#I got the constant tired response of like ‘’go to ur dad about this’’ but if you take 2 seconds to think

[m4sc4r4]

More on bad relationship habits in the tags

[sanguine-fairy]

Here’s To You

Pairing: Graytear

Word Count: 2102

Characters: Gray, Ultear, mention of Silver and Ur

A/N: Here is a little something I wrote up for the Graytear exchange for @crazyblueowl :) they had asked for a platonic, Harry Potter AU and this is what my crazy brain of mine came up with! I’m sorry there isn’t a lot of cool magic scenes in this, I just couldn’t shake this idea out of my head. It got a little angsty (I hope you don’t mind but their whole relationship revolves around angst tbh) I hope you enjoy it!

It was raining again. It was always raining this time of year, only adding to the melancholy mood that seemed to follow him wherever he goes. It had been present through today’s training, proving to make the act of being stealthy quite difficult, much to the chagrin of his instructors. It even followed him while he walked to the pub down the street from his apartment.

On any other night, Gray would have kept walking as he passed the tiny pub. He wasn’t much of a drinker, he hated the way the alcohol burned as though pouring pure gasoline down his throat, but tonight that burn was the only thing he was interested in.

Musty smoke greeted him as he entered the decrepit building and made his way to the bar. The old bartender nodded at him, a silent greeting, as he began to fill a glass with an amber liquid. This wasn’t the first time Gray had done this.

Sliding the glass his way, the bartender dismissed Gray’s attempts to pay him for the drink. With a quick thank you, Gray took the glass in his hands and closed his eyes. Once the moment of silence passed, Gray raised the whiskey neat.

“Here’s to you, mom and dad.” And with that, he swiftly swallowed the liquid.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving Gray to make the trek home in darkness. The dim street lamps barely provided enough light so with a whispered lumos, Gray lit the way with his wand. There was something about the soft glow of white light coming from the tip of his wand that comforted him, that made him forget about the emptiness this time of year brought.

The walk home was long and cold, the rain coming down in a constant stream. Gray couldn’t be bothered to accio his umbrella, he didn’t mind the rain. He felt as though the rain would somehow wash away the desolate mood that accompanied him, he hoped it would anyways. As he approached the apartment building, he was surprised to find the light on in the living room. His roommate, Ultear, wasn’t much of a night owl like he was. For as long as he could remember, even during their Hogwarts years, she’d go to bed early.

Gray took the steps in twos as he hurried to get inside. Thoughts dwelling on the worst, he rushed to make sure Ultear was okay. He burst through the front door to find the living room empty but impeccably clean, unlike the mess he left it in this afternoon. A soft scratching sound came from the kitchen so he followed the noise until he saw Ultear. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a brush he didn’t even know they had.

The kitchen was sparkling clean and smelled of chemicals and lemons that caused his nose to wrinkle. Florescent colored bottles littered the counters, cleaners that Gray rarely sees. He had never used actual muggle cleaners before, why would he if he could clean a whole room with the flick of his wand?

“You know what time it is, don’t you?” Gray asked Ultear when she didn’t acknowledge his presence in the kitchen.

Ultear stopped scrubbing and blinked owlishly up at Gray like she was trying to blink herself out of a daze. She looked around the room as if she only just realized where she was.

“It’s late.” Was all she replied before she went back to scrubbing.

It pained Gray to see her like this. It happened every year, on the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. Ultear spends the day in an ultra-cleaning mode, preferring to clean by hand than by magic. Gray never questioned it, the same way Ultear never questioned where he went on the night of the anniversary. She cleaned as though she was trying to clean herself of the memories. Just like Gray tried to take the edge off of the memories using alcohol.

“You should go to bed, you’ll be tired in the morning.” They both knew she wouldn’t sleep much tonight, neither of them would, but she listened anyway.

Gray watched as she stood slowly, tossing the brush into the sink as she passed by it. She met his gaze and held it for a moment, mutual understanding passing between them before she gave him a curt nod and stalked off towards her bedroom. Through the years, they learned to give each other the space they needed to cope. If Ultear needed him, he’d know.

Gray filled a glass with water before retreating to his own bedroom. A sleepless night awaited him. Even ten years later he couldn’t get a restful night’s sleep on this night. He knew Ultear struggled as well. She didn’t like to show it, but he knew.

She had always been the stronger of the two, mentally and emotionally. She was level headed, calm and collected in stressful situations. Gray was jealous of how she always kept it together while it felt like he was constantly coming apart at the seams.

Ultear was… Ultear. They’ve been friends for as long as he could remember, their mothers being friends since their children. Ultear was his best friend, his sister in every way except blood. When their parents were killed, they lost everything other than each other. They stuck side by side through everything, protecting each other and themselves from the ugly world they were thrown into so suddenly.

They were only children when it happened. The ripe age of 8, three years before they received their Hogwarts letters, three years of orphanages.

Those three years were the hardest.

Voldemort and his death eaters were still at large. Death eaters were the ones responsible for their loss. Their village had been ransacked, a muggle village targeted during one of their mass “cleansings.” Their parents had fought tooth and nail to protect the two of them, forcing them to hide and not reveal themselves no matter what. Silver, Gray’s father was the only one out of the four parents that had magic, but it hadn’t been enough.

That fateful night they were dining at Ultear’s house for dinner like they frequently did, laughing around the table. Then the screaming started. Flashes of green light filled the night sky. Gray and Ultear had thought it was fireworks as they rushed excitedly to the window. Ur was the first to act, grabbing the children and leading them to a secret cupboard underneath the stairs.

“Swear to me you will not leave this cupboard. No matter what you hear, do not come out. It is very important that you stay as quiet as you can be. Promise me you two, can you do that?” Ur’s whisper was urgent, her eyes filled with loss.

Neither Gray or Ultear understood the urgency at the time, but they did as they were told. Their parents each hugged them, declaring their love as if it would be the last time. The panic didn’t set in until Ur shut them in with tears in her eyes. Ultear called out for her mother before Gray pulled her closer and hushed her. He had no idea what was happening but he knew they had to be quiet.

Gray played with Ultear’s hair to calm her as she hugged him, sobbing silently into his chest. A loud crash sounded beyond the cupboard door causing Ultear to hug him tighter. Stranger’s shouts intermingled with their parents’ as the crashing continued.

It felt like the commotion lasted for days, forever. The two of them were frozen in fear, trying but failing to not listen to the apparent wreckage happening outside the door. Gray had lost count of how many times the cracks in the door frame flashed green. As suddenly as it had started, it was quiet again. The muffled voices that had been present had gone silent. As badly as Gray wanted to open the door, he kept frozen in place like Ur had instructed. If it was okay to leave, Ur would’ve let them know, right?

Only Ur never got the chance to let them know it was okay. They had been cooped up in that cupboard for two days before someone opened that door. It was a stranger who had found them there. They would find out later, during their time at Hogwarts, that the stranger was an auror, an elite specialist officer who enforces the laws of magic and protects the world from death eaters.

The first year felt like a whirlwind, like life had kept moving forward while they were stuck frozen in that place, in that cupboard. Ultear had taken it the hardest. She cried. She cried more than Gray thought humanly possible. She cried enough for the both of them. Then one day she stopped crying. She steeled that part of her heart off and Gray was almost certain she never cried again, aside from on the anniversary of that day.

They spend the next few years living in a muggle orphanage. Coming from a muggle village, the auror hadn’t known that these two would have magic so he had left them in muggle care. They had to work for their food and board in that place, two eight-year-old children doing chores from sun up to sundown only pausing to eat. They were constantly finding themselves getting into trouble, weird phenomenon occurring around them with silverware floating in the air to items disappearing into thin air. The other children were afraid of them.  

Ultear never once left Gray’s side.

It got easier once they got to Hogwarts. Despite being sorted into separate houses, Gray into Gryffindor and Ultear into Slytherin, they stuck together. Once they learned the nasty truth of what happened to their village and who had caused their pain, they studied together relentlessly to achieve their goal, becoming aurors and protecting the world from evil. It had been Ultear’s idea to become aurors, the hate she held in her heart for those that destroyed their village pushing her to find a way to fight back. Gray had willingly agreed.

Their burning desire to become aurors, to protect the world from situations like the one they lived, pushed them to the top of their classes, exceeding expectations on every N.E.W.T. they took. They didn’t let the fact that aurors weren’t in high demand deter them because they knew that a new generation of evil was sure to show its face. Peace never lasts forever.

After they graduated, head auror, Harry Potter himself, gratefully accepted Gray’s and Ultear’s applications and enrolled them in training immediately. They had found a flat in London and have been living there since. Training had been difficult for the both of them, pushing them to their limits. What one of them lacked, the other one exceeded in. They had each other’s backs even in combat.

Gray would be forever grateful for Ultear because if it wasn’t for her and her unwavering strength, he’s not sure he would be where he was.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying in bed lost in his thoughts before he heard the sounds. They were soft, he could barely hear them through the wall, but he recognized the sobs instantly. He got up quietly and made his way towards Ultear’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, she probably wouldn’t have responded if he did. Through the darkness he could see her curled up on her bed, face buried in a pillow, her shoulders shaking with each sob. He walked over to her and whispered her name.

Ultear responded by scooting over to make room for Gray on the bed. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, crossing his legs on the bed. Ultear rolled over and rearranged herself so her head rested on Gray’s chest. He reached a hand up and began to stroke her hair in comfort.

“I miss them.” Her whisper was barely audible.

“Me too.” He replied.

They sat in silence for a while, both of them stuck in their memories.

“They would be proud, you know,” Gray said, breaking the silence. “We’ve come a long way, we’ve achieved so much. Instead of letting it pull us down, we used it to push us to success. Our parents are watching us with smiles on their faces. They’re protecting us while we fight to protect the world from evil.” The words had come to him suddenly, an attempt to console Ultear and himself. He felt Ultear smile against his chest.

Things were going to be okay.

[adiseaselikeyouspreads]

They start meeting just about every day after school, at Regan’s house. The first few times, it’s a lot of demonstrations and a lot of Jason getting knocked on his back. He’s sorer than he’s been since he finished his physical education requirements.

It’s still worth it, though. Both for knowing he’ll have a better chance of defending himself, and for when he successfully gets out of Regan’s grip and feels a swell of pride, earns a big grin.

“You’re a quick learner,” Regan compliments, when Jason manages to successfully counter a grapple. Jason’s top is drenched with sweat and Regan barely looks tired, so that’s still a problem, but Jason can already feel himself getting stronger.

“Or you’re a good teacher,” Jason counters, using his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead.

“Let’s go with both, then we can both feel good.”

Jason laughs a little. Over the course of the last week, he’s gotten increasingly comfortable with Regan. It’d been awkward to be around him without his binder on at first, but Regan hadn’t even seemed to note it. And it’s easy to get comfortable with someone who unquestioningly backs off when you call uncle in a sparring match.

“How long did it take you to get good at this?” Jason asks, going to get a sip of water.

“Well, I’ve been in sports on and off since I was pretty young.”

“So I’m as good as you were when you were eight?” He guesses.

“Pff. More like eleven.”

“That’s sooo much better.”

“Hey, if you keep up the good work, you’ll close the gap eventually.”

“Eventually,” Jason sighs. “Guess we should get back to work, then.”

The next day, he feels a bit like his arms are about to fall off. Lugging his backpack around all day is hellish. At least it’s a satisfying sort of burn. The kind he knows means he worked hard.

Still, he can’t help but be relieved that there’s no film club today. He gets picked up and dropped off at home and gets to flop down on the couch and just breathe. It’s a recovery day, so he’s going to do approximately nothing but watch T.V. Maybe study a little, if the news doesn’t stop popping on talking about the Camera Killer’s most recent video.

At least, that’d been the plan. His dad starts to fumble around in the kitchen, walks into the living room, back into the kitchen, then back out, juggling a number of files, floorplans, a thermos, his wallet, and his cellphone.  

“You alright there?” Jason asks, watching his dad struggle to sort through a couple papers.

“Yeah, just-” He checks his phone, quickly, then pulls some money out of his wallet and holds it out to Jason. “Some problem came up at the house I’m working on and I need to go check it out. Ask my contractor how it is going to affect the budget. I didn’t get to go grocery shopping, so just run down to the 7/11 and grab something. I’ll bring you late dinner when I get this worked out.”

“I…” Jason stares at the money, then looks up at his dad nervously.

His dad is confused for a second, and then the gears start turning. “Hey,” he says, sympathetically, “it’s only a fifteen minute walk there and back. I’ve got my phone on me, you’ve been doing your self defense stuff. Just make sure to go while it’s still light out.”

“Right…” Even though he takes the money, he doesn’t look too pleased about it.

“I’ll probably be home around eight,” his dad informs him before rushing out.

Jason puts it off for as long as he can, before he actually has to start worrying about the sun going down. Before he steps out the door, he messages Regan.

Jason: walking down to 7/11. let’s hope I don’t have to use my new skillset. :^/

Regan: you got this jj

Jason smiles a little at the nickname, wondering if he could make an equivalent for Regan. R.A.? No. That’s what you call the dorm advisor in college.

Regan: remember if a big guy comes at you, use his weight against him

Jason: what do I do if a small guy comes at me?

Regan: tell him you know dmitri and he’ll have to stop. short guy code

Regan: fr tho momentum is ur friend

Regan: hmm. maybe i should draft dmitri for short guy sparring practice

Jason: I feel like he would bite me.

Regan: he would definitely bite you

Jason: how would I explain that to my parents?

Regan: tell them ur new gf is kinky

Jason: I’m pretty sure that’s how you get grounded.

Talking with him is making this walk a lot less nerve-wracking. Constant communication, focusing on anything but his paranoia.

Regan: wat are you buying?

Jason: chips, probably. or ice cream.

Regan: bro

Jason: what?

Regan: bro youre trashing ur body

Jason: omfg. what healthy thing could i buy from 7/11!!

Regan: multigrain bar or some nuts

Jason: what swamp did your tastebuds crawl out of?

Jason: creature from the black legume.

Regan: dont diss legumes dude

Jason: I’m buying a slushie out of spite.

He walks into the store, hearing the jingle of the bell overhead. He’s got just enough to buy himself a slushie, a bag of chips, and a candy bar.

Jason: mission success- bought junk food without dying.

Regan: 🎉

Jason: now for the encore.

Jason steps out of the 7/11 and starts the short journey home. Drinking from his slushie makes texting a little harder, but he’s so got this.

Jason: so what’re you up to?

Regan: just got home from riley’s

Regan: gonna make myself a salad like a responsible teen

Jason: meanwhile I’ve got chocolate.

Regan: i should make a chocolate vinaigrette

Jason: you cook?

Regan: hell yeah dude

Regan: i dont know how to make a chocolate vinaigrette tho

Regan: that was a joke  

Regan: i guess i could look it up

Regan: i make a mean half moon pie i should make some for you sometime

Jason: I don’t know what that is but it has pie in it so I’m in.

He takes another big slurp of his drink and grins around his straw when Regan starts to ramble about how to make this dessert.

Then something is wrapped around his throat. A presence suddenly behind him, a taut rope wrapped around his neck, strong arms pulling back. Everything falls out of his hands when he yelps in surprise.

He wasn’t paying attention.

His mind races. Choking. How to- he tries to tuck his chin, but the rope is under it, that doesn’t help, this isn’t a choke hold.

The rope is digging in and up, any time he tries to get solid footing, another yank almost makes his feet almost leave the ground. He flails, elbows, grabs at the unknown assailant’s face. The more effort he exerts, the more his lungs scream in protest.

Unfortunately, he can’t do the same; his voice coming out rasped and restricted.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. None of Regan’s lessons prepared him for this.

He tries to dig his fingers under the rope, shift his weight to ease the pressure, throw off the attacker’s center of balance, but none of it works. His vision slowly gets dark around the edges. His brain is still on full panic, heart hammering rapidly. But his consciousness goes soft and for the second time in very few days, he blacks out.

Waking up this time isn’t like last time. It isn’t a slow climb out of a muddled state. It’s sharp, disorienting; he was in one place but now he’s in another.

And this place is very dark and this time there’s no Sidney kicking walls or silly harmless clocks.

There’s just frigid cold. Pale light coming in through high windows, casting long shadows. He can barely look around. He’s strapped to a chair. With mild horror, he realises it’s a dentist’s chair. Modified, his legs and arms bound. The bindings are tight. No silly amatuer stuff, no pulling at the right angle to get out. Fear seizes him. His stomach is doing flips.

He’s alone, for quite some time. He doesn’t know how long. The light outside is fading fast. He dropped his cellphone. What if the killer has it? What if he texts his friends, parents? No one will even know he’s missing. Not until tomorrow.

A door creaks from somewhere and he tries to twist and look, but his mobility is a little limited right now. There’s a sound of rolling wheels, along with heavy, booted footsteps.

“Hey,” Jason croaks, before he can even consider if it’s a good idea to speak.

“Mr. Joon-ho, you’re awake,” comes a low southern drawl from somewhere behind him. “I hope you had a nice nap, because we are going to be very busy.” The voice slowly rounds round until Jason can see its owner. It’s deep and rich, the kind of voice that would be soothing, if not for the fact that it is coming from behind what is clearly a mask of cured human skin.

The rest of his clothes look too normal. Jean jacket, plaid shirt...hunting gloves. He’s pushing a cart with what can only be described as an array of sharp tools on it.

That comes to a stop a good five feet away, but the man paces closer.

Jason can see his chapped lips and dark eyes through the rough cuts in the mask, hear his heavy, unfiltered breathing, imagining the humidity inside the mask; he feels nauseous, wants to cry.

“Let me out of here,” he demands, tries to sound insistent, but he knows how scared he sounds. He gets a laugh in return. A short one, a facsimile of politeness, like he’s chuckling at a dear friend’s witty joke.

“Bless your heart,” the killer says, and Jason’s skin itches. “Can’t do that, little buddy. You see, you’re a delicacy.” He plants a hand on Jason’s arm. “Surviving five murder attempts? That’s some kinda record. I’d love to let you marinate for a bit longer. Seen how you’ve been strengthening up. Would taste a lot better with some meat on you.”

His other gloved hand pats Jason’s face and Jason’s brain goes haywire as he realizes who this is. He jerks and tries to curl in on himself, but he can’t. He can’t protect his squishy middle bits from what this fucker is no doubt about to do to them.

“But let’s face it. You’re just a pit stop on my cross country tour. Can’t wait around any longer.” The Cannibal withdraws both his hands and taps his chin. “In fact-” And he’s moving back to that cart.

“Help!” Jason shouts, as loud as he can, jerking against his restraints. The sounds bounce uselessly off the walls.  

“Hey now,” the Cannibal says, turning around, walking back towards him with some nondescript item in his hand. Jason can only see the handle. “None of that. There’s no one out here, anyways. And you should save your voice. There will be plenty of time for screaming later.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, throat tight. Before he knows what happens, he feels a burst of pain. The Cannibal just punched him in the face with a meaty fist. His head is spinning.

“Watch your language,” the Cannibal comments, even voice turning acidic for just a second. Jason laughs as he feels the blood flow from his nose, tastes it on his lips. This guy’s about to carve him up like a Christmas ham and he doesn’t want to hear him swear. Incredible.

The object shifts from one of the Cannibal’s hands to the other and Jason can see, now, through skewed glasses, that it’s a potato peeler. Just a run of the mill potato peeler. His stomach sinks.

“Any gourmet worth his salt is always going to sample his ingredients,” the Cannibal jokes as he seems to test the sturdiness of the peeler against his glove.

“Why do you do this?” Jason asks.

The peeler halts. “I already told you you’re a delicacy. A rare treat.”

“No, why do you do this?! This sh- stuff, why do you-”

“Well aren’t you precious?” The Cannibal asks. “You still believe in motives.” He presses the peeler to the side of Jason’s face. When Jason tries to turn his head, the other hand comes to hold him still. “I do it because I want to, and because no one can stop me.”

The peeler doesn’t rake down fast. It digs in, and carves, slicing off a strip on his right cheek in a slow, agonizing pull. It hurts, sears, like the world’s worst rugburn.

He can’t help that it pulls chokes and sobs from him even when he grits his teeth.

The Cannibal releases his face and takes the strip of skin between two fingers. Jason can feel his pulse pounding in his cheek, can feel the fresh blood.

Without preamble, the Cannibal lifts the sliver to the hole in his mask and pops it in his mouth, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just tear it off of someone. Jason gags.

“Sorry to say, squirt, but I’ve had better,” he jokes, wiping the peeler off on a handkerchief he draws out of his pocket. “I can work with you, though.”

The Cannibal returns to his cart.

“Please don’t do this,” Jason begs.

“I worked up quite an appetite bringing you all the way here,” he answers nonchalantly, while examining knives, like he’s trying to decide which one will do the best job.

There’s a very loud sound from outside the room.

Like the sound of a door being kicked in.

The Cannibal tilts his head, like one would when confused. His hand slides to a particularly large knife and he takes it up, walking towards the door.

“Stay right there, peaches,” he hisses, sounding less like his fake-polite persona and more like an angry serial killer.

He opens the door and peeks his head out. Almost immediately, there’s a gunshot. He hears the Cannibal grunt and stumble back, but not fall.

Another slamming sound, probably someone kicking the door the rest of the way open, then a second gunshot. This time, there is a solid thump as the Cannibal hits the floor. A third gunshot comes anyways, and then there’s quiet. If Jason strains his ears, he can hear the mechanical rasp of the Plague Doctor, breathing heavily.

Jason closes his eyes, tears welling up. He doesn’t want to be relieved. He doesn’t want to be relieved that they’re here, but he is.

“Are you in here?” They ask, after a moment.

“What took you so long?” Jason responds, voice shaking.

“This is a big place.” They walk over, footsteps more hurried than usual. It’s the tall one. When they see him, they stop. Jason wonders if it’s really that bad, or if all the blood is misleading. Instead of commenting, they use their free hand to undo Jason’s bindings. He can’t help but note that they’re holding Christian’s gun. He doesn’t want to think about it.

When he’s free, he rubs his wrists and sits up, slinging his legs off the side of the chair.

“Do you need me to call 911?” Funny. It’s the first time they’ve asked.

“Do I need stitches?” Jason returns.

“Probably.”

He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet, despite the tremors in his legs. “Alright.”

The Plague Doctor returns to the body of the Cannibal, crumpled in the corner, and searches him. He doesn’t have a phone of his own on him, but he does have Jason’s. So they hand the phone to him and he gets to dial the number himself.

“911 operator, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s Jason Joon-ho. I was kidnapped by the Cannibal. The Plague Doctor saved me, but I’m hurt. I’m currently in…”

“In Warehouse number fifteen,” the Plague Doctor informs him.

“Warehouse fifteen,” he repeats.

The Plague Doctor turns to go.

“That’s not your gun,” Jason finds himself saying, before he can stop himself. The Plague Doctor looks at Jason, then at their hand.

“Better in my hands than in one of theirs,” they state.

“Better in no one’s. Better if you leave it here.” Jason stays firm.

They test the weight of the gun, like they’re still unfamiliar with it.

“Hopefully we’ll reach the point where I can give it up, soon,” they say, lowering their arm. That gives Jason pause.

“How do you sleep at night, after doing shit like this?” He asks.

“With all my windows locked.” They leave.

The police and paramedics come and his brain sets on autopilot. He barely thinks. Even when his dad gathers him up in a tight hug and apologizes.

Getting home feels weirder than after the previous attacks. He goes to bed without eating. No appetite. And as he lies there, he thinks about how every other time, there’d been some sliver of a chance, some way he could’ve hoped to have gotten out. But this time, he really would’ve died without the Plague Doctor.

[rennyji]

June 17th tweets

June 17th tweets...

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Try the " CoreStretch " from Amazon...quick way to stretch your back and other muscles...

After shaving, there isn’t a single after shave out there that reduces post shaving sensitivity, preparing u 4 tomorrow’s shave. Ive found a cream in Indian Ayurveda, alleviating that “ahhh it burns/stings!!!” post shave feeling by piling on the cream when no 1 supposedly looks.

So I found out that Miranda Cosgrove, Nickelodeon's "Carly Shay" from iCarly, made $180,000 per episode from a legally/appropriately run show...for this illegal relaying of me, from lawsuits and salary-never-received, I'm going to say $180,000 per relaying is the base line...

so moving on...now...don't get me wrong, but i'm not into, getting into the following subject. but the majestic orchestrators of "the situation" frequently keep talking about a girl "I knew 'of' " and don't in fact know. I don't know why. -

- By "knew of", Im not even sure what she looks like. Sometimes I remember her tall or with meat on her bones or sometimes short or skinny..Im not even sure if all these were the same girl, when I saw her. Whoever she was, I remember liking the girl in the black North face Denali? jacket. Then amidst these versions of this girl, there was another look alike who rode the white Van type taxi called “Best Taxi.” Then there’s the short skinny version with the red stroller suitcase. I know facts about this individual from simple things like her last name.-

  - last names can be an indicator of where ur from, origin wise. But I don’t even know what she exactly looks like. From wishing her HappyBirthday on facebook, without a response back, I no her birthday is on june 24th. I know that&remember that b/c I did it once, & in high school, my memory was so good, Id memorize my notebooks.-

- ladies, something to know about me. i'll never forget a birthday or anniversary. -

- with all the talk about this girl, you get curious what she's up to, and through google, you can find out she went to columbia. a smart cookie. and in the random times i bumped into her, -

-i remember her telling her friends jen and valerie or whoever (i can remember even small details) that she wanted to transfer to columbia in her first or second year, but didn't. i happen to be walking by at that moment when she was talking and her mother or whoever -

- picked her up in a white infiniti. In a part time job on that campus as a telemarketer, on the computer system 4 calling students homes, her mothers name & address popped up on my neighbors call screen, so I even know random things like her mother's name &she's from  New Jersey. -

- this is what I mean, I don't know her. over the years of explaining things over and over, for one reason or another, it seems like i knew this person. Please stop with the talk. Now the orchestrators, with the sounds projected, want me to-

- think this girl, who never so much as responded to a Happy Birthday, is chasing after me, and has gone mad in a massive game to prevent women from talking to me, when its the orchestrators instructions. Never a moment to reset the mind on that subject. It just shows neither -

- the girl, her wackadoodle friends, and the orchestrators know a thing about me, and just want me to talk all day. Its not even fair to the girl, if she has the time to see this. What'll she think?! Find a new subject, orchestrators...

- and about people i bump into, people from the dorms in Binghamton...i remember it all...in binghamton dorms, they have everyone's names stickered onto the doors. i don't know that girls friends either. -

- ladies, something U should know about me...b4 we become girl friend/boy friend, or even friends, what U see in "this situation" may not be what U get, inPerson. Im different w/different people. Just b/c Im soft w/my brother doesn't mean Im going 2be soft w/some1 on the street.-

- those who cross me, in certain cases, I forgive, but I never forget. Guys, girls, I do not play games. I'm in my very early thirties and I don't have patience for a majority of the things that go on in this...

- going back 2 the girl, 1 last thing. i think the desperate orchestrators want 2give their meaningless cr*p of a program some kind of twist, by hooking me up w/some1 I don't even know how they look, for the sake of their program. After allThis, Im sure I have some1 who hates me-

- through no fault of my own...

It just isn't wise for me to put out anything really, because the orchestrators who have nothing to talk about, who don't know me, who think by seeing me everyday we're besties, then get stuff to harp on. -

-When I do hear them, not always, out of pity I'm telling them something verifiable, if you have a lie detector, u know none of what's said carries any relevance or significance. Its just noise, both literal and figurative.

- then the nonsense about my appearance...what are we 10? am i teenage girl? I'm an average guy, and a regular guy in real life. Everything that goes on is hype from constant chatter through an unresolved and ongoing crime...

moving on...

so moms...my mom never listens 2 a thing I say. Partly b/c she's in a rush to speak what's on her mind. As I continue talking, shell go so far as to walk around or decide to literally hammer away at something for some coincidental purpose.-

-My mom is not how I want my spouse 2be. She claims "there's no talking to me." over the simplest of things when its her stubbornness and clouded mind against my clarity. I'll be in the middle of making a point or saying something insightful, shell tell me she's not into it.-

- if i run into a woman like that, goodbye. maybe its her busy day inciting lack of patience. But then my day...i got her randomness, the randomness in my environment, the randomness from the orchestrators, the randomness at work...it's all very tiring...-

-that's how the orchestrators get material. through tiring randomness...

America is a very flawed country lacking heart, conscience, &insight. But they do have the nuclear family going on 4them. Mom, dad, son, daughter are seen equal, & what every1 says has value. Son can correct mom, mom doesn't take it to heart, & may even use it to better herself.

so had an argument w/mom over Listerine mouthWash. She takes like a tablespoon &dilutes the rest w/water in theCap. I gargle a capful of Listerine. Im content w/how Im doing it &ran into noProblems. She wants 2insist on her way of doing it. Stupid things. Is that a culturalClash?

so tweeted a ton today...the orchestrators got their tantalizing desires possibly fulfilled...moving on...