#bc I don’t have room in my closet bc that’s full of garbage

[victory-cookies]

turns out all I needed to have the motivation to *checks notes* clear the garbage off my desk was *checks notes again* three days of doing nothing but unbridled spending and a day of comicon

[malii-the-bonehead]

The Other Woman pt3

god this is cringe tbh idk why im posting this bc I KNOW they lurking and seeing this shit

anyways

Slow burn

Summary: Chris, a popular hockey player at school where Y/n went, found himself falling for the beautiful, shy girl. As time went on he found out who Y/n truly was as a person and ultimately, he had to make the choice, his girlfriend, or the other woman.

Part 3

Hey it’s Chris. I stared at the message on my phone. I had work in 20 minutes. I finished getting ready quickly. Now, I was cleaning the house. I heard my phone go off, forgetting that I gave Chris my number this morning. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting him to actually text me. I continued scrubbing the dishes before responding to his message.

Hello, Christopher. I responded quickly, walking to the living room to clean up the clothes and trash all over the floor. The trash and clothes my mother left there. Empty bottles of liquor scattered before the couch. I bent down, grabbing multiple and tossing them into the garbage, going back to grab more. Buzz buzz.

I took my phone out of my pocket and checked it, once again. 

Just call me Chris. When you call me by my full name you sound like my mother. I giggled to myself. 

Okay, Chris. Sorry about that. He was quick to reply. Damn, is he sitting waiting for this message?

It’s fine. What you up to? I sighed, placing my phone on the side table next to the couch. I sat down, looking at the dirty floor. I should mop. Is that puke? I shook my head with a grossed out expression. Nasty. 

I grabbed the mop from the kitchen closet, filling the bucket with hot water and floor cleaner. I didn’t have much time before I had to leave for work. Buzz. 

I looked back to my phone on the table, picking it up and looking at the message that was sent. The second message, actually. You free tonight? I have a test in calc tomorrow. Was wondering if you could meet me somewhere and help out? I shook my head. I had work until late tonight.

I sent a text back, Sorry, I’m cleaning the house. And I don’t get off work until late tonight. If you’re okay with calling when I get off I can help then. I tried to place my phone down, but it buzzed in my hand.

Where do you work? And yeah that sounds fine. What time you get off? I sent a quick message, avoiding the first question he asked. He didn’t need to know where I worked. Technically no one should know. It was no one's business but mine, but it’s actually illegal to work at a bar until I’m 21. The manager knew my dad personally so I got a quick job there. Now they pay well. As long as I don’t talk about my age or where I work then I should be fine, hopefully. 12. 

My phone buzzed again, but I put it in my back pocket, needing to finish mopping the house. I had to leave in 5 minutes.

–

I sat in my car, in front of the building I worked at. I grabbed my phone. I completely forgot about Chris’s message from earlier. I checked it, getting out of my car walking towards the entrance.

Damn that’s late. What job has those kind of hours? I typed a quick message. A job that pays for food and bills. He was really trying to get it out of me.  He sent another message asking where but I ignored it. He sent another message after a few minutes, understanding that I wasn't going to tell him.

Oh. Well if you aren’t too tired when you get off then I’ll appreciate the help. I opened the front door, heading to the back to pick my things up in my assigned locker. I’ll let you know. 

I put my phone in my back pocket and went to the bar area. We’re normally not super busy until 6, so I had about 2 hours to get things ready. 

–

I was sitting behind the building, on break, hitting the rolled joint in my hand. I smoked every now and then. Not too much and not too little, just enough to relieve some stress. I pulled out my phone, checking the message from Chris. I knew he had sent one. Honestly, he messaged so fast you’d think he was obsessed with me. But that’s crazy, right?

Don’t take this as a creepy message or anything but you got a picture I can have for your profile? You there? Oh shit you’re at work. Let me know when you get off. 4 messages after another? Damn.

It’s been 5 hours since his last message. I’m on break now. If I send a picture you have to send me one as well. Right now, it’s a random dog off of pinterest lmfao. 

It took him about 2 minutes to respond. I put the joint out, shoving the rest of it in my jacket pocket. Lol why a dog? And yeah I’ll send one but you first. 

I opened my camera roll, picking the picture I liked the most. I pressed send, waiting for his response.

(something like this but it’s you, obviously)

I sent after the photo, because you remind me of a golden retriever. 

He responded quickly. Really? Also that’s a pretty picture. You look nice. My stomach started to twist, butterflies floating around. I can hear my heartbeat. He thinks I look nice.

Thank you, Chris. I smiled a little. Now it’s your turn. I glanced around the back of the parking lot behind the building. The music seemed more quiet as I breathed in the cold air, enjoying the moment. Not many people compliment me. Well, not many people like Chris. It felt.. Good.

Your welcome Y/n. Let me find a picture. Give me a sec. 

I shut off my phone, leaning my head against the wall behind me. Buzz buzz.

Notification: New message from Chris popped up on my lock screen. I looked at it for a while, scared to open it.

My breath hitched as I stared down at my phone, my mouth slightly open from shock. My cheeks went slightly pink. Damn, he’s really pretty. I saved the photo, changing his profile picture from the dog to the one he sent. 

Damn, you think I look nice? Look at you. I erased the message. What should I say? It’s not a big deal, Y/n. Just send something simple.

You have nice eyes. Simple and true. He really did have nice eyes. He had nice everything. Nice hair, nice eyes, nice lips. 

“He has a girlfriend, Y/n,” I mumbled to myself quietly. “Besides, he would never go for someone like you.” 

You think so?  I liked his message before sending, yes, I do. 

Thank you Y/n. That means a lot. 

You’re welcome, Chris. I checked the time. I had a few minutes of my break left.  I should get going. My break ends in 2 minutes. Text me at 12 when I get off so I can help with your calculus. 

You got it ma’am. Have fun at work. I shut off my phone, standing from my crouching position against the wall. I needed to stretch my legs. They hurt from sitting in that position for so long. I walked back through the back door, heading back to the bar getting to work. 

[robotslenderman]

Cultural Quirks:

You're expected to chill on the left and overtake on the right, except when you're not, but the rules about when you do and don't are (socially) strict. Do not overtake someone on the left when you're driving. Do not stand on the left side of the escalator.

Australians will stand in the middle of the walkway having a family reunion and you're expected to just deal with it. In the UK, if a parent sees their child standing in a direction you happen to be looking at, they will full on crash tackle their offspring and drag them away, apologising the entire time. Here it is perfectly socially acceptable to stop just in front of someone standing in the way and, instead of going around them, frown at them until they move. I have been on both ends of this and I fucking love it.

Having said that Australian drivers will stop if you sneeze near a crossing but so far in London it's been a bit of a coin toss, pedestrians and drivers are very much every person for themselves. With those insane streets it's no surprise.

I haven't had a good shower since I got here bc the water pressure on every shower I've used has been lousy. But one was an old building and another was a cheap closet hotel room so as far as I know this isn't the norm. Also the hard water is murdering my skin.

I don't know if Brits hate vegetables or if Australians love them but there's a lot of meals here with little to no vegies at all. They just straight up sell rolls with meat on them and no salad.

"Huh, this mince pie has sugar on it. Maybe it does something to the flavour, I'd like to tr - WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS THERE JAM IN THIS???"

Constantly forgetting crossings generally don’t make noise here and getting tripped up because I was distracted by my phone.

Having said all that, London zebra crossings are a lot more obvious because the ones I’ve seen so far all have these flashing yellow lights. Makes it easy in the dark.

When I was on a bus tour the tour guide pointed out a building he said was “brand new.” It was made of solid brick. In Sydney our building standards are garbage and bricks aren’t cheap enough so you don’t see them in anything built this century. Remember that video of the dude sending his hand through the wall to pick up a drink? Yeah.

My window has double glazing and I was so happy I took a picture.

A lot of what I thought was my mother's social anxiety turned out to be just her being British.

Was wondering why so many people were triggering security alarms in Oxford St. That’s how I discovered some crossings do, in fact, make noise. They sound EXACTLY like the anti shoplifter alarms at home.

There are SO MANY FLATCAPS TO BUY. I wanted one but the shopkeeper was weird bc my vagina means I'm assigned no flatcaps at birth. So I didn't get it. But I did get other cool hats! London is superior to Australia in hat related matters.

Pret-a-Manger is still stalking me but I accept their offerings of sustenance so I have come to tolerate their existence.

It's weird. The cold is a lot colder here, and far more biting, but also weirdly pleasant. At home, though, the cold just seeps into your bones and sits with you all day. I've had British expats tell me they felt far colder in Aus than the UK and I get it now. Cold is temporary here in the UK because everything is heated, and it's SO cold it's actually invigorating. At home... it's just cold. Inside is as cold as outside. You can cool down but in winter you can't warm up. At work everyone sits with heaters under their desks going full blast but the room stays cold. It's not as cold as the UK and yet somehow it's worse. In the UK the cold doesn't have a chance to seep in. In Australia you can't get it out. The cold isn't as cold but it's so much stronger.

I see why people prefer cold now, it's because they genuinely don't *get* cold, because they're moving from heated building to heated building so they carry heat with them always and by the time it fades they're somewhere warm again. That doesn't happen in Sydney.

I've always felt like a mutant bc at home I always turned the heating right up, like I'm a cold blooded lizard, but they actually do that here too so now I'm convinced my lizardry is from the British side of my family.

[harryfeatgaga]

I cleaned my room the last few days and I filled up like 3 garbage bags full of clothes and I bought these storage bins you can stick under your bed and now I have so much room in my closet and drawers??? And my room looks more open bc I don’t have to stack shirts and sweatshirts ontop of my dressers?? And I can use my desk now??

AMAZING

[pensbridgrton]

Kanthony - 26. “I’m gonna ride a rollercoaster with you, you disgusting beautiful garbage angel.” xxx

FINALLY WRITING THIS BC... KATE SHARMA. also eventually i might make an ao3 collection for all my KA drabbles.

If someone told Kate just a few hours ago that she’d be at a full-blown college party - let alone one hosted by a Bridgerton - she would have laughed in their face.

But not only is she at a Bridgerton party - she really should reconsider her friendship with Colin, it’s much more trouble than it’s worth - but now she’s locked in a closet with a Bridgerton.

And not just any Bridgerton. In fact, has it been any other one, maybe Kate wouldn’t want to hit her head against the wall. Colin? Too smug for his own good most of the time, but pretty funny and decent company. Benedict? Fairly pleasant, actually. Daphne or Eloise? They would probably be laughing and making fun of everyone else and having a grand old time.

But no. Luck’s not on Kate’s side that night. Because as she tries hopelessly to push open the closet door, the knob twisting useless in her hands, Kate works to keep her breathing steady - because, of course, while her ponytail is coming undone and her temper is simmering, she’s locked in with a very drunk Anthony Bridgerton.

Kate rests her head against the wall. “Of all people - ” She sighs, turning to face him. There’s a small sliver of light from the doorway, enough for her to see his face in the shadows. “Well this is turning into a rollercoaster of a night.”

“And I’m gonna ride this rollercoaster with you, you disgusting beautiful garbage angel.” Anthony points at her, twirling his finger. Kate rolls her eyes and slaps his hand away when he moves to touch her hair. “Hey! That’s not angelic.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m disgusting and garbage.” Kate flips her hair over her shoulder. “Although I’m flattered you think I’m beautiful.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Colin,” grumbles Anthony, crossing his arms across his chest. Kate bites back a smile - he looks kind of cute like that, not that she’d ever admit it. As he leans against the wall and sinks to the floor, he almost pouts. “I forbid you to hang out with him anymore.”

“He’s my partner in Contemporary Lit. Plus he loves my mum’s cooking.”

“Fucking hell.” Anthony runs a hand through his hair. Kate isn’t sure if he’s as drunk as she previously thought, but his dark eyes seem a bit cloudy when he looks up at her. Slowly, Kate sinks to the floor across from him, leaving plenty of space between them.  “I left my phone in my room.”

“Edwina has mine.” Kate stretches out her legs in front of her. “Anyone ever come up here?”

“Not during parties.” His words are oddly coherent and he sounds sober, so Kate wonders what is going on that silly brain of his.

But quickly, Kate realizes that might be a fruitless endeavour. When the silence between them becomes too much, however, she blurts out, “So why am I a disgusting beautiful garbage angel?”

Anthony glances over at her, hints of amusement on his face. Kate isn’t sure she likes it. “I’m drunk and those are the first adjectives I thought of.” He turns his head to avoid her eyes, staring at the unmoving and locked door instead. “Don’t read into it.”

Kate narrows her eyes at the side of his face. “So you do think I’m beautiful.”

“ - and disgusting garbage - ”

“I’m flattered.”

Anthony grunts and Kate lets herself grin.

(When Colin finally discovers them almost an hour later, Kate’s hair is tousled and Anthony’s shirt looks more wrinkled than usual and when Colin narrows his eyes questioningly, Anthony just shoves him out of the way and bans him from ever speaking to Kate again.

Kate pats Colin on the shoulder with a wide smile. “See you in class on Tuesday! I’ll bring some badam burfi.”

Anthony groans loudly.)

[slytherflynn]

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

[dekuscrybaby]

Could I request a super shy reader asking out Bakugou ? Scenario or hcs ! Whichever you like ! She’s like super nervous and just ends up going on a rant on why she likes him and asks him out and he just blushes and says yes . I hope that’s not too specific or something >.

y’all be giving me too much freedom, like tell me to choose one format over another and you will end up getting both because that’s just the type of clown that i am! also, i’ll kinda be loosely basing this on me because i’m pretty shy myself, but i’ll keep it as general as possible! also pls my friend, i have none so feel free to privately message me or we can chat through asks i don’t mind 😌 also, i think i went a little overboard with the “scenario” but i’m not all that sorry bc i love my feral bby but also the scenario is kinda booty so sorry about that

(ps this is literally bakugou as you confess/rant to him)

out of the billions of people you could’ve had a crush on, your heart probably chose the worst person

bakugou katsuki, a very angry gremlin if you please

and i’m not saying that bakugou is ugly or anything

it’s the complete opposite actually, hence why you have a crush on him

bakugou’s physical appearance is far from ugly, he’s hands-down one of prettiest boys in your class

that being said, his personality can be considered an acquired taste

as kaminari once said his personality is comparable to “flaming hot garbage”

but that didn’t stop you from liking blasty boy

your friends know about your crush bc it’s just obvious to them and pretty much everyone else (except bakugou)

you’re always asked “what is there to like about bakugou?”

well, what isn’t there to like?

his ash-blonde hair always looks so soft, you just want to run your fingers through it

his eyes are just so beautiful and you want nothing more than to stare into those ruby orbs for hours and hours

his physique is just so amazing and let’s not get you started on how bad you want his muscular arms to wrap around you

and his thighs? phew, please! is it getting hot in here or what?

answer: it is getting hot and by that i mean your face has lit up all shades of red

confessing to crushes is usually hard regardless of how confident a person is but it’s even harder for you because you’re the shyest person in class a

you’re so shy that you’re just known for your blushy cheeks which turn even redder when you’re in the presence of lord explosion murder

you probably even struggle to get a full sentence in when you’re “talking” to him

you guys know how izuku stutters right? well you’re worse than that

you just have the FATTEST crush on this blonde douchebag

so what do your friends do about this crush?

they do what all friends do for their introverted friends with a huge crush on a huge ass extrovert

put you on the spot

*insert your shy ass mentally screeching*

to be fair, you’ve been crushing on bakugou since like the beginning of the school year

something has to happen before your entire class just decides to scream at bakugou about your very clear crush on him

for the sake of a chaotic confession, i’m gonna say that you’re apart of the bakusquad with mina being your best friend

and mina being mina, she’s SICK of your shit and wants you to tell katsuki how you feel

so what does she do?

she shoves you into the janitor’s closet with bakugou

will not let you out until you spill everything

“hey! raccoon eyes! you better let us out before i fucking explode your ass!” bakugou growled as he pounded on the metal door, obviously he was caught off guard. he was just walking back to class with you and your guys’ friends before mina’s crazy-ass pulled you back and shoved you into a small room.

“not until y/n fesses up!” mina shouted back, pulling on the door handle with all her might. she’s doing this for you, it’ll only help you and bakugou, it’s a mantra mina keeps going over in her head. hopefully, a mantra that will prevent her from being killed by the furious blonde.

“what the hell do you mean fesses up?” the blonde bellows out, still pounding at the door.

as they’re screaming and cursing at each other, you have your face hidden away in the sleeves of your school jacket. your face is the reddest it’s ever been and your mind has never spilled this many thoughts until now. your brain is so overwhelmed that there is practically no filter between your brain and your mouth so at this point you’re babbling on endlessly.

it’s not very loud, probably only loud enough for it to be heard in the small room you’re currently in, but that’s where the problem lies.you’re babbling on and on about your huge crush while he is in the same cramped up room as you are. to make matters worse, you guys are completely alone.

“what do i do now? i’m completely alone with the hottest guy in not just the class but probably even school. is mina really not gonna let us out until i tell him i like him? i mean she can’t keep us in here for too long, right? of course not! class is bound to start soon and she has to go to class. plus she has to let us out before mr. aizawa comes to look for us or something. then again, me confessing can’t go that bad. i mean what’s the worst that can happen? well, if i do end up confessing, then there’s a high chance that bakugou might not even like me back and then everything will be super awkward. he prob-”

you probably would’ve continued to rant on if it weren’t for bakugou’s rough voice pulling you out of your verbal thoughts, “what the hell are you going on about?”

you snapped your head up in the direction of your voice, “huh?”

“you heard me, rosy-cheeks. what are you going on about?” he questioned with a quirked eyebrow.

“r-r-rosy-cheeks?” the new nickname just made even more blood rush onto your already blushed cheeks.

bakugou rolled his eyes a bit, “yes, rosy-cheeks. your cheeks are always red so it suits you.”

“oh! uh, thanks i guess?” you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, not knowing how to respond to the slight compliment you received from your crush.

a quiet snicker could be heard from the opposite side of the door and that ended up provoking bakugou’s short temper.

“fucking let us out, you used tampon!” he began to yell again. (i couldn’t think of any other nicknames)

“i said i wasn’t letting you out until ms. rosy-cheeks confesses!” mina retorts, matching the level of intensity of katsuki’s voice.

“huh? and what should she be confessing?”

“i don’t know, bakugou, maybe you should ask her instead!” now it was bakugou’s turn to snap his head towards you.

“spill, y/l/n.” he said, his voice much softer than it was a few seconds ago.

“w-what?” you stuttered.

“the faster you tell me whatever mina wants you to tell me, the faster we can get out of here,” he grumbled as you began twiddling with your fingers.

“i-i can’t.”

bakugou sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “what do you mean you can’t?”

“i just can’t, bakugou.” you whimpered quietly.

“y/n, class is going to start again in less than ten minutes and i don’t know about you, but i don’t want to be held up after class by aizawa.”

“i’d rather be held up later than tell you,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, fearing that you’d make him upset.

“goddamnit, y/n! just tell me! it can’t be that hard!” he raises his voice and ultimately, this causes something in you to snap.

“okay, okay! i like you, okay? i’ve liked you for so long that it’s actually embarrassing. it’s just that you’re so cute and something about you just has my heart beating out of my chest. i always feel short of breath and lightheaded when i’m around you and i can’t do anything about it. you’re also so so smart and im actually jealous.” you drew in a quick breath before continuing.

“sure, you might not have the best personality ever according to others but i still find your ‘garbage-like’ personality drawing me into you. do you know how many times people come up to me asking why the hell i like you? it’s quite a shocker for them to hear that i basically like everything about you.”

“i like your spiky blonde hair that is probably super soft. i like your eyes that are the most beautiful shade of red and i always find myself lost in them whenever i look into them for even the briefest moments. i like how passionate you are about your goals and i like how you give your all to reach them. you’re just so amazing and i always find myself wanting to confess to you, hoping that you might feel the same way. i would just absolutely love to call you my boyfriend, you know?”

you finally concluded your rant after what felt like an eternity and for some reason, you forgot about the situation at hand. once you realized that you actually said everything out loud, you felt your entire body heat up. this has to be a dream. or maybe someone used their quirk and caused you to say all of that. not missing a single beat, you glanced up at bakugou, only to find him the same position as you. cheeks and even ears, a bright red that could easily rival midoriya’s sneakers.

“i-i-i, uhh…”

“tch,” bakugou interrupted what could’ve started another rant. “you could’ve just said so earlier.”

“what?” you stared at him with a gaped expression as his cheeks heated up even more,

“i’m just saying, you would’ve said this earlier…then maybe i would’ve been your boyfriend already,” bakugou mumbled as one of his sweaty palms, cradled the back of his neck.

“a-are you serious?”

“do i look like a liar to you, rosy-cheeks?”

“well, uh, no?”

“damn right. now let’s get to class, i’m pretty sure raccoon eyes heard the entirety of your rant and if she reacted anything like me, then she should be satisfied.”

you were still too shocked to properly digest what just happened that you for some reason didn’t feel bakugou take your hand to lead you out of the janitor’s closet. after you walked out with him, you turned your head and noticed mina grinning at you, congratulating you on what was your new relationship with the boy you’ve been pining over for ages.

[duckyaltalt]

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[knives-out20]

Romantic Pull - Erik Lehnsherr x Male!OC

Fandom: X-Men

Pairing: Karmel Rosenstein (OC) x Erik Lehnsherr

Warnings: Gay, Didn’t do a spell check, Takes place post-First Class if I gotta say it, Fluffy,

Notes: Wrote this on a whim bc I missed them already. Enjoy!

Erik awoke on one side of a queen-sized bed, the morning light shining in through the windows. He groaned softly, slowly blinking as he took in his surroundings. Erik came to the conclusion he was laying in Karmel Rosenstein’s bed, in Karmel Rosenstein’s room, in the Rosenstein castle- mansion- whatever, it’s as big as Charles’. 

But, there was no Karmel anywhere in the room.

“Karmel?” Erik called, looking around.

No reply.

“Karmel!” Erik repeated, louder this time. He pushed himself up, and pondered getting out of bed. Alas, he stayed put because the window by him was open, and Erik had a complete lack of clothing on him. “Karmel-” he called once more, running a hand through his hair.

“You called?”

Erik turned to see Karmel emerge from the doorway, wearing his usual outdoor attire.

Dark pants, his uncle’s belt, a white button-up, one of his fathers’ ties, and a black leather jacket.

“Sorry if I scared you.” Karmel slowly made his way over, handing Erik a glass of some brown drink.

Erik noted Karmel’s strong pine scent- he knew full and well Karmel was fond of woodsy colognes. He slowly took the glass, and had his own little sip. “Chocolate milk? Really?” Erik furrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t trust people who drink plain milk by itself. Either eat cereal, or get out of my face.” Karmel joked, crossing his arms. He leaned in, softly planting an all-too-loving kiss on Erik’s forehead. “G’morning, by the way. Sleep well?”

“Very well” Erik hummed, nodding a bit. “Where are you off to?” He asked, free hand gesturing to Karmel’s clothes.

“I hope you do remember that I have a job. Infiltrated into humane society- disgusting, I know- as a librarian. High salary, get to help timid teenagers, sometimes I read to kids, and I get to tell people to shut the fuck up. What more could a guy want?” Karmel rhetorically asked, scoffing.

Erik almost pouted. “Do you have to go?”

“As much as I don’t really need this job, what’s wrong with a lil’ extra money, honey?” Karmel inquired, smiling still. “My shift will be done before you know it. Maybe you could even swing by, and pester me about the whereabouts of specific books. I could use the incognito company.” He shrugged.

Erik finished the glass, putting it on the bedside table. “I’ll think about it.”

Karmel’s blue eyes lit up. “I’d advise you to go brush your teeth right about now,” he walked over to the closet, opening the door. “Your morning breath smells like garbage.” Karmel tossed Erik a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. Did they belong to Erik? No. Karmel just likes when Erik wears his stuff.

Erik smiled silently, pulling the shirt on. “Where are my clothes?”

“In the laundry, duh. We practically sweat up a storm, last night.”

Erik’s eyebrows jumped. “Ah- yes, how could I forget?”

“Beats me.” Karmel shrugged, advancing back over. “I had fun, though. I imagine you did, too.”

“As per always, when I’m with you.” Erik winked.

Karmel rolled his eyes, yelping when Erik pulled him onto the bed. “You’re way too much for me, man.”

“Yet you can somehow still handle me...All of me.”

“From the moment I met you. I love you, Erik. I always have.”

Erik’s smile grew, as he planted a kiss on Karmel’s lips (who, despite ranting about his morning breath mere moments ago, didn’t protest against this action) with all the strength in his body.

Karmel’s lips formed a smile, eyes falling peacefully closed. He relaxed into the moment, hands placed over Erik’s.

Erik pulled away, patting Karmel’s cheek. “Now go; I wouldn’t want you late for work, nor would I ever want to be the reason for your tardiness.”

Karmel blinked, processing the situation. “Oh, you-” he cut himself off, huffing as he stood up. “Fuck you.” Karmel swore.

“You already did.”

Karmel clawed at his own face as he walked away, groaning in annoyance.

“I love you!” Erik laughed to himself. “’Til the end of time.”

“I love you too!” Karmel answered, already out the door. This didn’t stop him from finishing the catchphrase Erik and him had made up for each other: “Even then, you’ll still be mine.”

[wizardessheart-sideb]

About Me Tag

I got tagged by @nadia-the-wizardess ! Thank you boo! uwu

I tag @stephdaninja and whoever else wants to do this! 

How tall are you? Just barely 5'0

What color and style is your hair? My hair is light blonde. I'm growing it out, but I usually keep it in a messy bun bc I hate brushing my hair and you don't have to brush your hair if you wear it in a bun.

What kind of student are you? I used to be like Elias, but creative. But now? Not a great one. I want to kill myself at any given moment, so I think you can imagine how my depression's wrecking my academic career. I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning, not because I'm still tired, but because I have no motivation or energy to get it. It takes me like 40 minutes to finally get enough energy to get out of bed. I skip class a lot because I just don't have the energy to go, but I get fairly decent grades. It also doesn't help I've been burned out since March.

What color is your eyes? Green

When were you born? September 2

What’s your fashion sense? I have a weird fashion sense. My ideal closet is full of sweet and gothic lolita clothes, and I do own a JSK. But because I can't afford lolita clothes and I'd rather use my money on cosplay materials, my grandma usually buys all my clothes. Which means it's a lot of T-shirts and sweatpants. Which is fine, since I don't really have the energy to throw together real outfits anyway. I also have an obsession love over stupid and weird pants. Like those pumaxfenty shorts that have like the legs connected by a garter strap? LOVE THOSE.

Do you like school? I hate school. I like learning, I just don't like the structure of school and I could honestly go on for hours about how I dislike the US school system bc it's truly utter garbage, especially when you get to college.

Where were you born and where are you now? I was born about an hour east of San Francisco and now I live in socal.

What school do you go to? One of the CSUs in the LA area

Full name: Mari. We do not acknowledge deadnames in this household

Do you wear braces? No, but I probs need them.

Do you have any regrets? To be completely honest I regret most of the things I've ever done in my life.

Favorite book? Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Favorite movie? Crimson Peak! It has everything I love media-wise in it and it's super well done! I can't believe people slept on it.

Favorite TV show? Love Live! Sunshine!!

Do you wear glasses? Yeah

Favorite past time? Sewing and photoshop. I'm fairly decent with a sewing machine and since I cosplay I get to sew a lot.

Dream job? That's hard. I'm currently working in what was my dream job (voice acting), and it's not that I hate it, but it's a demanding job for little pay and because I'm constantly auditioning, I never really HAVE a job. This is so niche but I'd say my dream job now would be a professional cosplayer who's able to go to cons and keep doing idol stuff, but I'm getting paid regularly whether it's for performing or via patreon or whatever.

What countries have you visited? Mexico and Canada

Scariest nightmare? They're not specifics dreams, but I get two types of nightmares whenever I do have them. The first is me trying to find my way through a place where the hallways never end, it's basically just a maze that keeps expanding and I'm never able to find my room or whatever. This is why I hate the whole Alien Geometries trope. Can't fuckin stand it. The other is something horrible will be happening to me and I need to open my eyes in-dream and I can't. And I can't scream either.

Any enemies? Yeah. My old roommates who bullied me and gaslighted me every chance they got. And also that jerk on DeviantArt who was a jackass to writers if they were popular and "wrote mary sues" sis we are all LITERALLY writing reader inserts for Attack on Titan, you included, you have no right to say anything.

Any significant other? No. There's a guy I like, and while I'd like to date him, I don't wanna ruin our friendship bc idk if he likes me back or not. I know I make fun of Liz for being oblivious but honestly I'm just as bad. I'm terrible at reading people and I can never tell when someone's flirting with me bc I just assume they're being nice. Someone actually flirting with me just doesn't cross my mind and it's such an alien concept to me that when it does happen I just don't pick up on it. Not to mention I had some drama with another dude who liked me and it’s been an ongoing thing and I don’t want to drag my crush into bc I know if the other dude finds out I’m dating my crush, he’s going to flip his shit. We run in the same circles so him finding out would be inevitable. For now, I can just stick with my wizard boyfriends: my soulmate Hugo, my demon sugar daddy Azusa, and pasta papa Sigurd. 

Do you believe in miracles? Yes

How are you? Sleepy, hungry, and lowkey wanna die, but that's normal for me.

[granpafrisbee]

Truth or Dare Part 1

Warnings: Cussing                    

Word Count: 3,752 (it’s gonna get longer tho)

Pairing: Bucky x OFC           

Masterlist

Summary: After going to Italy and avoiding any romantic relationships for pretty much all her life Joey comes back to the U.S. to move in with her life-long best friend, Sam Wilson, and his two closest friends from college. Joey’s met Steve but is apprehensive to meet the elusive Bucky, whom she’s always missed despite having visited Sam consistently throughout college. Once she meets him, however, she wonders how she’ll be able to run from love when they share a bathroom.

A/N: Hey, so I'll be updating this most Wednesdays. I'll try my hardest to stay regular. 

I wrote this using an OFC bc I cannot work my brain to replace my name with fucking Y/N and I know I'm not the only one. (I always end up reading it as fucking "yuuhnnumm"). I am fully in love with Zazie Beetz so our OFC is completely based on her except maybe a lil chubbier because why not. Really for the apartment just picture the layout of the New Girl loft.

I always have a confusing time picturing characters in fics so I'm gonna lay it out for y'all. Steve is full nomad, them honey brown locks and the full beard. Joey's hair is natural like Zazie so often wears it. Bucky is just Seb in fall/winter 2017 because I am weak for the I, Tonya press tour look. Sam is Mackie's classic look. The rest of the characters can be left to the imagination.

Also  I mention good music so listen to that if you want. Please let me know if you like this and follow my hot garbage tumblr.

Special thanks to @buckybarnesxoxo for asking to be tagged!

the AO3

Stay Sexy

It’s the bathroom that really impresses Joey. She believed Sam when he said the apartment was nice. On seeing it for the first time when moving in, she discovers that her best friend is distinctly incorrect. A working sink is nice. A proper heater is nice. A nearby laundromat is nice. This loft, this four-bedroomed palace, is exquisite in comparison to her previous abodes. The kitchen has all its necessary appliances. There are a washer and dryer in unit. The walls are thick enough that if Sam was stabbed in his neighboring room, she would maybe hear it. Four bedrooms with their very own closets. All of these have her speechless as she tours around. However, as stated above, it’s the bathroom that is killer. The idea of sharing said room with three men is maybe one of the more foreboding aspects of her new sweet digs, but once she sees the giant clawfoot shower and tub, she is sure the positives will heavily outweigh the negatives.

She immediately slides down into her new porcelain palace. She’s a medium height at 5’6”, and even she has to point her toes to touch the far end of the tub. She sighs comfortably and is already planning an essential oils combination for her first real bath when the door swings open and her fantasy is interrupted by one her new roommates. He’s the one she hasn’t met yet but Sam and Steve have shown her plenty of pictures. His hair looks soft and well-coiffed and he wears a tank top under an unbuttoned striped short sleeve button down. Rather than judgment appearing across his abnormally handsome face, he smiles like there was nothing else he could have expected when entering the bathroom.

“You see I specifically told Steve to get a bathtub that doesn’t come with a human.”

“Oh no, you got it all wrong. I’m actually a ghost here to haunt you but hygienically. Instead of boo, I say floss.” She says without a beat and he nods, very seriously, in response to this.

“You know I’m pretty sure I just carried in a bed to our fourth room that might be more comfortable than the tub, but who am I to judge one’s preferred sleeping arrangements.” His quip is followed by another fantastic smile, and based on the past ten seconds of her life Joey is absolutely sure that this is her kind of human.

She smiles back and extends her hand from the tub. “Joey.”

“Bucky,” He shakes her hand and nods again.

“You guys brought up my bed? I told Samuel to let me handle that shit.”

He laughs and scratches his beard, “Ah just gave me another opportunity to show Sam how much stronger I am than him. And Steve the chance to show up both of us.”

Joey chuckles and silently appreciates how Bucky balanced his dig on Sam with some light self-depreciation of himself. Although it would be unrealistic to pretend that anyone was stronger than Steve. The man is built. “Seriously though, I’ll come help y’all out. I’m not gonna be the useless roommate.” She gets out of the tub and starts out the door.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that, I think Sammy’s got that title covered, Darlin’.” He follows her out and therefore doesn’t see her face cringe at the pet name.

She considers calling him on it when Sam yells from the front door, “I know you’re not in there besmirching me to my very own best friend Barnes,” He enters view sweaty and smiling, “And I especially know she wasn’t participating, because she is my best friend and therefore automatically on my side.” He wraps his arm protectively around her shoulders causing her to shrug away from him with her nose scrunched.

“Consider our friendship on sabbatical until you take a shower, Wilson.” Joey continues backing away.

“Jesus I always knew your personality stank but I guess the inside always comes out huh.” Bucky mirrors Joey’s disgusted face as he walks towards the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, “Not funny.” Although the involuntary “Hah!” Joey lets out at Bucky’s comment seems to contradict his statement. Sam just flips her off.

“Thank you, Doll. You see Sammy, even your best friend thinks I’m right.” Bucky mocks as he heads back outside.

This time Sam sees her face twist in reaction to the nickname. Misinterpreting it he grumbles, “Oh come on there’s no way you can smell me from over there.” He starts to head to his room, presumably for deodorant.

Joey follows Bucky downstairs to help with some more furniture moving. Steve is outside their building, ass in the air, bent over picking something up. “Damn Rogers,” Joey calls out appreciatively, “If I knew I’d be getting a view like that I would have shacked up with you years ago.”

He stands up, holding up an entire bookshelf on his own, further challenging the poor under armor shirt that is being stretched to hell on his giant frame. “Hey killer, thanks for joining us.”

She picks up a lamp and smiles at him, “Well I figured you guys needed the extra muscle.”

His smile is bright against his beard as he walks into the house with the ease of a man who isn't carrying a bookshelf.

The four of them finish loading their sporadic furniture into the loft and the afternoon fades to early evening. An old but amazing and huge high-quality leather sectional provided by Steve’s mom. Sam’s flat screen, whom he’s named Esmeralda, and may or may not have a near sexual attraction to. Bucky’s records and a player that’s older than any of them, plus a big wooden dinner table his Dad handmade. Steve’s varied level of completed canvases and paint stuff. Joey’s shelves and chairs she found on the side of the road her senior year in college. A mix of plates, bowls, and utensils have been loaded into varying drawers and cabinets. As well as cooking instruments, although, beyond Joey’s waffle iron and an old cast iron from Steve, it’s all Sam’s. Everyone’s personal boxes and furniture is piled in their own rooms.

Joey sits on the kitchen island as the boys lean against it, all sipping the cheap beer Joey bought as penance for them carrying her bed in. She takes that moment to appreciate the weird chain of events that got her where she is now. She and Sam have been friends since grade school. They went to different colleges but remained good ol’ buddies throughout. When they graduated Joey traveled around and did an apprenticeship with an Italian glassblower. Sam went to Culinary school, and when he graduated the second time around Joey was offered a job with a world-renowned blower (god she will never get tired of calling her profession that) stateside. After little luck finding a two bedroom inexpensive enough for the two of them, Steve, one of Sam’s old college buddies Joey had met many a time during visits, mentioned his friend's dad owned a couple lofts in the neighborhood they were looking in. Sam toured with Steve and Bucky and the three of them signed the lease that day. Sam called Joey that night and announced he was so confident that he forged her signature. He was insistent that it was the best option they’d find, all Steve is a good guy and fellow artist, and even Bucky is sometimes bearable but don’t tell him that. Steve paints and sketches in his free time and works as a personal trainer to pay the bills. Joey knows he isn’t passionate about it, but with his perfect body and matching attitude, she is sure he is fantastic at his job. Sam is starting at a new restaurant with a name Joey can only pronounce thanks to high school French. A plus for living with Sam is that he brings work home with him. Although Joey had visited Sam plenty over the years and even struck up a solid friendship with Steve, she always seems to have missed Bucky. They had never met but she knew he was a language major with a focus in Eastern Europe and Russia. Sam had told her Bucky translated English books into Russian and vice versa and made more money than he should. Earlier Joey had heard him curse in some sort of Slavic tongue when Sam “accidentally” dropped his end of a coffee table on Bucky’s foot. She also had heard a few stories about Steve and Bucky’s childhood, the rambunctious troublemakers lived up to every tall tale. As the four nursed their beers she felt confident that this was going to be a very important group of people in her life.

“Joey?” Sam snapped her out of her thoughts.

“What?”

“Barnes suggested we get more beer and pizza and invite some friends over. Are you down?” The three men looked at her expectantly.

“I say hell yeah. Who are we calling?” She looked down at her watch and was surprised to see it was only 6:30.

“Well there are the couples, Nat and Wanda and Thor and Bruce,” Steve suggested.

“I told Shuri I’d pay her in alcohol if she set up all the tech shit,” Bucky adds.

Steve nods, “Now that you mention it, we should probably invite Tony, he’s the reason we got this place.”

“Tony means at least Rhodey and probably Pep, Clint is a must, and if we invite Wanda we should call Pietro too.” Sam finishes his beer and scrolls through his messages.

“Brunnhilde and Okoye are in town too.” Joey hops off the counter and recycles the empty bottles collecting on the island.

“Alright you guys decide who to invite, and I’ll go get libations and sustenance,” Bucky grabs his keys.

“With the list we’ve got you’ll need some help, I’ll come with,” Joey volunteers.

Bucky smiles vibrantly and nods towards to Steve, “You okay babysitting Rogers?”

“As long as Killer doesn’t mind your unreasonably picky ass,” Steve’s retort is so quick that Bucky and Sam raise their middle fingers simultaneously at their aggravator.

Joey and Bucky decide to start off to the pizzeria three blocks away and pick up the beer on the walk back. The walk begins in mildly uncomfortable silence.

“So… you’re picky?” Joey asks to spark some sort of conversation.

“Nooo..” Bucky’s defensiveness creates an endearing drawl, “Those two pompous asses just don’t understand that I like my pizza simple. Margherita pizza is a fucking gift. Who am I to screw it up with a bunch of American bullshit?” He gestures widely as he speaks.

“You’re kidding right?”

Bucky’s must have misinterpreted her smile as he quickly responds, “Alright I’ve been judged enough in my life, I know you lived in Italy and-”

“No, no, Bucky!” She grabs his forearm, “Margherita is my favorite! I ate it all the time in Italy, judgment-free.”

“Jesus Christ Doll, where have you been all my life?”

She smiles and they continue a brisk pace to the pizza place. “How did you know I lived in Italy?”

“Ah, I know plenty about you. Sammy talks about you non-stop, has since I met him. Steve even thought he was secretly in love with you until he hung out with you in person.”

This makes Joey raise her brows, “Really? Wow. What, if I may ask, ultimately caused him to accept our relationship as extraordinarily platonic? Was it the sibling-like side hugs? The lack of sexual tension in our banter? The fact that I knew him during his first mustache phase?”

“Are you telling me there was a skinnier mustache than the one we know and mildly tolerate?”

“I’m talking Prince but pubescent. It was so thin models asked his mustache for dieting tips. It was so thin his first girlfriend thought he had an eyelash over his top lip. I mean you would’ve thought he drew it on with a ballpoint pen. In fact, it’s very possible it was. Just because I never saw doesn’t mean he never-”

Bucky is laughing uproariously, “Please, please, you’re killing me. I’m gonna need pictures as soon as possible.”

“No can do. I will recite the epic of the mustache homer-style until the day I die, but any physical evidence shared will prompt an all-out war between Samuel and me. That is just something I can’t afford.”

“Oh now I have to see them. What’s your secret shame, sweetheart? Bangs? Braces? Please tell me it was an emo phase,” As he lists off he starts walking backward, the goofy smile didn't dim once.

“I’ll never share, but trust me when I say if you find something behind my back, I’m sure Steve will be more than willing to share some pictures of your past. Emo phase is a good guess, but if I didn’t know any better I’d say that was a projection, hmm?”

That does a good job of replacing his smile with pursed lips and a quirked eyebrow, contemplating his next move in this battle of embarrassing adolescence. “Steve would never betray me.”

“Don’t be so sure, all men have their weaknesses,” She smiles deviously.

“Oh yeah, you gonna seduce him for a picture of me in eyeliner?”

“First of all, I would seduce Steve for much less so thanks for confirming my emo theories. Secondly, I may not know Steve like you do, but I know him well enough to see that seduction would hardly prove fruitful.” She holds the door open for him and they both bask in the practically orgasmic scent of the pizzeria, “Steve is so suspicious of anyone who wants to sleep with him that he’d see through me. My method would be to trick him to do some sort of high school ‘Where are they now?’ portrait. He’d be so inspired he’d paint your lined eyes and black, I’m guessing, over parted hair in a second.” The line is moving slowly and he admires how she never lowers her volume or hides from strangers eyes.

“Damn, Doll, you’re good.”

“I minored in manipulation.” The store isn’t too packed for Saturday night and Sam Cooke is playing lightly in the background. She’s nodding her head and he’s mouthing along to words and when they both realize this they share a smile at the music.

“So Steve is a suspicious mind in your book?” She chuckles at his reference.

“I’m not the biggest drinker and neither is Steve, so when Sammy went hard when I visited, Steve was always good for a tipsy talk. The poor guy has the same self-esteem he must have had in high school. Unlike us three cool cats Steve will show me pictures of his past self. I know you were there through it all, but just because the outside changes doesn’t mean the inside follows suit. I have seen the most dedicated and gorgeous women throw themselves at him and yet he remains sure that she was ‘just being friendly’. It’s actually impressive.”

“I know what you mean. To be fair though a lot of that is just his college girlfriend. She really did a number on him.” He runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t hide his contempt for whoever she is.

Solemn surprise covers Joey’s features, “I never knew. Never met her on any visits.”

“She wasn’t big on him talking to other girls, probably hid him anytime you came around. Although that isn’t my story to tell, I’m sure the punk will tell you about it sometime.” She follows his eye line down to his shoes. He’s drawing stars with the tip of his shoe, a tic she’s just noticing.

“What about you? You have a girl hiding you away, distracting you during your collegiate years? She the reason our meeting was so unluckily delayed until today?”

He thinks about the answer for a second or two. “Nah, no anchor to this ship. At this point, I’m just convinced Wilson just didn’t tell me you were around because he knew you would like me more than him.”

“Well turns out I like Steve better than both of you.”

He puts his hands up and reassures her, “I don’t need to be first, Sweetheart, just as long as I’m on your radar.” As he lowers his hands the song changes and they simultaneously recognize the song, both begin humming the initial notes. “Penny & The Quarters fan huh?” He asks.

“Nobody, baby, but-” she sings before quickly turning her attention to the cashier, “We’ll have two large Everything Pizzas and one large Margherita.” Facing Bucky again she smiles and drops another line that makes his heart race, “Just for you and me, huh?”

The pizza is out quick, and a trip to the local gas station provides them with more than enough beer. They continue discussing music, Joey is surprised at their similarly irregular taste. He describes his favorite Etta James songs, but can’t forget the Simon and Garfunkel song that he thinks is his first love encapsulated. He lists his top three favorite rappers after ranking contemporary folk bands. She adds in her opinions sporadically, and he apologizes twice for dominating the conversation when they get in the elevator.

She is being honest when she says, “There’s nothing I want to hear more than whatever you’re going to say right this moment.” He thinks that every lyric in every song he’s just listed doesn’t have shit on that sentence.

He’s about to tell her so when an alarming large hand last minute catches the elevator as it closes. The doors open to the Thor and Bruce. The couple is the lynchpin of every good party, from rager to kickback. Thor is the greatest hype man in history but is never hammered, probably because it would take two handles of tequila to get him there. Bruce is much more chill but a secret god at beer pong, not to mention he always has weed. Bucky’s favorite part of their presence always happens when Bruce is particularly high and begins a lecture on some sort of subject no one else understands. He isn’t exactly captivating, especially not to anyone far from sober although his passion is palpable, but Thor will plop down on the couch next to him and watch him like he’s the only thing in the universe (while rubbing Bruce’s neck to keep him from getting too wound up). Bucky loves those guys.

“Looks like we arrived just in time, wouldn’t you say Thor?” Bruce shakes Bucky’s hand and smiles at Joey.

“Of course! I was worried we got too much pizza, but now that you’re here Thor I’m sure you’ll help us with any surplus.” Joey sets the pizzas down before Thor pulls her into a bear hug.

“Joey, you know I never leave a damsel in distress,” Thor agrees as he sets her back on her feet.

Joey’s eyebrow playfully shoots up, “Who are you calling damsel, Odinson?”

“In this case, definitely Sam. I’m surprised he even let you order out.” Bruce answers for his boyfriend.

“My love is right in my insinuation. Never ever have I seen you anywhere near damsel status Joe.” Bucky watches their interaction with curiosity.

The elevator dings and Bucky asks, “This may seem like a dumb question but how do you guys know each other? Just through Sam?”

Joey picks up the pizzas as Thor holds the door open, ”Thor’s siblings and I were all in a group home together as teens. I’ve known this big lug long before he was the Nordic party god we see before us.” Thor laughs and he and Bruce go to greet everyone inside.

“Are you telling me Thor hasn’t always been a blonde beefcake?” Bucky whispers in Joey’s ear as they set the pizza and beer on the counter.

“Sadly no, he’s looked like that since I met him. I just like making that joke because he’s too humble to care.” She makes note that he doesn’t question the foster home part of her story. She wonders just what Sam has told him about her past.

People start to crowd the food and drinks, so Joey and Bucky greet everyone who has arrived. Nat is there sans Wanda, who is at home sick. Bucky knows this means Nat will be leaving early. Pietro made it despite his ill sibling, but he still looks pretty sick of the conversation in front of him. Shuri and Clint are mid-argument about the chicken and the egg when Bucky thanks them for coming. Clint gives him a smile and points to a fake succulent on the table and mumbles, “Got you guys a housewarming present,” before returning his attention to telling Shuri that the Chicken is the obvious choice. Shuri tells Bucky she set up the wifi and the apple tv and Clint doesn’t even register that she’s talking over him. Bucky kisses her cheek and hands her a beer.

Steve is sitting with Bruce and Thor on the couch, all of them engrossed in conversation and pizza. Sam is chopping fresh onion for his pizza when Bucky asks, “These are the few you could bribe to get here?”

“These losers are the only ones without any plans on a Saturday night,” Sam says without looking up.

Clint and Pietro both look up and say a simultaneous, “Hey!” Before turning their attention back to their conversation.

“T’Challa and Nakia are in Paris. Brunnhilde has a gig tonight. Okoye hung up on me when I said pizza and beer. Parker has an exam. Tony named six events he was invited to tonight and would’ve kept going if Steve hadn’t hung up. Pepper and Rhodey are probably plus thing one and two wherever Tony ended up at. Thus, this motley crew is all we got.” Sam sprinkles his diced onion on top of his already spilling slice and when he bites into it his groan stops the conversations surrounding the apartment.

“Lame. Your intestines are not going to be thanking you for that monster you are devouring under the alias of pizza.” Joey makes a face as he continues to stuff his face.

“Like eating just mozzarella and basil is enjoyable at all,” Sam dismisses her and joins the rest of their crew.

“Heathens,” Bucky dramatically admonishes their friends, “You ready Doll?”

This time he catches the tightening of her expression at his comment, ”Born ready.” They both grab a piece of their untouched pizza and taps crusts in cheers.

Part 2

Part 3

Thanks for reading!

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

59 scriddler

59: locked inside the janitor’s room au (bear with me here bc this goes in a lot of different directions)

Jonathan hisses out a slow breath as Edward presses kissesalong the base of his throat. He reaches to grasp at the rough, gray cotton ofEdward’s Arkham uniform, using his shirt to pull Edward closer against hischest. He can feel Edward’s lips curl into a sly smile against his skin. Henips gently at Jonathan’s neck, pressing him back against the wall. 

“Do you think anyone will notice we’re gone?” Jonathanmurmurs, fingers creeping toward the hem of Edward’s shirt.  

“Please,” Edward scoffs, “the orderlies are probably grateful tohave two less crazies to deal with. We’re doing them a favor.”

Jonathan doesn’t think the guards would appreciate that lineof thinking, but he doesn’t bother to say so. He dips his head to snag Edward’searlobe between his teeth, delighting in the way his breath catches in histhroat. He slides his hands under Edward’s shirt, smoothing his palms along thecurve of his back.

“You’re beautiful,” Edward mumbles, his breath warm againstJonathan’s skin.

He’s about to reply— he hasn’t decided whether to go with asarcastic quip or a compliment to match— but he finds himself cut off by theloud, persistent sound of a buzzer. Before he can really register what’s goingon, he hears the unmistakable click of the automatic lock on the janitor’scloset door. 

Edward pulls away first, a look of sheer anguish on his face. “Lock-down,”he says gravely, his words almost drowned out by the alarm.

Well, fuck. “It’s not… because of us, is it?” Jonathan asks.

“What does it matter?” he grumbles, slumping against theconcrete wall. “We’re stuck here until it’s over.”

“Can’t you pick the lock?”

Edward makes a sweeping gesture toward the interior of thecloset. “With what, Jonathan?” he snaps. “A goddamn toilet brush?”

“You’re supposed to be the genius here,” he retorts, raisinghis voice to be heard above the lock-down alarm. “Figure something out.”

He mutters something Jonathan can’t hear and, probably, doesn’twant to, but he goes to search through the janitor’s cart nonetheless. Hetosses various tools and bottles of cleaning fluid onto the ground. Dumps somescrews out into his hand, only to return them to their container. “There’snothing here,” he concludes after a few minutes, dusting his hands off on hispants. 

“Did you check the trash?” Jonathan suggests.

Edward gives him a horrified look. “Are you kidding me?” 

“People ditch contraband in trashcans all the time. Therecould be something useful in there.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. Absolutely not.”

“Edward—”

“If you’re so hell-bent on digging through the actual, literal garbage,you can do it yourself,” Edward retorts. 

“Fine.” Jonathan, not one to back down from a challenge,confidently approaches the trash bag attached to the janitor’s cart. The smellis almost enough to make him quit right then and there, but he was not raisedto be a quitter. So he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and sinks his arminto the trash bag. 

Edward gags visibly. “I’ve let you put your fingers inside me,”he says with a shudder. 

“Oh, calm down. It’s just trash.” When will Jonathan learn tojust… let things go? This is awful. Absolutely terrible. But if he stops nowhe’s going to look like an even bigger idiot. 

As Jonathan continues to dig through the garbage like theimbecile he apparently is, he feels something skitter across his foot. 

That can’t be good.

His suspicions are confirmed as Edward lets out abloodcurdling shriek, scrambling into one of the corners of the closet. “Jonathan!”he yelps. “There’s a rat in here!”

Of course there is. Jonathan quickly withdraws his arm fromthe trash, whirling around. “Where did it go?”

“I don’t know!” he cries. “Ohmygodthere’saratinhereJonathanthereisaLIVERATINHEREDOSOMETHINGPLEASE!”Edward screeches, speaking so fast that it’s nearly impossible to tell what he’ssaying. “Oh my god,” he repeats, slower this time. “This is it. This is the daythat I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Jonathan mutters absently, stillkeeping an eye out for the rat. He doesn’t really know what he’s going to do ifhe sees it, but he’ll figure it out when the time comes. “Rats can’t kill you.”

“What if it has rabies?” Edward asks, working himself into afull blown panic. “What if it’s carrying ticks? What if—” His voice devolvesinto a strangled cry and he points vigorously at a spot on the floor. “Thereit is, get it, get it, get it!”

Jonathan spots the rat scampering across the floor and,without thinking, he raises his foot to stomp on it. 

And then the alarm shuts off. 

He stops, his foot hovering above the place where the rat hadbeen, and listens. 

The closet door clicks open. 

Jonathan exhales sharply, lowering his foot to the floor. Heshoots a glare at Edward, who is still cowering in the corner. “This is thelast time I let you drag me in here to make out,” he mutters.

“That’s completely fair.”

[br0adwa5]

deh apartment hcs

so i was just scrolling thru Tumblr Dot Com™ and I saw a post that said “does anyone else ever daydream of decorating their first apartment?” (if anyone knows who made that lmk) but anyway i saw that and was like omg if that ain’t alana and then i was like wAIT WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF THEM so here’s this. fyi this is like a college au type thing ish??

(im sotired this is kinda shitty lol)

(also thank u so much for the luv on my last two hcs? i cr ied? les get to the point sorry)

alana:

ok so this girl would obviously have the neatest apartment ever

it would probably be like a medium size ya know

white walls.

lots of white walls.

and there would be like really pretty marble countertops 

her beadspread (or whateverthefuck u call it) would probably be like grey with white little lines on it

in a pattern tho

like a cute pottery barn one

OH

she would so freaking use evan’s discount at pottery barn are u kidding me

like her entire house would look like a pottery barn catalog

anyway

idk if all apartments have this so excuse me if i sound mega stupif 

but she would use the little intercom-buzzer thing to get into the apartment to her full advantage

like if u wanted to even go up there she would legit do a full on background check

(except for zoe)

(zoe would be like “hey alana it’s-” and alana would be like “yOU CAN COME RIGHT UP”

but it would be like 

“hello who is this?”

“alana you know it’s jared. i just texted you.”

“… ok then what’s your middle name”

“aLANA”

but anyway back to what inspired this in the first place

so alana would SO plan her apartment out from when she was like young enough to understand it ya get it

like she would pick out furniture at age six

(her taste would obviously change as she got older but u get it)

and she would literally have it down to the p a i n t color

like she would walk into home depot or whatever and the worker would expect her to look around for like 40 minutes but she’d be like

“hi hello i’ll take seashell grey in the gloss finish please. make it quick.”

(i totally just made that up what the hell is a gloss finish never heard of her)

i also picture her having lots of house plants? like most of them would be fake bc she’s too busy to keep them alive but they wouldn’t look fake

yeah alana’s apartmetnt would be so put together and like clean cut and nice

zoe:

her apartment would be rad okay

i feel like it would be v hipster and cool

not like Hipster™ but like… hipster?

what am i even saying

okay

so she would definetley have a room with yellow walls

like her rooms would be painted cool colors and stuff

but yellow specifically

she just seems like a yellow person

she would have a big wall that’s all chalkboard paint

wait now im really excited about this wall oh my god

like when everyone would go over her house they would all take a chalkboard marker (real chalk makes too much of a mess) and write and draw on it

evan would do little doodles of trees and write sweet and encouraging stuff

connor would either draw a hecking masterpiece or write really small in the corner “fuk u”

there’s no in between

alana would just doodle hearts and stuff

or when she’d be over doing homework w zoe she’d try to teach her math and science and stuff on it

a w 

jared would just draw memes 

i think we can all agree on that one

but annyyywwayy

she would refuse to get anything like store bought mainstream

like she would go to little shops in the middle of nowhere

or garage sales

and get the cutest stuff 

her house would be so homey but at the same time like “wtf why is this so perfect”

l o t s of tapestries

don’t fight me on this

it wouldn’t be the regular mendala ones that a lot of people get

(but she would for sure have a few of those too)

it would be like really cool unique stuff

lots of maps of the world

tie dye

ya kniw

they would mostly be taking up all of the celing space and some wall space in her room

she would so have a polaroid camera i KNOW IT

and she would put them all on pieces of string w clothespins and string them up around her room 

all pics of her frands and stuff

awwww zoe

she’d also probably have a room just for her dog

(btw if u didn’t see my other hc i see her as having a golden retriever named kiwi)

(but anyway)

like it was supposed to be a closet sbut she just didn’t use it

so she was like “well… okay let’s do this”

and evan will spend h o u r s at a time in that room

ugh she would just have the cutest apartment v colorful and stuff

evan:

evan’s apartment would be v small

he llved with his mom the first two years of college but decided to move out because he was feeling like he made a lot of progress and was ready to live on his own (btw is it canon tht he lives w his mom first year of college? i forget lmk)

(but he wasn’t really living on his own bc connor was always over or he was at connor’s place) 

he would have a v little sitting area w a really old tv and a worn out couch that was probably free on the side of the road or cheap from a garage sale

he would have a fridge and oven and stuff but he’d mostly just use the microwave

(ho;ly shit “some people say just use a microwave…”)

(i h8 myself why why why ok moving on)

his diet would mainly consist of ramen noodles

bc he doesn’t want to leave and have to socalize with people at fast food places or the grocery store

but every once and a while zoe would come over like “evan wtf” and make him food to hold him over for a while

(uh hc that zoe’s a really good cook??/)

he would have a little bedroom with a big window in it

and his comforter would be blue with navy stripes (similar to The Shirt™ but not completley the same)

he would have lots of sticky notes everywhere

like ranging from “don’t forget to feed the dog” to “don’t worry about it, it’s probably not a big deal”

and when he was in a really good mental state he would write them and stick them in places he know he’d see when he wasn’t in the best shape

and it would encourage him to keep going

wow that’s equally heartbreaking and adorable

ok don’t fight me on this we all know it’s a thing

he would have plants. eve ry wh ere

like there wouldn’t be a single fake plant in there

but he loved them bc he felt like it made the air fresher??? like it supplied more oxygen in the room which made it easier to breathe when he was feeling anxious??

(idk i can’t really explain it but that’s how i feel when i get anxious so i feel like it would help him too)

but it would range from huge ass borderline trees to succlents the size of his thumb nail

he would have s o many succulents

he would name them all

aaaaaaaAaAAAA

and each of his friends would have a plant named after them

even though it was small he really loved his apartment

bc he worked really hard to be able to pay for it and buy the furniture and stuff

so it was like his baby

yeah that’s my boy evan handsoap!

connor:

connor’s apartment would actually be pretty big

like everything would be super super high quality and nice 

he would so have a recliner chair

you know the one i’m talking about okay

and he would spend most of his time in there

even though he def has a huge nice sectional

(btw most of his furniture is black)

when evan would come over he wouldn’t want to get up out of it

but even always wanted to cuddle

so the first time evan was like “con come over hereee”

connor just scooched over

and evan was like “??”

but just went over to him

and they were kinda squished but they loved it 

bc they were so close to eachother

AW IM SCREECHING

but yeah they would love to cuddle on the recliner

his kitchen would be p nice too

like he would have a weirdly high tech fridge and a really nice oven and stuff

but if u opened the fridge there would just be like a half dranken (that is nOT a word) bottle of mountain dew, a cheese stick, and maybe on a good day some random leftovers

(btw idk why but i see his parents buying him most of the stuff in his apartment,, this doesn’t really make sense when i think about it but i can’t not do it what am i saing now awioehfdlsnk)

his room would be nice

he would have a big bed with a black and white plaid duvet cover

omg evan would l o v e his bed

like evan of course loves his own bed but connor’s is just so comfy

(plus connor’s bed also has connor)

(anywho)

his walls would be like a greyish blue color

but his furniture would still be all black

he would have a big desk and he always kept sticky notes around for evan to doodle on if he ever got anxious

and he has an entire drawer in his dresser just for his hair ties because he has an unhealthy amount of them

at all times

partly because he wants to keep his hair up sometimes

but partly because he always wears one around his wrist to snap when he gets mad or can’t control his emotions

and he always ends up loosing them

oh also his shower in his bathroom would be BOMB like im talking it has one of those little ledge chair thingies 

and the water pressure is a plus

and evan’s shower at his apartment is like sucky so he always just showers at connors

(i mean this in the least innapropriate way possible btw jus clearing that up)

but connor would spend SO much time there

so would evan tbh

so yeh

jared:

ok guys

hear me out on this one

but i feel like jared would have a surprisingly nice apartment??

like,,, actually very nice

they would all love hanging out there when they were all together

the first time he asked them over they were like “… u sure”

they were expecting to walk into something that looked like a super crappy hotel room with garbage all over

but they walked in and were like “jared what the fuk”

because this place was nice

like,, , he would always have the most food out of all of them

(which wasn’t saying much but still)

he would have a big nice couch with lots of extra like beanbags all over

they would all have their own that they used

and his tv would be poppin okay

he would have his old wii hooked up to it

and they would constantly have mario kart tournaments

jared always insisted on being wario

for the Memes™

he would be the only one out of all of them with an amazon fire stick so they would always watch movies all together at his house

and sometimes they would just randomly take it without telling him

(i’m looking at u connor)

and he wouldn’t notice for a few days but when he did he went cRAZY

but anyway

his room would b supa cool

he would have a really nice bed

omg he would have like video game and other nerd stuff posters e v e r y w  h e r e

like everywhere

little to no wall space for anything elsee

every once in a while he would go through his camera roll and print the pictures that he liked the best to hang up on his wall

hear me out bc this is gonna sound weird

he would probably have a dead meme shrine in one of the corners of the wall on the bottom

that he started as a joke with connor and zoe once but it jst spiraled out of control until every dead meme was recognized as soon as it went out

he would have a tv in his room

not as good as his one in the living room but still

he has two tvs what even jared

that’s where he would put his xbox

and he would game all night man

ah i love jared sm

ok that’s it hope u enjoyed ahhahah

[siirensung]

so today was my first day on a full dose of prozac bc i first started the Antidepressant Journey a week ago and i started with half a pill, but now i’m on a full one, and i don’t know if that’s the reason, but i had a Spurt of Motivation today so

i haven’t been on the dash bc i DEEP CLEANED MY ROOM. you’ve heard of people not showering bc of depression? i don’t clean, and i end up building up shit until i’m living in a garbage can more or less, so i attacked my closet and changed out all the mismatching hangers to be the same slim kind so i have more room and throwing away things and donating things i don’t want and Oh Man

so that’s where i was today! my closet is beautiful and organized and shit

[indieharry]

Saturdays with Harry: Part I

A/N: I’m not a fic writer by any means. I have like virtually no writing on here lol. I’m also not the best at prose, but sometimes a girl gets inspired. Mainly posting this for @harryspeakingfrench because even though I “don’t write” she still reads all my blurbs and concepts bc she’s actually the true best. Also this is PURE FLUFF. Also I’ve been having husband!Harry feels and this is the result.

-

There are busy Saturdays, when you spend all day cleaning and doing laundry and grocery shopping for the week.

Then there are lazy Saturdays when you just say ‘screw it’ and watch netflix all day.

And there are the ‘let’s go on an adventure’ Saturdays. Those magical ones when you jump in the car, pick a place, and let time tell where you’ll end up.

All Saturdays with Harry are the best.

You wake up at 7:30 in the morning, taking a deep breath to slowly coax yourself out of sleep. You point your toes to the end of the bed and raise your arms in the air, stretching luxuriously in your bed. Letting out a satisfied sigh, your eyes flutter open. You stare at the ceiling where the blinds have let in little trails of light. Your serene moment is interrupted when Harry lets out a loud, choking snore, signaling that he’s also beginning to wake up. You roll your eyes and strip the covers off yourself, pulling down your night shirt that has ridden up during the night. You roll over to face him. His left hand is shielding his face from the light intruding the room. You start softly tugging at his fingers one by one, stopping at the fourth one where a brushed silver band is.

“Hey. Sleepyhead,” you announce.

“Mmm,” he utters back in response.

“You forgot to take one of your rings off.”

His eyes open slightly, he squints, trying to get used to the light. He looks at his hand, palm facing you. He smiles and lets his hand fall to his side over the covers. “No I didn’t.”

You blink at him, furrowing your eyebrows as if to ask “what do you mean?”

“I’ve decided that this one’s gonna be like my cross. I just won’t ever take it off.” He starts playing with the ring, twisting it around.

“So does that mean I need to wear mine all the time?” you ask.

“No. Yours is really heavy. I don’t blame yeh if you never wear it, honestly.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you retort.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, in a low voice, his left dimple appearing over the scruff on his cheek.

You smile, then snort. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” You pull the rest of the covers off, revealing a black boxer-wearing Harry and the stark contrast of black ink on his olive skin. “We’ve got lots of chores to get done today, Harry.”

He jumps up from the bed, saluting you. “Right-o, madame!”

He helps you strip the bed of the sheets, rolling them into a ball to carry to the laundry room. You go into the bathroom to wash up while he starts the first load of the day. You’re leaning over the bathroom counter picking at your face when Harry walks in and smacks your butt. “Stop doing that,” he orders you. You smack him back. “Stop, like you don’t do this all the time too,” you pout. Your heels land back on the floor and you turn on the faucet to wash your hands. He’s brushing his teeth and he bumps his hip into yours. “Oi, bony bum,” you squeak. He flashes a big, foamy smile at you as you walk out and into the closet where you change into running shorts and one of Harry’s old white t-shirts. “I’ll be in the kitchen!” you holler in his direction and you pad down the stairs. Thankfully, the kitchen is relatively clean, but you set out to clear out old food from the refrigerator and find a way to repurpose the produce that was left behind during the week.

You pull out some zucchini, mushrooms and peppers, and a pie shell that almost has freezer burn. Holding your chin, you ponder for a moment. Standing up straight, you head towards the pantry and find allspice, cinnamon, walnuts, brown sugar, and flour. You then make your way over to the fridge again, grabbing milk, eggs, and butter. “I love myself,” you mumble as you think about the zucchini bread and quiche you’re about to make. As you’re reaching up to open a cabinet and grab a mixing bowl, you hear a snicker behind you. On your tiptoes, you turn around and see Harry grinning at you.

“What?” you ask, innocently.

Harry grabs his chest and sighs dramatically, smiling. “I love myself,” he repeats. He tries to hold in his giggles but he fold over, hands on his knees, full-on laughing now.

You roll your eyes and bring down the bowl. “Keep at it and see if I give you any breakfast.”

You feel two lanky arms snake around your waist then. Harry rubs his scruffy chin up and down your neck. “But I’m a growin’ boy. And you make the best breakfasts,” he mumbles.

“You are most certainly not a growing boy, but compliments will get you everywhere,” you chuckle.

Harry gives you a squeeze. “Need any help, darling?” 

You shrug as you unwrap a stick of butter to leave softening on a plate. “I think I’m alright in here. The downstairs bathroom, however…” You almost feel him groan before you hear it. 

“Please not the bathrooms, love. Anythin’ but the bathrooms. They’re never up to par with your standards,” he complains.

You turn around to face him. “Okay, let’s make some deals here, then,” you say, trying to be serious, but Harry’s still rubbing his face up and down your neck. “We’ve got...the sitting room...the study...the shrubbery needs a trimming...and all your bloody laundry.”

Harry stops cold in his tracks. “MY laundry?” He questions. You smile up at him knowingly. You had said that just to get a reaction out of him. You nuzzle into his neck now, knowing that he’ll do whatever you ask of him if you keep at it.

“Will you start with just taking out the garbage then? Hmm?,” you ask sweetly, giving him your best doe eyes.

He crinkles his nose down at you. “Why are you so fookin’ cute, hmm?” You smile and shrug as if you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Yes,” he says, kissing your left cheek, then your right. “I will take out the rubbish,” he finishes, leaving a hard, fast kiss on your lips.

You know he is done with his first chore when you hear music coming from the record player in the living room. After you put both the quiche and the bread tin in the oven, you switch over the sheets from the washer to the dryer and head upstairs to grab the sorted laundry sitting in your closet. As you walk downstairs with a basket on your hip, you stop midway to take in a sight. Harry has grabbed the duster from the utility closet and is using it as a microphone. He is full-on putting on a show for your two cats who are sitting atop the armrests of the sofa. You lean against the banister as you watch from afar. He’s now giving the cats a performance of Toto’s “Africa” and you just cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles. As the chorus plays, Harry gets on his knees, eyes closed and his free hand in the air. 

It’s gonna take a lot to take me away from yooouuuu

There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever doooo

I bless the rains down in Aaaafricaaaaa

You take a seat on the stairs at this point, watching the whole performance until the end while Harry plays the air keyboard. As the song ends, you whoop and applaud at his little number. Breathless, he turns to you and gives a dramatic bow. “Encore!” you yell and he blushes, placing the duster on a side table as he saunters over to you. “Did yeh like that?” he asks. “Amazing,” you beam down at him. “Best rendition I’ve ever seen.” He smiles. “Yeh? You reckon I should try for a record deal?” he inquires. You let out a wide mouth laugh. “Ahaha, yes, for sure,” you say as you get up to begin the next load of laundry.

Around 10:30, the house is spotless and breakfast is made. “Harryyy,” you call. You hear the back door open and Harry appears, little shards of greenery on his shirt and sunglasses from where he’s been trimming the hedges. “Will you put on the kettle while I fold the sheets, please? Food is ready.”

You both sit at the breakfast bar to eat, your legs grazing each other’s as you eat in silence. You think to yourself that you can’t wait to take a nap, the ever-elusive luxury that you sometimes grant yourself. After you’re both finished and the leftovers are put up and dishes clean, Harry goes upstairs for a quick shower while you sit in the living room to fold clothes and watch Chopped. When he comes downstairs, he sees what you’re watching. “Oh no,” he says, alarmed. “Noo, no no.”

“What?” you ask.

“Every time you watch this show you get all confident thinking you could make edible meals out of the crazy stuff that they use. So you put all these weird things on the shopping list and we end up getting takeaway like, three times,” he explains, very seriously. 

You laugh at him. “God, you make it sound like I’m the worst chef. I could probably win on that show, thank you.”

“Yeah, you say that, but you’re not the one who has to pretend you like it even if it’s horrendous,” he replies.

“Well, Gordon Ramsay, if you’re so picky, why don’t you grab a couple of cookbooks and pick out some recipes for next week. That way we can make a list and do the shopping after I take a shower.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I will do just that. No weird stuff this week,” he trails off as he turns to the kitchen to grab some books. 

When you’re showered and dressed, you come downstairs to find Harry with the reusable shopping bags and his boots on. “Someone’s keen on getting to the shops, are we?” you mimic his accent, uttering a phrase you hear all too often from him. He makes a face and crosses his arms. “Just a regular comedian you are, yeah?” You do a little shimmy in response as you walk past him to the door to grab your shoes and bag.

While on your way to the store, you hold Harry’s free left hand, playing with his wedding ring, twisting it around like he does. The silence is natural, comfortable. “What are yeh doin’?” He asks, a breathy smile on his face. “Just looking at it. I like seeing it when you don’t have all your other rings on. Feels special.”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “It is special, pet.”

“I know,” you reply. 

“Hey…” you begin after a brief pause.

“Yes?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised but eyes still on the road in front of him.

“I love you,” you smile straight at him. His dimples appear in full force, making your heart flutter a little. He pulls your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles a handful of times. “Love you, love you so much.”

You make the shopping quick as you’re both in need of a little nap. You grab items and check them off the list while Harry pushes the cart and sneaks in treats every couple of aisles. He does this every week and you pretend like you don’t notice, because half the treats are things he’s picked out for you.

When you get home and put the food away, the sleepy silence is weighing heavily. You grab Harry’s hand from the kitchen and pull him upstairs to the freshly made bed. Frankly you don’t care if it gets mussed up before nighttime. Harry takes his jeans off as you slide in under the covers. You’re thankful you are wearing a shirt dress as you don’t even want to think about changing. Your eyes are already closed when he gets in and pulls you towards him, wrapping his legs around yours. “Your feet are so cold, pet,” he says. “I know,” you say, still with your eyes closed. “S’why I need you to keep them warm.” He kisses the top of your head and that’s the last thing you remember before drifting off.

When you awake, the sun is sitting lazy and low. You check your watch to see that it’s nearly 7 in the evening. Harry’s snores are soft as you peek up at him. His eyelashes, you swear, reach the middle of his face. You try smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows but just end up petting his hair, giving his head soft scratches on the way down. He stirs a bit, pulling you closer to him and letting out a quiet groan. “...’time s’it?” he asks.

“Almost seven, my love.” you whisper as if he were still sleeping.

His next groan is louder and you feel him stretch beside you. “That might have been the best nap of my entire life.”

“Quite a bold statement from the King of Naps.”

“I know, right?” he says, snuggling in close. “I’m still so sleepy, though.”

“Me too,” you yawn.

“So...we’re getting noodles for dinner, right?” he asks, one eye open, peeking up at you to see your reaction.

You lean over and give him a loud, dramatic kiss on the lips. “You know me so well.”

Saturdays with Harry are the best.

[decadent-hag]

raum, leviathan, lamia

raum: do you have a tendency to hoard anything? if so, what?

HAHAHA do i ever. Actual Hoarding runs in my family and i definitely inherited some of it. The main thing i hoard is books which, at this point, could still be called “collecting” but when I was in college and my depression was really bad i was prone to hoarding actual garbage. My dorm (i had a double room all to myself) was FULL of bags and bags of empty plastic bottles, stacks of newspapers, and broken down cardboard that I just couldn’t seem to bring down to the recycling bin. I had two closets meant for clothes that were stuffed full of the plastic bottles.  I think the newspapers were the worst culprit bc I kept them not out of laziness, but an actual inability to throw them away. It seemed wrong to get rid of that much paper and ALL THAT INFO what if I needed or wanted to look at that paper again???? Needless to say my sister is gonna have to keep an eye on me when I get old. 

leviathan: what do you believe lies in the unexplored areas of the ocean?

god, some really cool, terrifying shit. Im terribly afraid of the ocean itself but Im fascinated by sea creatures. At this point, theres so much we don’t know about it that every single Insane Sea Monster folktale could probably be real. I believe it. 

lamia: how do you feel about children?

I absolutely do not want any and i never have. I don’t hate kids though. I just feel generally uncomfortable around them and have no idea how to communicate with them. I also find them to be overwhelming and chaotic and their constant ability to put themselves into dangerous situations turns my anxiety up to 11. Im also incredibly independent and HATE being obligated to other people. Which makes me weirdly overprotective but also a little neglectful when it comes to kids. That being said I love, love, love holding babies. I’ll hold a baby all day long as long as I can give it back to someone. I used to nanny for one of my cousins and the only way her daughter would fall asleep was if i held her to my front with her head on my shoulder and rocked back and forth. It was only during those moments that I had any maternal feeling whatsoever. It’s not ANY baby i see but there are certain little ones that i seem to connect with and instead of being wary of them its all I can do not to shout “HEY LEMME HOLD THAT BABY”. Not sure what that is. One of my other cousins just had a baby boy named river and I couldnt put him down.