#and it’s so. blech. gross. ugh

[ioannemos]

mixing my whole milk with the landlady's fat free milk to make. milk

[kaleuh]

my sister introducing me to a v delicious non-alcoholic champagne was very very nice of her, and now because i have the day off tomorrow i can sit around drinking it playing grown up like everyone else (bonus points for Being Sad)

[lacrimosathedark]

Question for my fellow asexuals: is it "normal" to be grey or demi and also be sex-repulsed? Or like...part-time sex-repulsed?

Because I feel like I'm like...situationally sex-repulsed?

I have never been comfortable with even the thought of sex. I personally hate when movies have scenes of it even though you don't really see anything, I cringe and try to cover my eyes and ears or full on walk out of the room. I've only recently started to be not disgusted by sexual images. The sheer amount of pwp fanfiction annoys the fuck out of me. The thought of participating, in general, makes me wanna crawl out of my skin and bleach it because of all the body fluids and physical contact and just BLECH. And don't even get me started on the fucking noises ugh literally fucking gagging rn.

Like the whole thing makes me vaguely nauseous.

But I often can read it just fine, and I find I enjoy it if there's a romantic context and/or buildup to it. And if I think about participating in that kind of context it seems...interesting if nothing else. Like, not nearly as revolting as it sounds otherwise.

So I'm not always grossed out by it. Just about 90% of the time.

I just wanna know if that's like, "normal" or if it's a me thing. I know I'm weird but I like to know when I'm weird because I'm me and when I'm weird because I don't know how other people work lol

[bomberqueen17]

ugh

I can't sleep and I'm just sort of stewing over how unprepared I am to be entirely on my own managing my own healthcare. blech.

Did I mention, Farmsister was suffering from hip pain and went to her doctor and was diagnosed with the exact same problem I have?

Diagnosed, I said. Yes! Her doctor actually investigated the cause of her pain, diagnosed her, referred her to a physical therapist, but also came up with a plan of treatment. Told her physical therapy often can't resolve this issue, so after a set amount of PT, if there wasn't enough improvement she'd refer her to an orthopedist instead.

Imagine that. My doctor was like "you've got intermittently debilitating pain? You should go see a doctor about that." and that was that. I went to a physical therapist because that's what she recommended, but I don't have a plan, I'm just spending $150/wk to work out in a room full of other people. I guess I'll ask my PT if there's a plan or like timeline or like, idk, something we should look for, or what. IDK what a realistic goal is. Pain-free seems out of reach. I'd settle for largely functional, I guess? But I don't know, and I guess I'm on my own to figure it out.

And the same with the ADHD! She was like "oh, your insurance isn't going to cover it and it's probably going to take months of waiting, but you had better go see someone about that", and refused to engage any further. So I messaged the psychiatrist today and he doesn't check the messages on that platform so I texted the admin who was like oh usually medication is adjusted at follow-ups, and I'm like well in the three minutes he talked to me it didn't come up I guess, so then they texted back that he says to try taking two pills a day for a couple days and then schedule a follow-up.

I've asked around, and usually I guess the regular adderall pills, you take in two doses at separate times. But if the point is that I'm trying to see if a higher dose helps, I'd probably better take them at the same time??

It's just that when the small ineffective dose wears off four or five hours after I take it, without my ever having had a good phase, I get horribly drowsy and also get this kind of gross formless yearning that I think might be a dopamine crash, where I roam the house in itchy horrible discontent trying to think of something that might help me, but it's not candy and it's not reading a book and it's not napping, and I guess I understand why people turn to drugs or self-harm because the feeling is awful, spacy and wrung-out and aimlessly needy.

But I guess it's up to me to research what that is and what to do about it, and then at my $250 three-minute follow-up appointment in three days or whatever I'll tell the psych what I want prescribed to me, because it's sure as shit not like he's going to have any fucking advice for me.

And like. Laugh out loud at the notion that my primary care physician would give a single shit about this. Maybe I didn't mention this on here either but literally the only thing she has looked into about me is that my blood tests came back with a fasting blood glucose level of 5.7 (idk what units, just that she's fixated on that number) and it is exactly entirely that post circulating about """"pre-diabetes"""? She has put in my chart that she wants to start me on Metformin!! Christ all fucking mighty, it could not be more obvious that she took one look at my fat ass and was like "this bitch eats only candy! I'd better scare her straight!"

Ma'am fuck off. She wants me to get my blood retested in July and I am figuring I'll take advantage of having to have a visit then anyway to get the ADHD stuff entered into my main chart, and I'm also going to tell her that since she was so disinterested in literally any of the conditions actually debilitating me (my hip pain and my ADHD) I had to research those so I could treat myself, and in the course of researching that I found out about the fake "epidemic" of "pre-diabetes" which isn't a thing, it's a fucking PR gambit to sell drugs, and so if she prescribes me diabetes drugs when I do not fucking have diabetes I will not be taking them, and I will also be looking for a new doctor, because I do not appreciate her fixation on treating a condition I do not have while ignoring things that are literally preventing me from leading the life I want to, wherein I can do things like, stand/walk as much as I like and can also like, perform tasks.

So there's my timeline.

(Yeah my insurance won't cover blood testing a second time in a year so that's gonna cost me $200ish, and the phone doctor visit she insisted on to discuss the results last time was $45 and it'll be that again for this one, but I mean, eventually I'll hit my deductible maybe.)

I don't know, people tell me that they have medical professionals that actually listen to and treat them and give them like actual good actionable advice on how to improve their various health conditions but as far as I can tell that all sounds fake and isn't a thing.

Unfortunately, I am too fucking debilitated by my Can't Think Good disease to do a competent job at caring for myself, so I guess I'm just going to have to fucking muddle through somehow, or something.

Probably I should put together my citations on how Pre-Diabetes Is Fake so that when I unload that on my doctor I can do so with fucking footnotes at least. Lord knows I can't sleep at the moment so I might as well do something productive.

[wheels-of-despair]

Bonus Blurb: What If Real Life Is Good? Summary: Evil Woman comes home after What If Real Life Is the Nightmare and has A Heartfelt Moment with Baby Bro. Contains: Breakfast, Corroded Coffin, awkward sibling moment, things returning to normal (much to poor Gareth's dismay). Words: 700ish Note: This is a follow-up to What If Real Life Is the Nightmare? because I decided that it needed more fluff after I posted it.

You enjoyed a healthy breakfast of Pop-Tarts and a can of Mello Yello in Eddie's bed the next afternoon.

"Don't ever say Eddie Munson doesn't know how to treat a lady," he grinned with full mouth and a fleck of strawberry filling on the tip of his nose. You laughed and felt your heart healing after last night's ordeal. He always knows exactly what you need.

You'd slept until after two, so by the time Eddie's brain turned on and you'd finished breakfast, school was letting out. It was a Corroded Coffin Practice Day. Eddie offered to cancel it and stay in bed with you - you must've really scared him last night - but you insisted that you were fine, and that practice should go ahead as scheduled.

The rest of the band was already in your garage when Eddie's van roared into the driveway. They were oddly quiet when you approached, meaning they must've heard about last night's… episode. You planted a pre-practice peck on Eddie's lips, smiled as if everything were normal, and gave the trio a sarcastic parade wave before disappearing into the house.

You'd just kicked Gareth's accidentally-stolen shoes off when he came in through the garage and closed the door behind him.

"You okay?"

"Yup."

"You scared the shit out of me." He seems more shaken up than you are right now.

"I know," you smile. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs, trying to look unbothered.

"Thanks for last night. Waking me up. Having my back. Calling Eddie."

"No biggie," he shrugs, eyes still on the linoleum.

"Sorry I stole your shoes."

"Feel like I should be the one apologizing for you having to wear those." The corner of his mouth twitches.

You step forward and wrap him in a hug.

"Sorry I scared you," you say again.

"I'm cool if you are."

You smile when you feel him relax.

"I know I pick on you all the time, but you really are a good little brother."

"Alright, don't go gettin' all mushy on me now," he squirms. You smirk and give him a peck on the cheek.

"Blech."

You'd planned on releasing him and letting him get back to his drums after this rare moment of genuine-ness instead of the far-more-common taunting, but he just changed your mind.

"Did you just 'blech' at my affection?"

He shifts uncomfortably in your loose hold. You pull back like you're going to let him go, then leap forward and wrap your arms around him, over his, in a crushing hug. You lock your hands behind his back, so he can't get away.

"Are you trying to get away from me?"

"Yes," he grumbles, trying to squirm out of your grip.

"Oh, so you'd hate it if I--" You plant three more kisses to his cheek, like that aunt everyone hates at family reunions, and he scrunches up his nose and whines and tries to push you away.

"Stop rejecting my affection! You're my baby brother! You have to love me!"

"No, I don't!" He walks backwards toward the garage door and drags you with him across the kitchen floor.

"You do, too!"

"Do not!" he grunts, trying to shake you off.

"Do too! I'm the best sister in the world and you looove me!"

"Get off me, freak!"

"Never!"

He stops fighting and lets out a frustrated groan. You pop up and kiss his cheek again, just for spite, then let him go.

"Ugh! Gross! I don't know where your mouth has been!"

"Eddie does," you say mischievously.

"OH MY GOD!!!" He scrubs at his cheek with the arm of his t-shirt and flings open the door to the garage. He stomps in with a beet-red face, still rubbing angrily at his cheek.

"I love youuu!" you call at his retreating back in a singsong voice.

"I hate youuuuu!" he retorts in a tone that matches yours.

Eddie, Jeff and Grant stand together, amusement on their faces.

"Are we gonna fucking practice or what?!" Gareth snaps.

The trio erupts into laughter.

You blow Eddie a dramatic kiss from the doorway and pull the door closed. You grin at the sound of their delighted howling as you head for the shower. Life is good. Unless you're Gareth.

[blackjackkent]

Rescuing Lae'zel has one last fun little wrinkle in the form of requiring a lockpick with DC of 25 in order to actually get her off the Altar of Bhaal. Luckily Hector has a lot of lockpicks and 4 levels of rogue so this is not a gamechanger for us, but still annoying. :P

I may end up writing a drabble here on Hector waking her up because the actual scene is two lines and not particularly emotionally resonant. XD We'll go back to camp first and see if there's a better scene there, though.

Looting Orin's body, we get a number of fun items. One of them (perplexingly and for no obvious reason) is a studded leather +2 armor set. The second is HER armor set, which is labeled "Mutilated Carapace":

Gross. It's clothing-weight, which means Hector, Minsc, and Karlach could all wear it; they're not going to do that, but it sure is a Look:

We also get a Legendary-level shortsword called "Crimson Mischief," which is a pretty dope name and also has special benefits as an offhand weapon, which means it goes to Jaheira in place of one of her scimitars.

There are a few Bhaalists still hanging around who were, I suppose, just watching the fight; none of them seem particularly broken up about her having died. I guess this isn't surprising.

Wandering down behind the battle arena, we get another brainquake and another visit from the Absolute:

-from-- -bonds-- -FREE!-- -NO--more-- -a- --SLAVE--

--LIBERATORS-- --saviors--pawns-- --DUPES--

-fools-- ---RELEASED-- -usefulness-- --ended-- targeted --KILLED!--

DEATH-------UNAVOIDABLE

So y'know. That's cheerful.

I assume that means that through the mountain of upcoming sidequests, we're going to be getting hit by angry cultists or mind flayers or otherwise dogged through the city streets in some fashion. Sorry, Hec. :(

At the very far back we're able to break into Orin's room, which is predictably blood-smeared.

Unsettling book in a chest near the bed:

I'm not actually entirely sure how to interpret this one but it's definitely creepy.

Blech. >.< There's still the brain ahead of us, but taking Orin and Gortash out of the picture sure seems like a net positive.

And finally, against one wall:

Ugh.

We read a bit about her in one of the books we found near Sarevok - that Helena was her daughter and Orin their incestuous child. It looks as if Orin may have killed her here.

On the other hand, based on this document in the nearby wardrobe, it doesn't seem like she was really any peach either:

Terrible people. Good job, Hector.

[flyingspicerack]

10 7 39 32 HHII AEROO ^w^

10: Want any piercings? MMM yes I'd like some more!! I have the standard lobes on each ear (they used to be gauged to like 0, but then let them shrink back to normal so I could wear normal earrings) and my septum done. I want to get a bridge, and also industrial bars on my ears BUT i hear that industrials can be uncomfortable piercings to have if you wear over the ear headphones so that would be a problem for me... hrm...

7: Have tattoos? I do! I have 3! I'm willing to take pictures sometime! I have one on my left forearm that reads "Keep your eyes open" , one on my right forearm that is an ornate arrow with a moon, the aries constellation, a stylized aries symbol, and hanging beads, and a quarts crystal cluster on my right thigh colored in blue, purple, and pink

39 here

32: What words upset me the most UGH Idk if this is supposed to be like... when people are upset by the word 'moist' or 'panties' or if its supposed to be like... something that would upset me/hurt my feelings but...

i HATE the word 'naughty' it feel soooo gross to me ... blech

[showfallmediamaintenance]

Blech! Ugh, anyone here ever had to clean out old blood to get to the back part of a machine? That box was so damn messy! Why did that dude have to bleed everywhere? Got the gears all gunked, the box barely even opened to get them out. Ew... It's coagulating with the oil on my gloves, gross.

Anyone know how to get that stuff off? I have a lot of things I have to tend to and they only gave me the one pair.

[fromtheshadowsnyc]

Entry 2: The Delivery

[*Most dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics]

[Green Divider is credited to @firefly-graphics]

Not long after I knock, the door to the townhouse opens.

“Well, it’s about time ya got here, we’re starvi—oh. Oh, hello,” drawls a tall guy with slicked back dirty blond hair. He’s dressed only in a toga and smiling down at me in a way that makes my insides feel all oily. “Didn’t realize we ordered an extra snack with our pizza…lucky us.”

I keep my face schooled in a blank expression, even as every nerve of mine is recoiling in disgust. Ugh, why are college guys so sleazy? Especially towards teenage girls? Ick. Ick, ick, blech.

“5 large orders of the Gino’s special,” I drone. “That’ll be eighty dollars, please.”

“Oof, that’s a lot! How ‘bout you come join the party? Really get your money’s worth.” He let out a mindless chortle, his cheeks flushing as his laughter becomes breathless. Then he pauses to think before giving me a look. “Hang on, you’re eighteen, right? Or at least legal-ish?”

God, fuck you. Fuck you and your gross frat country club cronies, I seethe while taking a deep breath. Up the ass—with a chainsaw.

“If you don’t have the money, I’ll just take the pizzas back—”

“Shit, relax, babe. Just a joke. Tch, bitches can’t take jokes anymore. Here!” He slams a crisp Ben Franklin in my palm. With a shrug, he adds, “Keep the change. Buy yourself something nice or whatever…”  

I pause to check the bill, making sure it’s legit. Satisfied, I nod and shift my weight to hand him the pizzas. Then I turn on my heel, pocketing the money in my official Gino’s fanny pack.

“Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” I drone out, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Alpha beta sigma, something-something.”

“Uh, actually our name is—”

I genuinely don’t care. If he’s continued to correct me on their name or their greeting or whatever, I already have it blanked out when I get back to the old car Gino uses for pizza delivery. It’s an old worn out sedan with images of pizza painted onto it, with the obnoxious logo for the pizzeria on the hood. Basically a copy-paste of something straight out of the 1980s. Old Gino is sentimental that way.

Slamming the door closed, I take a moment to rest my forehead against the wheel. The coolness of the leather does little for the headache starting to pulse from my skull. But I still pick my head up, trying to get back my focus. I quickly start the car and back out of the little neighborhood NYU and its students have claimed a monopoly on, starting the drive back to the pizzeria.

Hopefully, that’s the last delivery of the night.

Spoiler alert: It’s not.

“Oi, youngblood!” Gino rasps from behind the counter as I walk in, his Italian accent thick and gruff as ever. “Don’t get too comfy, we got another one. And they’re a longtime regular, too, so don’t fuck up!”

God, I want to die. What did I do in a past life to put up with this? Am I this desperate for money, honestly?

It doesn’t take long for me to come up with the answer myself. Remember, I’m a poor teenager coming from the Bronx, who happens to be attending a school where most of the students walk around like they’re royalty and we’re just the ants breathing their air. A poor teenager who plans on going to college next year. A poor teenager with a mom who is on her feet sixty hours a week to be able to feed me and my brothers, as well as provide us with health insurance and other benefits. A poor teenager coming from a household barely making it on that one major income, ever since Dad—well, you can guess. 

Of course, I’m desperate for money.

I sigh and nod. “Yeah, boss. What’s the order?”

“Six pies, three pepperoni and three extra cheese.”

 “Is it ready, yet?”

“Just came out of the oven. Carlos is boxin’ ‘em as we speak,” he says, pointing a thumb at his husband, an old Puerto Rican man working in the kitchen—also the main reason I was able to get this job in the first place.

Carlos sends me a grin. “¡Hola muñeca! ¿Cómo está tu mamá?”

I return the warm smile, though I feel a bit shy. I still get nervous talking to him.

“Bien, estamos todos bien, tío.”

“That’s good to hear! Hang on, lemme help you bring these pizzas to the car,” Carlos says once everything is packed in a bag.

I nod in acceptance and follow behind him. Then I call back to Gino.

“Be right back, boss!” 

“Yeah, yeah…”

My great-uncle Carlos is a long lost relative on my mother’s side. Neither my mom nor me know the whole story, but from what my abuela described, Carlos had run away from home roughly forty or so years ago and stayed out of contact until about five years ago, while my abuela was dying. Considering how long he’s been with Gino, I can hazard a guess as to what that was about—but I’m not going to pry. Far as great-uncles go, he’s pretty cool and he’s been good to me. That’s more than enough.

“—So, little warning about this delivery.”

Uh-oh.

“What kind of warning?”

“The location is a little…odd, to start with.”

“Real specific, tío.” I take a look at the address scrawled on the receipt and narrow my eyes. “Is that longitude and latitude?”

He types into his cell phone. “When you put it in your GPS, it automatically becomes this….”

When he shows me, some tension in my shoulders ease. It's still in the city, and not too far away. But still…

“What’s so weird about it?”

“Well, it’s in an alley.”

I pause to give him a look. “As in an alley where the door to their apartment is, or…”

“¡No sé!” He shrugs. “They’ve been ordering from us for about ten years and we’ve never seen them in person. All communication is either through phone or an intercom.”

“Huh.” That is a bit weird, but I dunno if that’s worth making a big deal over. So I shrug. “Doesn’t sound bad. They pay, right?”

“Of course! And pretty well, usually.”

“Then that’s all that matters to me. Don’t worry, tío, I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay…if you’re sure.”

And that’s that.

Well, until I get there.

After parking the car and securely grasping the boxes of pizza, I walk towards where the GPS is leading me. When the lady AI voice finally quips, “You have reached your destination!” I look up and see that the destination is—indeed—an alleyway. Smack dab between two tall, old apartment buildings that probably still have bits of asbestos in their walls. 

A really dark and ominous looking alleyway. The kind where there doesn’t seem to be an end. The sort of dark alley that can swallow you up if you walk too close. The sort of place where only bad things can happen to other people.

A shudder does go through me as I look into it, my eyes wide and blood cold. Every single nerve that’s making my hair standing on the back of my neck is telling me to leave. Go home. Study for that science test happening on Friday. Danger lives here. Things will change. 

…

But also, I mean! This is New York. These kinds of alleys are a dime a dozen all over this city, let alone the five boroughs. Not all of them are death traps…just. Well, most of them.

So, with that being said, I swallow my fear and step further into the alley. 

Quickly after, just as my feet land right in front of a manhole, I find the button on the wall. It rests on the brick, probably screwed in, very deep. There’s a ring of blue light around the button. And above that, is a camera.

Hang on. This is one of those Ring Doorbells, I realize, my eyes narrowing. But where’s the door…?

Swallowing again, I take another look around. But no matter where I look, there is no door. Just the solid brick of apartment buildings around the alley, the concrete in the floor…and that one manhole. A manhole like any other in this city. I don’t know why I keep focusing on it. But something about this is so…unnerving.

“What the fuck…?”

Another shudder. My eyes fall to the doorbell again, my gaze darting to the camera above the button.

What the fuck.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I lift my hand and curl my index finger outward to point towards the doorbell. I bridge the gap and press against it.

A tune rings out, very much like the ring tone of a cell phone.

One beat, and then two. And then, a voice.

“…Hello?”

“P-pizza delivery!” I manage to say through a forced smile for the camera while holding the boxes of pizza. A jolt had gone through me when I heard his voice. He sounds…younger than I expected. Like any other teenage boy.

“From Gino’s?”

“Yup!” I chirp. “With extra yupperoni!”

…

“EXTRA YUPPERONI”? Did that actually leave my mouth? Ugh. Can’t even believe I’m allowed out in public.

With a cringe, I look back at the camera. The silence from the other end continues—until something happens.

He laughs.

Not like a mean laugh, like Antonia Stockman did with her cronies when I tried to be friendly with them on my first day. Not a cruel laugh, like that dickhead who bullies Sakina and says all this shit about her faith or her home country. Not the kind of laugh that makes you shrink into yourself, makes the anxiety spike, makes you wonder, “God, why did I even try…?”

It’s a laugh of surprise. One that starts from the belly and steals the breath, makes joy spill over. 

When I hear that, it’s like a little jolt to my chest. But a good one, this time. My smile begins to soften, become genuine; and it grows.

“Oh my god, that…that was awful. Terrible. Who allowed you out in public?”

I shrug, still smiling. “My mother dearest.”

“And I bet she’ll regret that decision for the rest of her life.”

I let out a chuckle before I remember what’s in my arms. “Oh, right! Uh, so about the pizza…?”

“Yeah, just leave it right at your feet.”

What. My eyes glance downward, meeting the rim of the manhole; and then they dart right back into the camera, narrowing.

“Right…at my feet,” I repeat.

“Uh-huh.”

“In front of the manhole?”

“Yupperoni,” he echoes, with humor.

I pause to press my lips together, trying to find the words. How can I say this without being an asshole…? 

Ah, fuck it.

“That doesn’t sound…sanitary, my dude.”

“Wow, you are new. Didn’t Daniel tell you anything before you left?”

“Daniel? Oh!” I suddenly remember the previous delivery boy, Gino’s youngest nephew. “Yeah, he packed up about a week ago and moved up to Binghamton. He’s going to school there.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Good for him, he seemed cool.” He pauses to sigh, so soft I nearly don’t hear it. “Must be nice…”

My head tilts while I stare into the camera. I kind of want to ask what he means, but…I dunno, that feels a bit too personal. 

Plus, as nice as talking to him is, I have a job to do.

Instead, I make a show of clearing my throat, eyes darting to the boxes of pizza. “So, uh. Gonna set this pizza down now…”

“Hmm…? Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

And, despite my reservations, I do. As soon as I stand up, though, he speaks again.

“Okay, now turn around. Just continue facing the camera.”

I raise an eyebrow at the request, but I don’t protest as I spin lightly on my heel. Carlos did say these guys were private. And the customer is always right or whatever.

But still. Can’t seem to help wanting to start a conversation.

“You guys really value your privacy, huh?”

He hums, while typing something in the background. “You could say that.”

“Any particular reason…?” I ask, still curious.

A pause.

“Let’s just say that our Sen—father, our father,” he seems to choke out, like he’s not used to it, “is rather…paranoid about our safety. For good reason, of course! But…yeah.”

I hum, my curiosity growing. Interesting.

“Say no more, my guy. I know a thing or two about overprotective parents,” I reply, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. Damn, it’s really chilly now. Fall really has made its big return to the Big Apple. “Back when my dad was around, I could barely bring anyone over without him giving them an interrogation. Heh, forget when I discovered social media and the internet! Both him and my mom freaked when they found out I had Snapchat.” 

He chuckles. “Your mom too, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t as bad back then, but ever since my dad left…”

My mouth shut tight. Why did I reveal that? Usually, I hate talking about my dad. Just brings up so much stuff I’m still not ready to deal with. Why am I so…comfortable talking to this dude?

I wait with a sickening anticipation. Pretty sure he’s about to make a quip about my dad making that infamous milk run and never coming back. I can usually take that—got a retort saved for it whenever it comes up—but my stomach still feels tight regardless.

“…I’m sorry.”

Somehow, my body locks up even more. My gaze into the ring camera turns sharp, focused. But he continues, regardless—and he’s genuine. Sweet. Warm. In a way I don’t always hear from boys my age. Or girls, even. Most of us, especially if we’re coming from public school, we keep our feelings and squishy bits close to our chest. Hide it behind memes and jokes, and sharp barbs. I’ve tried not to, but it just became easier the older I got. If you learn how to hide behind a wall, no one can hurt you.

“I-I hadn’t…That must be hard.”

“It’s fine,” I say, a bit too quickly—an obvious hint that this is a lie—but I don’t falter. With a shrug, I add, very cool and casual, “It is what it is, y’know?”

“…”

Oh, I hate that. Please, don’t pity me. Believe me, I have cried enough over my dad this past year, I don’t need anyone else doing it.

Gotta change the topic.

“Uh, so who is picking up this pizza, anyway?”

Fortunately for me, he seems to get the hint. His voice shifts into a casual tone—likely wanting to get away from the unpleasant topic—as he replies:

“One of my brothers. Actually, he should be arriving—now.”

That’s when I feel it. Right behind me.

The soft landing of feet on concrete is near inaudible, if you aren’t paying attention. Me, I make it my mission to keep my senses as sharp as possible—at least while walking alone at night—so it isn’t the sound of feet landing that gets me. (Though I find it off-putting that there’s such an intent in its silence.) It’s the presence. The feeling of something looking at you with a piercing gaze. The subtle sensation of something near breathing down my throat. That insane itch on the back of your neck, one that causes a shudder to go down your spine. This feeling of something huge looming over me. 

Now, I’m barely five feet so that really isn’t hard. But I’ve sensed tall guys behind me before. This guy? Even without looking, I can tell that he’s huge. Massive. 

I swallow hard, feeling my neck break out in a cold sweat. Without wanting to, my head starts to turn back—

“Don’t turn around.”

A jolt goes through my chest and I quickly get back in position, staring into the camera.

“Sorry! I just…” I swallow again, my eyes darting around—making sure not to look back—before landing on the camera again. “Hey, you aren’t like…serial killers or something, right?”

A pause. Then he snorts.

“No, no we’re not serial killers. We’re not exactly—normal. But we’re not serial killers.”

I force a smile. Do I have any other choice except to believe him?

“Just another group of weirdos living in New York, huh?”

He snorts again, quickly turning into a chuckle.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Despite still feeling some fear, curiosity prickles at the back of my neck as I stare into the camera. I can’t help wondering what that could mean.

“…Okay, you’re good, pizza girl! Money should be in the envelope.”

I immediately turn on my heel. In the place where the pizzas were sitting rests a white envelope. After picking it up, I quickly open it and count the cash. My eyes narrow at the amount I counted, and I count again. There’s just no way. Why would he…?

“Uh, you gave me a bit…too much, no?” I have to let him know. I love money as much as the next person, but it’d just be bad form to take something that wasn’t meant to be given. 

“Eh, I told him to give you a little extra. You look like you’ve been having a rough night.”

My mouth falls open at that, before spreading into a grin, my eyes falling on the amount that would be my tip. Maybe my luck is turning around, at least a little. I hope it’s a good sign, regardless.

“Thanks, man! You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” I tell him while pocketing the money for Gino’s in one part of my jacket and then my tip in another. Then I think. “What should I call you, by the way? Since this might become a regular thing or whatever.”

“...Donnie. You can call me Donnie. And you?”

And despite hearing my mother’s voice screaming in my head, I tell him.

“Cool. Nice to meet you!”

“Same here.” I lift a hand to wave, my smile broad. “See you around, Donnie!”

“Later, pizza girl.”

With all that said and done, I spin on my heel and start walking back to the alley. Back into the crowd of others in the city, strutting to their respective destinations. Turning around and taking a slow walk back to Gino’s car. I take a deep breath, feeling a strange sort of calm wash over me. I’m not sure how I can describe it. Maybe it’s the relief of a finished shift. Maybe it’s knowing that tomorrow is Thursday, and that Friday won’t be too far behind. Maybe it’s the security of having a nice amount of cash in my pocket.

Who knows?

What I do know is that, when I’m unlocking the car, I feel it again. That itch on the back of my neck. That feeling of being watched. 

At first, I look behind me. I see people walking by, but no one seems to be paying me any mind. 

And then I look up, my gaze falling to the top of a brick building, at the rim of a rooftop. My eyes narrow. I think I see something huge shifting in the shadows. A hint of eyes. But I’m not sure. It’s too far to tell.

I stare some more, feeling an odd weight in my stomach. Then, with much trepidation, I turn and continue unlocking the car door. I slide in and start the engine. I’m choosing to believe it’s nothing. Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe this is just another New York thing that I will never really understand. There are billions of people living in the five boroughs alone. A good percentage of the population is going to consist of the strange and unusual. That’s just how it is here.

In the end, that stuff doesn’t really matter to me. 

I have to drop off the payment and car to Gino, so he and Carlos can drive me home. Then I’ll deal with my mom—she’s likely home from her shift at the hospital and near drowning in wine, so she’ll need help getting into bed—and put my little brothers to bed. And then, in between finishing my homework and chatting with Sakina and Norman on Discord, I’ll put my tip earnings in the jar I keep under my bed.

And tomorrow will be another day of the same shit (more or less). Keep looking forward and mind your business, I tell myself while driving, even when something inside me still lingers and even starts to bloom.

[the-mortifying-ordeal-of]

Self harm, press the bruise, flooding, autism trigger tantrum, raw raw raw irritable scream fight wreck run away fuck it leave.

In theory, I like the idea of housesitting: an enforced staycation in a new environment where I can't smoke, can't fuck around because I'm on camera; I don't spend money because I'm not going places, just eating my prepped meals and some of their bougie food that I've always enjoyed. The dog walking needs force me outside a couple times a day, his schedule keeps me up early and to bed early: it's simple living! An awesome stretch of time to do deep work like readmits, or write some letters, or digitize my CDs, or this time I planned to finally do my taxes!

I want to kill this dog. Maybe it's the nicotine withdrawal, maybe it's the irritation of being out of my routine and feeling watched and not being able to dance or read my fanfic or leave whenever I want.. but every time he breaks the silence with a loud, painfully piercing series of barks at nothing, I want to scream (but can't, because I'm on camera). The sound of him constantly, disgustingly, unceasingly licking himself makes me want to throw him. He cannot focus on walks, but weaves back and forth on the path, stops to smell everything, backtracks, suddenly runs and then stops and weaves s'more and then loses. his. shit. every time another human or god forbid a dog nears us. He growls and rushes toward children. I fucking hate picking up his poop, my god ugh ew blech. And then it's cold and windy and I'm antsy and he doesn't respond when I call him so I'm tugging as gently as I can but it tugs his throat and he digs his feet in and coughs but refuses to follow and I hate hate hate him. God and then bedtime, where he gets into bed with me and wants to plant his awful, smelly, matted body UNDER THE BLANKETS right by my fucking face and I'm so filled with disgust because I've seen the way he still has remnants of shit on his ass and there's visible grit and stains on the white bedspread from his body and I'm all nausea and rage.

So that's been a hard time for me. Last time I was here, I accidentally taught him a game with one of his toys and now he whines whines whines at me to play when I'm trying to focus on my deep tasks. He doesn't stop, not when ignored or told no, just whines whines whines right at my fucking face, jumping up on me if I ignore him too long.

I don't like thinking of myself as not-an-animal-person because I loved BabyCat but honestly I'm often so fucking disgusted and do not want to interact at all. I love pictures of pets, stories of pets, but I do not want physical interaction at all. Virtual only please.

So anyway I have not done my taxes. I've barely worked. I certainly haven't written any letters. I did digitize all my old CDs and emotionally wrecked myself reliving 2012-2020, and then as a palate cleanser I made a playlist of my mp3 players from 2008-2012 and honestly that sucked too. I feel gross. I hate remembering, especially the visceral memories that turn my marrow to tar and leave me in the fetal position.

I did finish an audiobook and did a bunch of sudoku, only fucking up a few, and I'm disappointed by how much I did not care for the book, bc now what am I going to say? "Thank you for recommending this book, I had no idea it was a series, I barely slogged my way through the first, but I read the Wiki articles for the last two! They seem fine."

I just feel like an asshole. I feel like a classic villain: hates dogs, hates stories, not good with kids, not good at work - ignoring emails and missing deadlines and just sucking.

Oh God and the whole fuckin debacle of finding out my exex hates my ex and wondering wtf I did wrong to have all my people hating each other. I talk so much shit on people and tell such one-dimensional stories that nobody loves anybody; for having my love language apparently be words of affirmation, I am so toxic and talk so much shit that no one understands why I love anyone. I'm a mess. I feel like a trash person.

And now the fucking dog is whining at me. I will not pet or cuddle it. It has food and water, we walked 90 minutes ago, I'm not fucking playing. I cannot wait to leave. Maybe I'll leave the house and smoke another cigarette. I'm fucking losing it.

[flufflecat]

anyone wanna see how fast i can snap my own neck in disgust

[panickedpansexualprincess]

tmw you’re staring your meds down, the one that doesn’t seem to be helping, and also tastes so bad that it literally makes you feel like you’re going to be physically ill....... and I know I’m just being a child about it, but ugh, I don’t wanna. 😭😣

[ioannemos]

tfw you sneeze and it clears your throat like a cough

[cagenewman]

Perish the thought, I promise. That makes a lot of sense. The reason why you like the team, I mean -- it was something that you could connect on, gave him something to talk about and you something to listen to and learn about, too. I… think you're weirdly better off with the Jaguars than the Jets. No offense to Jets fans or anything! But I feel like the Jags, people expect to be bad and it's okay, the Jets… just get mocked for it. So you're safe. I won't even pick on you, since I know the reason you root for 'em. Don't worry, I get it. But we're really safe in the shop and I only occasionally end up hammering my thumb or something when we're working on houses, so I have that going for me! Hey, I listen. You'd know if I didn't, I get that zoned out look on my face, then I'm a goner. Ugh, gross. Dopey. Blech… but I am pretty happy, too, yeah.

Yeah! I know! barely made the cut! Getting booted off friendship island would devastate me. So, don't you dare think about it. My parental grandfather had always hated football, didn't think it was fun and seeing guys tackle each other was something he thought was stupid. But then he started to fade and I think I was about seven when I visited him at the home and out of nowhere he started to talk to me about the Jaguars. Gave me stats and everything and it was then that I realized that even if he couldn't remember who I was that he would retain that hour of me listening to him talk about a team his mind just picked randomly to speak about. So, it's less allegiance to said team and more about pop and that memory. I mean he could have plucked the Jets or something but no he picked the one that's part of the cat family. I know you got it all under control but seriously, freak accidents happen so do always be careful. Call me a worry wort but you know. You are a good tuner lol. Half the time I feel like you're not even listening to me babble about random things. You've got three holidays under your belt. That's great. I am so happy for you both! You got that dopey look of love so that's pretty adorable.

[twstinginthewind]

🌊 for the Carder twins? I bet they have fun ocean memories...

🌊Symbol Stories🌊

"Whoa, is that a sand dollar?" The little girl ran up to her brother, a bucket in one hand and a shovel in the other. The boy turned to show off his prize. Clutched in his sandy fingers was a large, round, perfectly shaped sand dollar. "Cool!! All I've got is a buncha oyster shells, and I don't even know if they were here normally or if someone had a picanick on the beach."

"It's picnic, JoJo," the boy said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I said!" She put her hands on her hips, jutting our her chin. "I know how to say picanick!"

"No, you... UGH. Whatever." The boy put the sand dollar into his sister's bucket. "Anyway, it's all just shells and seaweed over here. There's no pirate treasure at ALL."

"Not even a double-loon?"

"JoJo, it's...." He shook his head. "Not even one. I think maybe Pops is pulling a fast one on us."

The girl's eyes got wide. "You mean he fibbed? Why would he do that??"

The two turned towards where they remembered their parents to be, under a big red-and-black umbrella further up the beach. The children looked virtually identical in their matching tee shirts and shorts, with only her long braids and his freckles differentiating them. They looked at each other.

"Hey, Pun. I bet he's smooching Momma again." The little girl made a face. "Ungy. They're already married, they don't gotta smooch all the time."

"I dunno. I think that's part of the contract when you get married. There has to be a certain amount of smooching or they take away your wedding paperwork."

"Sounds like too much work."

The boy rubbed his nose, which was starting to peel despite all the sunscreen that had been deposited on him by both parents. "Yeah. But I wanna have Pops crack open the sand dollar. He said there's birds inside them."

She looked dubiously down into her bucket. "How do they even fit??"

"Iunno."

"I think maybe Pops fibs more than we think."

"Maybe we should ask Momma instead. She's really smart."

The girl nodded. "Yeah! I am gonna be just as smart as her someday, and a good cook, and a powerful mage, and a rock star, and... hm, what else?"

"You don't wanna be a bride? You used to say you wanted to be a bride."

"Puuuuun. I was six. I didn't know any better. I'm so much wiser now that I'm seven. All that smooching, that's not for me."

"Okay. But I'm gonna be a mage too, and an inventor, and a spelldrive star, and maybe a groom. I think I can handle the kisses if I want to keep the wedding contract valid. I'd owe it to my person." The boy nodded solemnly, with all the gravitas a first-grader could muster.

"Blech. Better you than me."

"You'll be too busy for that if you wanna be a mage AND a rock star."

"Yeah! No gross kisses for me. But come on!" She held out her hand to her twin. "Let's go show them the sand dollar! I wanna see how they fit the birdies in there!!"

[hughjidiot]

Jelly Beans, A Sashannarcy Oneshot

So I’ve written a number of Sashannarcy oneshots that I’ve posted over on AO3 and figured it was about time I start sharing them here as well. So here’s the first oneshot, in which Sasha brings some special candy to spice up the girls’ weekly game night

---

“BeanBoozled?”

 Anne blinked in confusion as she beheld the colorful box Sasha was holding up. She and Sasha sat on the couch in the living room of the apartment they shared with Marcy, who at the moment was searching through the board game cabinet for a suitable game for their weekly game night.

 “Picked it up while I was out running errands today,” Sasha said. “Thought it could be a fun way to spice up game night.”

 “How are jelly beans gonna make game night more interesting?” Anne asked with a furrowed brow.

 Sasha grinned and gave the box a shake, the candy contents rattling within. “Ah, but these are no ordinary jelly beans. There are ten colors, but twenty possible flavors. Each color can be something really good, or really  really bad, and the only way to tell is to pop one in your mouth and hope for the best. Take a look.”

 Sasha passed the box to Anne. Her eyes widened as she beheld the flavors on the back. “Birthday cake or dirty dishwater? Coconut or spoiled milk? Peach or  barf!? Jeez, it’s like Russian Roulette with candy!”

 “Nah, at least with Russian Roulette the odds are five-to-one in your favor,” Marcy said as she walked over to the couch, a huge stack of boxes in her hands. “With those it’s more like a coin flip. Heads you get a delicious bean, tails you get one that’ll make you wanna die.”

 “Exactly,” Sasha said with a smirk and a mischievous glint in her eye. “What do you say, girls? Wanna raise the stakes this week?”

 “Sounds potentially disgusting and humiliating,” Marcy said, setting the board games on the table and taking a seat on the couch next to Anne. She grinned. “I’m in.”

 “Me too,” Anne said, smiling and handing the box back to Sasha. “What did you have in mind?”

 Sasha  hmmm’ed  as she looked over the games Marcy was offering. “We need a simple game. Let’s see here...  Clue,  no…  Cards Against Humanity, Settlers of Catan, Boss Monster…  no, no, nope… Ah, perfect!  Would You Rather.”

 Sasha opened up the game in question, took out a stack of cards and began shuffling them as she continued speaking. “So here’s what I’m thinking: we each take turns drawing a card and asking an either/or question for the other two to answer. Anyone who picks the less popular option has to eat a random bean out of the box. Sound good?”

 Anne and Marcy nodded. Sasha set the deck of cards down and drew the top one. “Cool, I’ll start us off then. Anne, Marcy, would you rather… punch a pilgrim or eat an avocado?”

 Anne sputtered out a laugh. “What kind of question is  that?”

 “That’s just the game,” Marcy said with a shrug. “Some of the choices have logic to them, others are just completely random. I think I’d rather eat an avocado, they’re loaded with nutrients and can be used to make guacamole.”

 “Avocado it is,” Sasha said. “Anne?”

 Anne pursed her lips. “Well from what I remember from history class, the Pilgrims  were kind of dicks… But I think I’ll go with the avocado too.”

 “And those are your final answers?” Sasha asked her girlfriends. Anne and Marcy nodded. “Well congratulations! According to the card fifty-nine percent of people agree with you.”

 Marcy and Anne high-fived. Sasha discarded the card and Anne reached for the deck to draw her own card.

 “Okay Marcy, Sasha, would you rather… have no teeth or have no tongue?”

 “Oof, that’s a tough one,” Sasha said. “Either one of those would make eating a pain in the ass.”

 Marcy rubbed her chin. “I think I’d rather have no teeth. ‘Cause at least if you have a tongue you could still taste stuff.”

 “But how would you chew with no teeth so you don’t choke and die?” Sasha asked.

 “Well that’s what blenders are for. Plus no tongue means you can’t  talk either.”

 “Oh, that’s a good point. Yeah, I’ll go with no teeth too.”

 Anne nodded, discarding her card. “You and sixty-three percent of people. Congrats girls, no one gets to try the beans yet. You’re up Marbles.”

 Marcy drew a card. “Sash, Anne, would you rather… sing everything you say or dance all your movements?”

 “Sing everything,” Sasha said with a proud smirk. “After all,  I’m a heart-stomper~! Stompin’ on hearts~!”

 Anne and Marcy laughed. “Oh man I haven’t thought about our old garage band in  years,” Marcy said. “We should break out the instruments one of these days, for old time’s sake.”

 “Yeah but it’s been so long we probably suck,” Anne said. “Dancing was always more my thing, so that’s what I’m going with.”

 “Ooh, first time two of us have picked different options,” Marcy said. She reached down for the BeanBoozled box. “Those are your final answers?” The other two girls nodded. “And the jelly bean goes to… Anne!”

 “Aw, for real?” Anne asked as Sasha pumped a fist in the air. Marcy nodded and showed the text on the card: fifty-six percent of people would rather sing as opposed to forty-four who’d rather dance. “Damn it. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…”

 On the back of the box was a circle of the ten jelly beans with a built-in spinner. She gave the spinner a flick and watched it slow until it settled on brown. “Okay that’s… chocolate pudding or canned dog food? Oh boy.”

 Anne picked through the box of candies, pulling out a single brown bean. She held the candy up between her thumb and forefinger, gulping audibly. “Well. Here we go…”

 Marcy and Sasha watched with great interest as Anne plopped the candy in her mouth. She slowly chewed… and a smile graced her face.

 “Oh thank God, it’s chocolate pudding!” She said, swallowing.

 “Aw, well that’s no fun,” Sasha said with an exaggerated pout. “You were supposed to get a gross one so me and Marcy could laugh at your misfortune.”

 “Hey, the night’s still young,” Anne said. “Don’t forget  you could also end up with a gross bean, Sasha.”

 “Well not this time, ‘cause it’s my turn to ask the question.” Sasha drew the next card of the deck. “Would you rather… be dangled over the edge of the cliff or forced to speak in public?”

 “Dangled off a cliff,” Marcy said instantly.

 “Really, Mar-Mar?” Anne asked flatly.

 “You girls  know how I am about public speaking! Why do you think I did most of the work during our group projects back in school and left the actual presentations to you two?”

 “Yeah, but we’re talking about public speaking vs. being dangled off a cliff!”

 “It doesn’t say anywhere that you actually get dropped!”

 Anne rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll still go with public speaking.”

 “You and seventy-eight percent of people,” Sasha said. “Sorry Marcy, but the price of not having to speak in public is a gross jelly bean.”

 “Totally worth it,” Marcy said defiantly. She picked up the box and flicked the spinner. “And I get… toasted marshmallow or stink bug.”

 She plucked a brown-and-white bean from the box and plopped it in her mouth. She slowly chewed, and her neutral expression slowly morphed into disgust.

 “Oh. Oh that doesn’t taste good,” she said. Her jaw moved again and she gagged, hand going to her mouth. “Oh that’s really not good!”

 Anne tried to cover her giggle with a closed fist. “I don’t think she got the toasted marshmallow,” she said to Sasha, who openly laughed and slapped her knee. Marcy hunched over, face contorting.

 “Ugh, it tastes like how stink bugs smell,” Marcy said with a grimace. “That  sucked .”

 “Could’ve avoided it if you just did a little public speaking,” Sasha said in a sing-song voice.

 “Bite me, Sash,” Marcy grumbled. “Let’s see how you like it when  you get one of those beans. Draw a card, Anna-Banana.”

 Anne nodded and did so. “Would you rather own a mini horse or own a regular horse?”

 “Ooh, I’d love a mini horse,” Sasha said with a smile. “They can actually be kept as house pets, right?”

 “Yeah, but they still require a lot of upkeep,” Marcy pointed out. “If you’re gonna have a horse, it might as well be a full-sized one you can actually ride. I’d rather have a regular horse.”

 “Well I’ve got good news Marcy, so would fifty-nine percent of people.” Anne said. Sasha crossed her arms with a ��hmph as Marcy smirked. 

 “Go ahead, take a bean Sasha,” Marcy said, holding the box out and giving it a taunting rattle.

 “Fine, I will,” Sasha said haughtily. She accepted the box and spun the spinner. “And I got… buttered popcorn or rotten egg.”

 Sasha quickly fished a yellow-and-white spotted jelly bean out of the box and quickly popped it in her mouth, face full of determination. Seconds passed as she chewed, Anne and Marcy watching her expression closely.

 Finally, Sasha smirked.

 “Buttered popcorn it is!” She said triumphantly. “Once again Sasha Waybright comes out on top.”

 “Seriously?” Marcy plopped back on the couch, crossing her arms and letting out a frustrated exhale. “I can’t believe I’m the only person who didn’t get a good bean yet!”

 “Cheer up Marbles, I’m sure you’ll get a tasty bean at some point,” Anne said. “Now draw the next card, this is getting good!”

 ---

 “Green,” Marcy said. It was a few questions later and she’d picked another lower option, choosing to only have access to games online along with thirty-three percent of people, compared to sixty-seven percent who’d rather have access to only Youtube. The spinner had given her a light-green bean to sample. “That’s juicy pear or  booger?  Oh jeez…”

 She picked a green jelly bean from the box and popped it in her mouth, chewing tentatively. She retched, cheeks turning as green as the candy she just ate.

 “Oh God it’s booger,” she said with a retch, to Anne and Sasha’s shared amusement. “ Blech, plech!  Oh that’s foul!”

 “Okay, so you got two bad ones in a row,” Anne said between giggles. “I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time.”

 ---

 “More people would rather drink tea than coffee, are you for real?!” Marcy asked, incredulous.

 “Well coffee  is an acquired taste, and there’s like a million different varieties of tea,” Anne pointed out, having picked the tea option to the question Sasha had given.

 “Yeah but… coffee!”

 “We get it Marcy, you love your bean water,” Sasha said. “But you still picked the lesser option, so it’s jelly bean time.”

 Marcy gave the spinner a twirl and grimaced. “Strawberry banana smoothie or dead fish?! Oh this isn’t gonna be fun.”

 She dug through the box until she found a lightly-colored orange bean with red speckles. With a heavy sigh she tossed it in her mouth, and her face contorted in disgust almost instantly.

 “Dead -  ack, hack - fish!” She said between gags. Anne looked like she was caught between sympathy and amusement, while Sasha was openly laughing.

 “Man Marcy, those beans really hate you,” Sasha said, wiping a tear from her eye.

 ---

 “Oh goodie, I got another one wrong,” Marcy said with a too-wide smile. “Silly me for thinking more people would rather die by drowning in a tsunami than throw themselves in lava.” 

 She let out a short, desperate laugh as she grabbed the box of jelly beans. “You know what? That’s fine, it’s fine. So what if three of three beans have tasted like garbage? One of them is bound to be good sooner or later. I mean if you flip a coin enough times, it’s bound to come up heads at some point. That’s just the law of averages, yeah.”

 “Uh, I think that’s the gambler’s fallacy,” Sasha pointed out with a raised brow.

 “Shut up and let me have hope, Sasha.” Marcy spun the spinner and giggled again. “Oh good, it’s peach or barf. That’s fine, that’s totally fine. Nothing to worry about, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

 She plucked another jelly bean out of the box, this one a darker orange with red flecks. She kept giggling, one of her eyes twitching.

 “You sure you’re okay, Marcy?” Anne asked, concerned.

 “I’m just  peachy , Anne!” Marcy said, far too brightly. “Peachy like I’m sure this jelly bean will be!”

 She stuffed in her mouth, chewing quickly. The smile remained frozen on her face even as her eyes began to water.

 “Aaaand it’s barf because  why not?!”  Marcy doubled over, hacking and coughing. “Oh God it’s on the sides of my tongue!”

 Anne gave Marcy a comforting pat on the back. Sasha just shook her head with a chuckle.

 “Okay, maybe we should give BeanBoozled a rest before Marcy keels over,” she said. “It was funny at first, but now it’s just getting sad.”

 “No no, I’m fine,” Marcy insisted even as she kept gagging. “I can get a good bean at some point, I know I can!”

 Anne and Sasha exchanged uncertain glances as Marcy grabbed the next card, it being her turn to read the question. “Okay, would you -  blech - rather be a Jedi master or an elite Saiyan?”

 “Ooh, I’d rather be a Saiyan,” Anne said instantly. “I love Dragon Ball!”

 “Well I guess I’ll be a Jedi,” Sasha said with a shrug. “At least I’ve actually seen Star Wars. I’ve only seen like a handful of Dragon Ball episodes.”

 “Well sixty-eight percent of people agree with you, Sasha,” Marcy said. “Sorry Anne, looks like it’s your turn for a bean.”

 Anne nodded and spun the box’s spinner with a swift finger flick. Around and around it spun until it landed on blue. “That’s berry blue or toothpaste.”

 “Aw man, you got an easy one,” Marcy said with a pout as Anne picked a blue jelly bean out of the box. “Toothpaste doesn’t even taste that bad.”

 Anne looked to Marcy as she plopped the bean in her mouth. Marcy, who’d been unfortunate enough to get four terrible-tasting jelly beans in a row. She smiled as an idea formed in her brain.

 “Hey Mar-Mar,” Anne said, voice slightly muffled with her mouth full.

 Marcy looked up, and didn’t even have time to react before Anne pulled her in for a surprise kiss. Marcy’s face lit up as she felt Anne’s tongue push past her lips, too stunned by the audacity to offer any sort of resistance. Anne pulled away after a few seconds, and Marcy felt a familiar lump in her mouth.

 “Oh my God!” Sasha laughed, a splash of red on her own cheeks as she brought a closed fist to her mouth. “Did you really just…? You  didn’t! ”

 “Yeah, I totally did,” Anne said proudly, blushing herself. “Well Marcy? What’s the verdict?”

 Marcy’s face was burning as she slowly chewed, a pleasant taste spreading across her taste buds. “Berry…”