna walk you back to your place.”

“You don’t have t’do that,” you said.

Ashton shrugged lightly. “I want to.”

You sighed again, letting your head fall back against him as he pulled you closer (if that were even possible). The two of you walked in comfortable, sleepy silence down a few more blocks and over avenues. At one point, he swore you had fallen asleep, yet your feet were still walking as normal with him blindly guiding you along. He didn’t recognize where he was whatsoever, though, within a few minutes, the two of you reached your destination.

“Hm, we’re here,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly before rubbing your eyes.

“So we are,” he said, mostly to himself as his brain sped through countless options as to what he should do next. Would he ask for your number? Would he tell you he’d see you again soon? Ashton didn’t know what to do, but the moment you stepped closer to him, he knew he needed to pull you in for a hug. He needed your warmth, and you gladly accepted his. And when you began to pull away, you stood high on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“See you tonight?” you asked, a lazy smile forming on your features as you slowly backed up towards the front door to the building.

He grinned, grazing his cheek with his fingers as he muttered out a satisfied, “see you tonight.”

-

Ashton started his novel the next afternoon, the words finally hitting his brain in just the right places as they found their home on an empty word document. He wrote and wrote, his fingers hardly feeling the repercussions of the endless typing, and before he knew it, it was time to see you again. A part of him wanted you here with him as he wrote–– maybe you were the inspiration he needed all along.

And when he walked into that bar he now knew all too well, you were already there to greet him with a smile so big, any satellite in space could see it. Ashton knew he would be head-over-heels from the get-go; however, he hadn’t expected to fantasize about stupid things like taking road trips or late-night kisses. They weren’t stupid per se, though they weren’t his typical fantasies. Sure, he had a hard time showering without thinking of you, but that made him feel guilty. He could bite his fist and pull his hair all he wanted, and he’d still wonder about how you liked your eggs or what your favorite color was.

He took you out to eat afterward, both to congratulate you on another fabulous performance and to make it known that this did, in fact, count as a date. He had even let the word slip out once or twice, hopeful enough that you would catch on and not feel uncomfortable. You made it clear that you were enjoying yourself nevertheless. You wouldn’t be playing sugar packet Jenga with him otherwise (at least, that was what he assumed).

An hour or so later, he was walking you home again. Instead of you reaching up to kiss his cheek, he bent down to kiss your lips, and the world felt okay once again.

[disrupt0r]

A Series of Complaints: Boston Driving

On June 21st of 2019 a horrific accident occurred, where a Massachusetts truck driver killed seven motorcyclists in New Hampshire after driving erratically and veering over the solid yellow lines. The case was not controversial and the driver was convicted on seven counts of manslaughter. However, during the process of the trial, it was discovered that the driver should have had his license removed earlier for another out of state incident. Digging a little deeper, it was found that the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles had as many as 10,000 people in their records who should have had their licenses removed due to out of state incidents, but did not. Everything became horrible and messy and political, with the governor blaming the Massachusetts RMV, with claims about technical issues and system rollover problems, etcetera, etcetera for months on end. Perhaps it's "too soon", but truly, when I first heard this story I thought "oh, everything makes sense now!" Driving in Massachusetts is not like all the baby boomer Facebook jokes make it out to be. It is, in fact, much worse. I know because I took a position at a company far from where I live, about a 45 minute drive, and was introduced to the chaos and hell-fire that comprises the rush hour traffic on my commute. I didn't get a license until I was 18, and I drove in Colorado, a place where you are occasionally blessed with a 70 mile speed limit and where only geese honking can be heard (until all the Coastal Elites moved in). I thought I was prepared for Massachusetts traffic already as a veteran pedestrian and biker, but no. No one prepares you for the Alewife traffic circle, or for the Sumner Tunnel. Even weekends are not safe, as I am regularly accosted by whatever demon triangle the Mystic View/Revere Beach Parkway traffic circle is, which makes entering and exiting the Costco shopping complex physically and emotionally draining. Much have I suffered for reasonably priced bulk chicken breast.

what is this abomination. 

Even without 10,000 homicidal drivers on the road, Massachusetts is such a strange and lawless place. It was clearly made for horses and not modern vehicles, given that there does not exist a single pair of parallel streets in the entire state. I'm unsure how early road makers mapped out the Greater Boston Area--perhaps they were inspired by one of Frank Gehry's ancestors or maybe a spiderweb after a windy storm. I imagine a six year old with a crayon could squiggle out some kind of roughly square or rectangular shape, whereas the road patterns of eastern Massachusetts seem almost intentionally nonsense. Manhattan is frustrating only because of density--of people, cars, everything. Boston is frustrating because if it weren't for Google Maps, after driving long enough in this city I would not know my left from my right, and would likely have completed a full circle a several times. Perhaps this was the defense mechanism of the early American colonists, that their enemies would be doomed to forever orbit them, never actually entering to attack. These are the things they don't tell you about Paul Revere's ride. The tunnels are Boston's arteries, and they cause the city constant heart palpitations, both metaphorically as in the heart of Boston and also literally as in the hearts of its residents. When entering the tunnel from John F Fitzgerald Parkway you have about 900 feet to veer across three lanes to take the Storrow Drive exit, and when trying to get to Somewhere That Isn't The Airport your GPS will conveniently disconnect on you the moment you are headed for the inescapable $8 toll exit, after which you will spend 15 minutes crying underwater while rerouting to your actual destination. 

an expressway to sadness. 

This is all before I've even gotten to talk about the people, the "Massholes" as they are fondly nicknamed, 10,000 of whom should have literally been banned from driving in public. The things I have seen have stunned me so much I forget to even use my horn. I have witnessed actual street racing in rush hour traffic--I was admittedly both appalled and partly in awe. Many people have cut me off when they were in lanes they weren't supposed to be, that's relatively normal--except for the time it was an industrial vehicle that seemed to be carrying liquid nitrogen. An entire alphabet of questionable turns, the least of which being illegal U's. The offense which scares me most is actually comparatively safer--it is when people pull up beside me to yell through my window. And scarier still is the degree to which I find my own driving behavior changing--after a certain point it becomes clear that no one will let you into their lane, even if you are merging, and so a tactic of artful nose-nudging and back-bumper-side-tailgating ensues. My mother commented on this endlessly when she came to visit me of course, lamenting how I had abandoned my simpler, more innocent Colorado ways for this big-city driving debauchery. For some reason, it never occurred to me to think about why Massachusetts is like this, other than the fact that it is old. A lightbulb was lit (for me at least, I'm sure the locals have been fully aware) by the RMV investigation, indicating that some systematic issue is at play hear--maybe transportation governance, maybe infrastructure, probably both. I've been told this is one of the wealthiest states in the country and yet the number of potholes in Medford exceeds its population of school-age children. It remains to be seen whether Massachusetts will ever be a sane place to drive--my guess is no, but I will continue to vote for work from home incentives and fund the retirement home for derailed trains.

[star-crossed-lizards]

good evening. it has just come to my attention that the state of massachusetts has a black-capped chickadee as its state bird. this would not be a problem except for the fact that my home state of maine also has the black-capped chickadee as its state bird. this is unacceptable. i assure you there are more than 48 different kinds of birds that live in the contiguous united states of america. i demand justice. massachusetts doesnt deserve such a cute bird. maine does, because i live here and i like that bird, and i see them all the time. also, maine license plates have chickadees most of the time, while massachusetts license plates have them none of the time.

in conclusion, fuck off with that bullshit.

if you live in massachusetts and you wanna argue with me about this dont because i dont care. chickadees should be the state bird of maine and maine only.

massholes do not interact