#because my dog of 12 years died a week ago

[rebellum]

God writing that last post was so, so hard.

Rn I feel the weight of every sadness and every bad thing that's happened to me since I was 9 and had my first important pet death

[covetyou]

for one night only

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: Oral sex, face fucking 👀, fingering, addiction, minor mention of clowns (no descriptions, mentioned very briefly), drug use (not Frankie, minor mention), squirting, slightly subby Frankie. word count: 4.5k summary: Frankie Morales has a problem. Not the drink. Or the drugs. Frankie Morales has a problem saying no. One night only, one night only… In the morning this feeling will be gone It has no chance going on

A/N: I feel like one of those ao3 notes where the author is like "soz this took 4 years to update, my whole family died and then I had to move country 12 times, and now I live on the moon and have to send all updates down to earth via the postal sysem", but my dog was diagnosed with a heart murmur on Tuesday (on Catfish Day, no less!) and then on Wednesday I was cranked open and scraped out, because I have the luck of beign born with a cervix. Neither of those things are good conditions to write smut under, I've found out, least of all when it's also the hottest days of the year so far.

So, here we are, 2 days late, and I'm not asking for forgiveness or apologising, I just really like to complain and make lighthearted jokes over serious things to make myself feel better. happiest belated Catfish Day, pocket pals 💛

same reader character as in jester little bit more 👀 this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

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From the moment Will proposed it three weeks ago, Frankie knew tonight was going to be a stupid idea. Still, here he was, walking into the fucking circus of all places, staring at a glowing sign that was taunting him with the words he'd told himself every time he'd ever gave in to the temptation of booze or coke.

For one night only.

Seven months of sobriety didn't make that temptation go away, and even though this was his longest stint clean in some time, today was not the day to be pushing himself. Work had exhausted him and tested his patience to the extreme, and now he was spending his one free evening in a place that was more overwhelming than it could ever be enjoyable.

It's not that his friends weren't helping, either. They were trying, just like Frankie was trying to enjoy himself, hoping each time they asked him if he was doing okay that it would suddenly be true. But the smell of beer and the press of warm bodies against his as they shuffled into the Big Top made him feel less and less in control as time went on.

It didn't get better from there.

In the Big Top, somewhere between the chaos and the elegance, and back to chaos again, he'd lost himself in it all - that was until he was distracted by a distinct smell brought into the big top by a troupe of clowns that he knew would lead him nowhere good.

That nowhere good turned out to be a shitty looking trailer half covered by a tarp, with "Bravo"scrawled on the door in sharpie. If you'd asked him how he got here, he wouldn't exactly know - he just knew it involved hearing a name, lying to his friends about needing the bathroom, and sneaking away while they were distracted by a sideshow game he had no interest in.

He knew the road he was heading down. That for one night only sign burning in his mind as he stood there, fighting a war inside his own head.

Then, like an angel covered in soft furnishings, you'd turned up, dumping blankets with an oomph onto a cart behind him, wearing what looked to be nothing more than a t-shirt and sandals as you turned to look at him, took one look at the twitching in his hand and the hesitation in his body before you told him he didn't want what was on the other side of that door.

And Frankie knew you were right.

You were the most right thing he'd seen all day. So, when you beckoned him, he obeyed, following behind you like a starving puppy as you led the way through the mess of trailers, to what must have been your own.

He'd watched as you climbed the steps ahead of him, sequinned ass on display with each step upwards, watching it sway and jiggle as you ascended, only pulling his eyes away when you turned and looked down on him with a knowing look.

That's how he found himself here. Surrounded by soft things and delicate lighting. Away from one kind of temptation but sat right in front of another, watching as you grip the edge of your t-shirt, pulling it high enough that he can see a strip of your belly as you gesture back to those impossibly short shorts.

"Do you mind if I...?"

Frankie nods, waving his hand and stuttering over too many words as he tries, and fails, to be unaffected by you and what he can only imagine you'd feel like beneath his hands.

"No, sure, fine. Uh. Go ahead."

You laugh as you start to undress, letting your t-shirt fall to cover you once more. He watches you peel those too tight shorts down your legs, grunting with the effort as they roll and pinch against your thighs. Your skin bulges and ripples as they roll down your legs, and Frankie can think of nothing but sinking his itching fingers into your soft skin and anchoring them there as he dives head first into the place hidden just beyond the hem of your shirt.

"You made the right choice, y'know. I'm much more interesting than what Bravo the Clown has to offer," you say with a wink, catching him watching you just as your shorts pool at your feet and you step out of them. "He might have his head up his ass, but his head can't touch his ass like mine can. Tea?"

With a nod, Frankie watches as you move to the kitchen - a small counter with a water kettle and some mugs, and not much else - before you call back to him.

"You can get comfortable too, if you want."

And so he does, pulling off his hat first, before unbuckling his belt and tugging it from his pants with a sigh.

When you come back, you hand him a mug, which he accepts with a thank you before gripping the burning ceramic hard in his hand, rubbing his other along the rough fabric of his jeans.

"You need a distraction," you say, with a nod to the mug burning his palm. "What do you usually do when... y'know?"

"Keep busy, usually," Frankie says, looking down at his hand, flexing it until the sting subsides.

"Let's find you something to focus on then. An activity. Something good."

Frankie's mind immediately goes where he knows it shouldn't. You'd seen him struggle, and you'd helped him, the least he could do was keep it in his pants and his mind out of the gutter.

But then, when you sit down opposite him, crossing your legs as you take a sip of your own tea, all he can see is the gusset of your panties, and he knows he's ruined. He doesn't even try to hide his cock as it hardens in his jeans each moment he spends looking at you, so casual and relaxed in this space you brought him to.

You know, of course. If he was paying even a bit of attention to what your own eyes were doing, he'd see that you're well aware of the affect you're having on him. Since he looked up at you from the steps, part of you had been working out how you'd get him beneath you again, and now it was looking like all you'd need to do was snap your fingers and all your dreams would come true.

Some might say that would be manipulative. The man needed a calm place to be for a little while, and you were happy to provide it, no payment necessary. But, with the way he was looking at you, pleading with those beautiful brown eyes - combined with the shockwaves sent to your cunt every time his voice rumbled from his chest - it was clear you were both fighting a losing battle against something much better to give in to than whatever quick fix Dieter could rustle up.

A blaring ring of a phone pulls you both out of your thoughts, and he scrambles for his pocket, pulling out a battered looking phone with a crack across the screen and pressing it to his ear.

"Hey, man," he says into the phone, not meeting your eye.

Here, in the quiet oasis of your trailer, with nothing but the distant tinkle of music to disturb the peace, you can hear every word from the other end of the line clear as day.

"Fish, where the hell are you?"

And now, maybe it is manipulative of you to stretch to put your mug down on the counter, drawing his eyes back to you.

"Uh, just had to get away."

When your fingers slowly drag up your thighs, tugging the hem of your shirt upwards and over your panties, you don't miss the way his throat bobs in a heavy swallow, his eyes going glassy as he tries to focus on the voice practically screaming down the line over the noise of carnival music and chattering crowds.

"You back at the van?"

And maybe the leg you put on the coffee table is a little unnecessary, but it works. Soon his eyes are drawn down to between your thighs, and the small scrap of fabric covering you that he'd been trying so desperately not to look at.

"No, no. I had to -" you draw your shirt a little higher, the soft pooch of your belly and the waistband of your panties now on show for him. "- mierda. Just some place quiet. It's chaos out there."

"We can leave, hermano. I told you, you never have to force yourself through this shit. You want out, we're out."

Your hands continue up, and up, pulling your shirt with them and then, just when your breasts threaten to spill out of the bottom of it, you let go, stretching your arms high above your head with a smile.

"Hello? Fish? Catfish? You're worrying me, man. Where are you?"

Raising your eyebrow, with one last ace up your sleeve, you let your thigh fall to the side, and watch the entire house of cards come falling down.

"I gotta go."

"Fra -"

"I'll text you."

The line goes dead, and Frankie quickly taps out a message in hopes to keep Santi quiet for at least a little while. When his phone is face down on the seat beside him, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and rubs his hands on his rough jeans once more.

"So, Fish," you start, drawing his attention back to you, where you sit tracking your fingertips slowly up and down yourself. "Think of anything fun we could do?"

With a sly smile, biting your lip, you shuffle your hips forward. No sooner are the tips of your fingers dipping below the elastic of your panties, and he's up, out of his seat.

And straight on the floor in front of you, having taken one big step over the coffee table to get to you before wedging himself between your spread legs. And fuck does he want to touch - dive right in and feast - but instead he sits back on his haunches, staring up at you from his position on his knees, looking absolutely wrecked.

"That what you want, pretty boy?" you say, as he wipes one hand across his chin, the other balling into a fist in his lap.

He's nervous. Impulsive, sure, but hesitant. So, you reach for his hand before it falls to join his other in his lap, and press it into the soft meat of your thigh, squeezing down, before releasing and letting him take the reins.

His exploration is tentative, at first. Soft sweeps of his hand from your knee to your hip, and back again. Watching up at you as you relax down into the cushions around you, sighing and smiling each time his hands trace a new patch of you and light it on fire.

When his other hand joins the first, taking its place on your other thigh, you whisper breathy words of encouragement to him - words that sound so loud in his ears but he knows are barely audible above the sound of his own heavy breathing.

That's all he needs to start pressing his mouth to your bare skin. Kisses to your inner knee, small nibbles to the swell of your thigh. Each and every press of his mouth is met with a giggle - his facial hair tickling your delicate skin.

"I see he called you Catfish," you say through another giggle as his kisses move higher, following the trail of his hands.

"Yeah?" he says, his breath ghosting your thigh, smiling as you giggle again. And fuck, even if he never gets any higher than this, no closer to salvation than right here, the bulge of your thighs in his grip, this would be distraction enough to fight through fifty more bad days.

"It's the whiskers, isn't it?" you ask, laughing again when he scratches his beard lightly on your inner thigh.

But then, he's face-to-face with the tiny scrap of fabric covering you - so much smaller than he expected when he was sat staring from the other side of your trailer - looking up at you now that you're quiet, giggles subsided but one brewing just beneath the surface.

"Or," you start, as you reach down for his face, dragging your thumb across the swell of his plush bottom lip. "Or it's because you're a bottom feeder. Catfish by name, catfish by nature."

A soft kiss to your cunt over your panties comes before you even finish your taunt, and you find yourself groaning out his bizarre name not once, but twice as he cuts you off each time. Not that you mind, of course, and he doesn't seem to either. Each moan you make makes him press deeper and deeper kisses to you, until he's dragging his mouth up and down the seam of your clothed pussy, desperately trying to taste you.

Your cunt, as desperate to get to him as he is to her, throbs, trickling slick as he mouths at you, teasing your clit with nudges of his nose. And then he's licking you - not where you want him, but near enough, as he licks a soft stripe up one side of your cunt then the other, tasting your skin where your panties don't quite cover.

What you really want is to tear your underwear off and let him devour you, but you don't. That would mean pushing him away, and he's far too lost in it for you to even want to attempt it. So, instead, you reach down and yank the thin fabric to the side just as he takes another soft bite of your thigh, and delight in his gasp when he takes his first proper look at you.

"Oh, shit."

Whatever restraint he was showing before flies right out of the window when he can finally see your pussy. He dives in, tonguing your entrance, tasting every drop of arousal he's pulled from you since he started his teasing. Within a few licks, you've slouched further down the bench, spreading your thighs wider as his hands wrap around them and pin you down.

You feel better than he could imagine. Your thighs are thick and plush - the fat of them easily gripped and kneaded in his palms as he messily eats you, pressing his tongue into your hole only to feel you clench around him.

It doesn't get any less messy, or more refined, as he laps at you. It's like he's ravenous, and maybe he is, but it's too much, too fast, too soon, and not enough all at once.

"Slow," you gasp, rocking your hips, hoping he'll get the picture. And, to his credit, he does. He pulls back, looking between your furrowed brows and the wet mess he's licked over your cunt, and instead takes a slow swipe from your hole to your clit.

"That's it," you moan as his tongue teases around you. He avoids your sensitive nub for a few strokes, choosing instead to circle it, to tease you. But then his broad circles swirl tighter and tighter until you're groaning out into the tiny space. "Right there. You've got it. Oh, fuck."

Frankie moans right back. He's like a rock in his own pants, so hard it's bordering on painful, but he can't bring himself to pull a hand away from you to adjust himself. Instead, he uses his finger tips to pry you open a little, spreading your slit wide for him to lick into before focussing back on your clit and slipping a finger easily inside you.

This is how you're going to come. Onto this beautiful mans tongue, his fingers buried inside you, your t-shirt rucked up higher and higher by your own hands, fingers pinching your own nipples, head thrown back.

"Fuck, so close."

He groans, nodding into your cunt, his tongue swiping up and down on your clit with each bob of his head. And he looks beautiful doing it - eyes screwed shut as he moans and whines into your pussy, wanting nothing more than to please you, planting a delicious seed in your mind as he gets more and more desperate to make you come.

"Give me another finger, pretty boy," you ask, biting back a good boy when he slips a second thick digit into your fluttering pussy.

Reaching down, you stroke his face, pulling his attention up to you as you thread your fingers through his messy hair while he laps and suckles away at your clit, fingers pumping shallowly inside you.

"You want me to use that pretty mouth?" you ask, and the groan he gives you in return almost sets you off then and there.

"Oh fuck, that's good. That's good," you pant, taking a deep breath to try to hold back your rapidly approaching orgasm. "Stick out that tongue for me, pretty boy."

Frankie, ever the obedient little thing, sticks out his tongue for you, groaning when you slip a finger across the wet muscle and into his mouth, letting him suck on it for a little before swiping it across your own clit.

"Keep it out for me."

"Uh-huh."

You tug him closer, scratching gently at his scalp when his tongue slides against your pussy, before holding him in place.

"That's it. Keep it out. You're going to make me come, pretty boy. Keep those fingers right there too. Don't you dare take them out."

The look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know right then. This is exactly what he needed, the perfect antidote to his seemingly inevitable downward spiral. He looks entirely fucked out - face a mess, lips swollen, facial hair drenched in saliva and your own slick. Then, with a small nod of his head, you start to move, rocking gently against his face at first, before you pick up the pace.

You're not sure you've felt anything better. His fingers are deep and he's curling them inside you over and over, pressing against a spongy spot you're all too familiar with. You're grinding your clit against his tongue - using his whole face to get yourself off, alternating between the smooth slick swipe of his tongue before the rough scratch of his facial hair briefly catches your clit, and back, over and over. It's driving you insane. You're driving yourself insane, but you can't - won't - stop. How could you when he's panting, practically sobbing into your pussy, as you use him.

Now, you really are going to come. You rock against his face more rapidly, movements more precise now, fucking yourself onto his fingers and grinding your clit into his tongue, fingers tugging and pulling at his hair.

Then, your back is arching off the bench, a loud, keening groan leaving you, your fingers twitching and releasing from his hair, your hips stuttering as it all gets too much. Anyone else, any other day, and this would have spelled a ruined orgasm for you and a terrible nights sleep. But Frankie doesn't let up. Your fingers release him and he continues, nodding his own face against you exactly as you liked it, fingers curling, and curling, and curling so wetly inside you you're sure you're going to burst.

Until you do. You convulse there right on the bench, clit twitching against Frankie's tongue as you gush against his fingers, his chin, coming so hard you're sure you've left the atmosphere.

It's only when your voice finally comes back to you, your silent orgasm all but wrung out of you, that you tell him to stop - practically beg him - and collapse back into the cushion, still twitching.

Frankie sits between your legs, pressing feather light kisses to your mound, as you come down. He looks so peaceful there, between your thick thighs, soothing himself with your body while he ignores his own aching cock.

"What's your real name, pretty boy?" you ask with a lazy smile, swiping your thumb across his chin and the wetness still glistening there.

"Francisco. Frankie. It's Frankie," he mumbles into your leg, finally shifting to alleviate some of the strain in his jeans.

"Come up here and kiss me, Frankie."

On aching knees, Frankie pulls himself up. He moves to hover over you, to hold himself off of you in case he gets carried away, but you pull him down, pressing your mouth to his and tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mhm. You want a hand with that, Frankie?" you ask, feeling the solid length now pushing into your thigh through his jeans.

"Wanna fuck you," he gasps into your mouth, rutting and grinding forward as you scrape blunt nails up his back.

And it makes you freeze. Frankie, in that moment, is certain he's fucked up. That's not what this is.

But then he hears you curse softly under your breath, looking over to a cabinet as you try to wrack your brain for when you last restocked your stash of condoms. Too fucking long ago, is the only answer that comes to mind, and you're certain you don't have any.

"I don't have any fucking condoms - goddamnit," you say with a pained sigh, trying to stop tears of frustration pricking in your eyes. You want it too. If the bulge in his pants is anything to go by, you'd have the time of your life riding him straight through till morning.

"But we can do something else?" you say, hopeful that he doesn't want to go just yet as you reach down and start stroking him over his pants. "I think I owe you that much."

Fuck does it feel good, having your hand stroke him. He wants nothing more than to say yes - not to cash in on what he's owed, but because you feel so damn good. Still, he knows it wouldn't be enough. He'd had enough tragic experiences and fumbles in the past few months that he knew the only way he was getting off was from his own hand or by fucking hard into something soft and wet, or he wasn't coming at all.

"No," he says softly, kissing you again and shifting his hips back from your grip. "No, it's okay. And, I'm not - shit - don't feel guilty, I'm not trying to do that, I'm just - it's just - uh - fuck - it's difficult. For me to, uh..."

You lay a comforting hand on his side as he trails off. "It's okay."

If your own shame had ever taught you anything, you know he's about to apologise for something that doesn't need an apology.

"Can I show you something cool, Frankie?" you say instead, cutting him off before he could let the shame eat at him.

Frankie nods, and lets you gently push him back and off the bench seat you're both awkwardly lying on.

Hauling yourself up, you reach for something under the bench closest to the end of your trailer, and pull, throwing all your weight back until the bench is shifting forward and a hidden piece of the puzzle is pulling up and out, where you can push it down onto the coffee table.

You climb onto it then - the pillows and blankets making so much sense now that he sees this is your bed - and pull a cord on the ceiling, letting it rattle and shift until there's a soft clunk.

"Come here."

Frankie follows, wary of the stability of the whole thing only for a second, climbing up behind you as you lay down. Sitting beside you, he follows your eyes up and up until they reach the ceiling.

Only, there isn't one. Instead, what he's faced with is a window to the endless sky, lit with streaks of light bouncing off of clouds, turning them a rainbow of colors as they shift and sway.

"This is what I do when everything feels too much," you say, looking straight up into the night sky. Frankie lies beside you then, looking up into the abyss alongside you in that tiny space.

"I lie here for long enough that all the big and overwhelming things feel small again. Something about looking out into the universe really puts stuff into perspective, y'know?"

"I think I do," he says with a smile, just as your hand finds his arm.

You lie there together for a little while. Talking a little, but mostly just looking out into the sky, occasionally remarking on the shapes of the circus lights beaming into the heavens.

"Fuck," You say suddenly, and Frankie turns to see you pressing your hands into your eyes, blocking any view of the sky above as you lie together in your trailer. "Fuck."

"You okay?" he says, worried that he's over stepped his mark, stayed too long and made a weird thing weirder just by sticking around.

But then you're pouncing on him, pushing him back into your bed, and latching onto his mouth in a feverish kiss. It's all you can do to not rub your bare cunt on his jeans in desperation for more, because that's just it. You want more, condoms be damned.

"What if," you say between kisses, "I could get condoms - what if - I could grab some right now - do you - do you wanna...?"

Frankie thinks it's the most obvious thing in the world - he is, after all, still rock solid in his pants. No amount of staring at the night sky seems to be making it go away. In fact, he's just got harder and harder since laying down with you and having your hands dance delicate patterns onto his bare arms.

His hands find your ass, pulling you further into him, dragging your leg over his own and your cunt along his thigh, making you grind down into him and moan into his mouth. He doesn't exactly have words for how much he wants it, just that he knows he's as desperate for it as he was to be buried face first between your thighs. So, he groans back, your hand finding a perfect spot on the crotch of his jeans, rubbing and kneading the solid lump of his cock through the denim.

"S'that a yes?" you mumble, and as you pull away, staring into the wrecked glazed eyes of one another, you both laugh, catching each others mouths in another hurried kiss.

"It's a hell fucking yes, hermosa."

At that, you dart up. Or you try to, at least. It's more of an awkward roll and a flop as you try to pull your leg from Frankie without causing any damage, before you crawl off the end of the bed and grab for your shirt and those tiny panties again - wherever the fuck they are. Balance should be your thing, but right now as you're frantically shoving clothes on, anyone would think you didn't do this for a living.

"Wait here," you pant, hopping into your shoes. "I will be right back."

And as you leave the trailer, the door slamming behind you as you practically run away into the night, Frankie thinks of how lucky he is to have found salvation in a place like this - a soft little oasis amidst so much chaos.

this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

tags: @beefrobeefcal @schnarfer @for-a-longlongtime

[multifan2022]

Golden Lies

Heres another new one that has been in my wips for who knows how long.. Let me know!!

“I volunteer!” 

The first thought through your head after hearing that is ‘who said that?’ Who would volunteer for the 69th Hunger Games.. Well the games at all, but why now? 

It isn't until people start turning around and looking at you, the 17 year old who almost escaped being reaped, that you realize whose voice you heard. You heard your own, because as soon as you saw little Cissa being pulled onto stage your heart broke. 

Cissa was your neighbor, she had just turned 12 the day before the reaping. You would be turning 18 in a week and a half. The poor girl cried for twenty minutes when she got a papercut opening seeds, she wouldn't last in the games. 

Not that you had a much better chance when it came down to it. The biggest difference was the only family you had was two grandparents, both very old and one sick. Cissa was the middle child of 5, her older twin brothers and her younger twin sisters. It would devastate them all if something happened to her, your grandparents wouldn't live long to mourn you. 

The peacekeepers hands on you barely caught your attention as they forced you to switch places. The only good part you could see out of this, was that Cissa wouldn't be rereaped. You had saved at least one of their kids, a small payment for all the times they watched your grandparents during the harvest for the last 8 years. 

Cress Amberpath, the light pink skinned Escort of your district, is practically vibrating with happiness when you reach the stage. There had never been a volunteer from your district while he worked here. He pulled you into a weird hug congratulating you before pulling you towards the mic. “Is there anything you would like to say to little Cissa, Dearie?” 

You nodded, pulled yourself together and looked at her family. Her mother was already in tears, you being like a niece to her, while she clung to her daughter. The older twin boys who were your age nodded, letting you know they would take care of her. While their father nodded, letting you know he would take care of your grandparents. It all happened within seconds, and suddenly you were ok. 

Everything was going to be ok. So you laughed and nodded again “Hey Cissy, take care of Finnick for me ya?” Cissa turned back to you, tears streaming down her face as she nodded and cracked a smile at the inside joke. When her family started laughing along with you, Cress spoke again “Whos Finnick my dear! Do you have a beau we should all know about!” 

You knew this next part would maybe piss some people off, but you were off to die so who cares. You shook your head “It's my dog.. Because there was a magazine we found the same day I found this puppy, and on the cover it said ‘Is golden boy Finnick Odair, a dog?’ Cissy thought it was a sign that we should name him Finnick.” 

To your utter surprise, Cress laughed.. Hard, like bent over laughing a genuine laugh before speaking “I wish we could see that man's face when he hears this, it would be priceless! But onto the boys!” When he left you in your spot and walked towards the other bowl, you scanned the crowd for the one friend you had. 

Hardin Bellbrand. 

A boy you went to school with, who worked the same field as you. He was your only confidant, the only person you trusted fully in this world. He was there when your parents died, you were there when he was diagnosed with an untold disease a few years ago. Hardin had been pulled from the fields, and was treated. Perk of being the Mayor's son, you guess. Now he could be out and about as long as he took his pill everyday. 

If he missed his pills within a few days he would start to have severe pain. Next would come the sweats and puking alongside hallucinations. He wasn't fit to be in the games ethier, and thankfully he is a year older than you so this is his last year. 

You finally made eye contact with him, and could see the heartbreak and sadness in them. Your ears start to buzz when he nods and looks away. You're frantically shaking your head as you hear Cress call some name you don't know. Your feet are moving before you realize it, mouth open screaming “NO” as you realize what Hardin is thinking. 

 Over your painfully screams to your sick friend, his voice rings clear “I volunteer as tribute!” The Mayor and his wife start screaming now as well, neither wanting to lose their only child. Both knowing even if he was fit and healthy, he's not a killer. While they are getting drug off stage by peacekeepers, Hardin is making his way to the stage. 

He completely bypasses Cress who is practically dying in excitement and walks straight to you. While you're shaking your head, he smiles sadly and wraps you in a hug whispering over and over that it's ok. Even though it's anything but. Cress pulls him off you and towards the microphone. “Well!! What a turn of events!! Not ONE but TWO volunteers!! Why did you volunteer young man??” 

Hardin turns his head and looks at you, that same sad smile present. “Couldn't let my best friend go off to fight without me.. She was gonna leave me in the fields to do all her work, can you believe that Cress?” He jokes and you know that he's going to make it through the process just fine. The struggle will be when the two of you are trying to survive in the arena. 

But you're dedicated to keeping him alive.. Even if it means killing yourself in the end. 

Hardin Bellbrand will be coming home. 

~~~~~~~

The train ride was excruciating, listening to Cress gush about how your ratings were already up due to there being volunteers in an outlying district. But since there were two of you, and you were best friends, he swore that it would be an easy win. There hadn't been a victor from District 9 in 25 years and he was dead. 

You and Hardin would be alone going into training, Cress would be your only guide during the next few weeks. You're both thankful for the fact the train rolls at 250 miles an hour, making your trip only a handful of hours. But your head was still pounding when you arrived. 

Cameras flashed and people screamed questions at you both as you were practically shoved from the train and into a car. Just to have it all happen again between the car and the tribute center. The only difference was this time you saw people holding out flowers. Cress stopped and gasped, turning back to you both, “We have never had gifts given to us before the games! This is such an honor, graciously accept them and show your love for the capitol!” 

You turned and nudge your head to one side, Hardin nodded and without speaking each of you took a side of the walkway. Men, women and children all screaming your name and touching your face or hair. Some had flowers that you would take and offer a smile and kind words back. You shake every hand you can reach, and even stop taking a few pictures. 

Somehow you even look happy, excited even to be here, which only drives the crowd crazier. When you and Hardin meet back up by the doors, you each have a handful of flowers and messy hair. Your hands find each other, fingers intertwining as you bow and smile to the crowd who just screams louder. 

Another car pulls up so the peacekeepers finish escorting you inside the huge building. Hardin looks around in amazement at the architecture and the size but all you can see is the bodies in the corner. A group of people who you assume are here to size up the competition and try to intimidate them. 

Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria, Finnick and Augustus along with their tributes are all sitting there glaring at you. Well all of them besides Finnick, who is the same age as Augustus who is the same age as you and Hardin. Just a bunch of 17 and 18 year olds that deserve to be anyone but here. Finnick was smiling at you, looking you up and down before leaning over and making a comment to Augustus who then smirks. 

The look on their faces makes your skin crawl, but you dont show it. Your upper lip pulling into a sneer as you fake gag in their direction causing Hardin to laugh as you keep walking towards the elevator. Thankfully disappearing from the Careers sight. 

~~~~

Finnick was tired.. 

Tired of being in the Capitol. Tired of kissing asses, tired of sleeping around, and tired of pretending like he hated every other tribute who walked through the door. But mostly he was just tired, he really needed a nap and a good shower. He was practically sleeping with his eyes open not listening to the others when he heard the crowd outside start screaming. 

He looked around quickly, thinking maybe one of the other careers had made their way outside. But no, the whole group was still there. As they all turned towards the door and waited, Finnick was stuck between relief and jealousy. Relief that maybe the people of the Capitol had found a new favorite and would leave him alone, and jealousy that the crowd was honestly being louder for whoever was outside than they were for him. 

The jealousy washed away though when the doors opened and a beautiful girl walked in with her escort and who Finnick assumed was her district partner. Arms full of flowers, hair ruffled from fingers running through it and cheeks pink from embarrassment. 

He knew right away by the lack of a Victor and the pink man escorting them that they were the tributes from District 9. While the guy looked around clearly amazed with the building, which to be honest happened to most of the tributes, the girl looked unimpressed. She rolled her eyes at her district mate, shouldered him a little before turning and noticing the group. 

Which also seemed to be unimpressive to her. 

While she looked them over, Finnick looked her over. She was tall for a girl, probably 5’7 or 5’8. Her hair was clean and down to the middle of her back, she was thin but not thin like most who came from her district. Definitely not thin like those from 12. More like the type of thin people get when they work the fields, which is probably what she did coming from 9. 

They both looked in shape while the girl looked a little healthier and a little stronger, Finnick knew that appearances were deceiving. While he was sizing her up she turned and locked eyes with him. By the look on her face, she yet again was not impressed. Finnick leaned over to Augustus and whispered “I think we should probably watch out for that one. But smile, make her think we are making fun of her.” 

Augustus, who was new to all of this, smiled condescendingly at her before she sneered at them. Laughed with her district mate and left, the two teens turning back to the other careers. “We need to watch them, that's the first time 9 hasnt been scared shitless when they walked in. Plus for whatever reason the crowd loved them, and that's always a problem.” Cashmere said, looking down at her nails before looking over at her brother who nodded. 

That was all that passed between the group before they all went up to watch the reapings. 

~~~~~~~~~

After hair was ripped out that you didn't even know existed, you were bathed and rubbed with an oil that made your skin seem tanned and shimmery. Makeup was smeared across your face as someone else was pulling at your hair. You sat quietly knowing that fussing was just going to make the process longer. Soon enough, but not soon enough you were left in just a robe in an empty room with nothing but a cot, a chair and a wardrobe. 

When the door opened, a dark skinned woman with her hair back in box braids stepped in. She had just a little gold makeup on, and a small gold rose tattooed behind her ear. She smiled genuinely at you before pulling you into a hug, when she pulled back she squeezed your shoulders. “I'm sorry you have to be here.” She said so quietly you almost missed it. 

All you did was nod and look down, but she put a hand under your chin and lifted your face. You could tell as she turned it and then looked at your hair that she was examining the team's work. Your eye make up was dramatic, a medium dark green on the lid, with orange brushed into brown that reminded you of leaves changing color. Your bottom lid had the same orange and brown along with dramatic winged eyeliner and false lashes. 

Your hair had a thick but slightly messy fishtail crown braid with the rest waterfalling down your back in waves. Small clips that had butterflies, bees and dragonflies on them had been placed seemingly at random around your head. A crown woven with flowers such as Cardinal flower, wood lilies, dotted gayflower, and multiple colors of milkweed rested on your head. The smell was amazing, they looked and smelled like they had just bloomed in the fields behind your home. The mulberries and huckleberries looked like they had been picked at their peak and preserved perfectly. 

“My name is Lavanna, I'm your and Hardin's main stylist. I will be designing all your outfits, I'm fresh out of school, this is my first game. But I plan to put you out there in a big way. Not to sound full of myself but I think the only person who could out do what I have planned for you is my younger brother Cinna.. And thankfully he's still in school.” Lavanna smiled at you before turning to the wardrobe and pulling out what you think are pieces of a dress. 

She helps you into a dress that is skin tight from the shoulders, down your arms and chest. Tight all the way to your hips where it had just enough room and stretch to walk before it reached along with a slit that went very very high up your right leg. The top, including your arms, was green like the forest then it started to mix and fade into a dark amberish color. Then it ombred down into a beautiful bright orange that reminded you of the sunsets back home. Again it felt like you were looking at the leaves changing. 

She helped you into orange heels that wrapped up your legs but thankfully had a thick heel. Last but not least she told you to raise your arms as she wrapped a belt around your waist. It perfectly blended in with the color of your dress, and attached was something out of a book. It looked like it belonged to royalty or a goddess, not you. 

Behind you was a long tulle train, the tulle barely colored to match the dress where it needed too. But at the bottom was leaves, they started green but turned into rich reds and bright vivid oranges and yellows. Leaf shapes stood out to you, yet again from back home. 

Birch, black walnut, black and red maple, northern pine oak and cottonwood leaves. Entwined into the leaves were other plants like fluffy cattails, golden wheat, and pampas grass. The only thing you could recognize that wasn't from your district in the entire outfit was pampas grass. All the flowers, all the leaves, even the berries in the crown were all something that grew in your district. 

When she turned you around and you caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror you had to step closer and touch the glass. You couldn't believe this was you, sure you had always been told you were pretty, but this was something else. With just some make up, a good proper shower and some fancy clothes you looked like a goddess. You wanted to cry, but couldn't bear to ruin the hours of work you had just gone through. 

Lavanna could tell you were at a loss for words, so she stepped forward, careful of the huge train she had created. She smiled at you in the mirror and spoke softly trying not to spook you. “I decided to go a different direction.. The whole farmers thing is a little played out, plus you volunteered for a young girl. And your friend volunteered to stay with you, so I thought you guys deserved something really special.” 

When you spoke, it was a whisper “I look like some type of goddess or something.. Like something out of the books in the district library.” You turned to her when she started chuckling, unsure if she was laughing at you or not but she shook her head. “That's what I was going for. Ceres and Saturn, the Goddess of Grain crop and Agriculture. She was also a fertility goddess but we don't need to get into that. And then Saturn God of abundance, wealth, agriculture and a few other unimportant things. Would you like to go see his outfit?” 

 You nodded silently, still stunned as you looked at yourself one last time. Then you followed Lavanna out into a hall, then down into an area outside that was full of people in costumes and chariots. You turned away refusing to look at the other tributes as you looked for Hardin. And when he appeared you were just as awestruck by his outfit as you had been by your own. But also by him, because he looked so much healthier than he had before. 

Hardin had gladiator sandals on with a toga that was tight to his chest and showing part of it. It was the same colors as yours but without all the filigree. He had a crown of leaves that matched the bottom of your train, it had the same berries and some branches on it. His dark curly hair was shiny and tamed for the first time, probably ever. He was also holding a very sharp looking scythe.  He looked like the god that would stand next to you, and in this moment he would. 

He stared at you in a daze, watching as the train and the bottom of the dress swished around you. He had always told you that you were beautiful, really one of the best looking girls in your age group back home. But now you really looked beautiful, not sweat covered and exhausted from a day in the fields. Even more tired because you knew you would need to come home and care for your grandparents before getting a few hours of sleep and doing it again. You looked like someone who could actually win. 

Finnick watched from the district four chariot. He had to force his jaw not to drop as he turned to the sound of heels clicking. His tributes were already waiting on the chariot, one dressed like a fisher the other like a mermaid. They looked great but nowhere near as breathtaking as you looked. 

It literally felt like someone slapped Finnick in the face when you walked in. The color of the dress perfectly sets off your skin tone. Your hair fell in just the right way to frame your face. The makeup was dramatic and made the color of your eyes pop. Whoever was styling you had done a fantastic job, but Finnick knew they had a gorgeous model to work with. 

He figured you would have looked beautiful in the normal farmer garb your district normally wore. He watched with slight jealousy as you laughed with the male tribute whose name he learned was, Hardin. Watching with a curious mind as the two of you pointed out leaves on your dress with bright eyes and laughed. 

He wished that he could be as carefree as you were in that moment. His thoughts were interpreted by a whack on the head. When he turned rubbing the sore spot Mags was smiling up at him with a knowing look. “You like her don't you.” She said as a statement and not a question. 

Finnick shook his head and looked around frantically, “First off, you know not to say things like that. Second, I dont even know her.. I just think..” his voice trailed off as he turned back to look at you. A woman who he assumed was your stylist was flitting around you tapping on things placed in your hair. He watched as small insects began to flutter their wings. 

His mouth moved without his brain telling it too, he felt so comfortable around Maggie that the facade he put up every single day outside of his home slipped. “I just think she's the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” As soon as it was out he coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had never said something like that, or felt so inclined to talk to someone. 

He watched as you and Hardin stepped up onto your chariot, you were now holding a small basket woven into a cornucopia. Your stylist team shoved small flowers and foods into the basket as the main stylist  moved the train of your dress to flow behind you. Lavanna held it up with the help of one of the others as your chariot moved. Mags gasped when the wind from the ride caught the ends of your train holding it up. The tulle had folded out giving the effect of leaves and grass flying out behind your chariot. All he wanted was to catch your scent on the air, to feel your warmth radiate around him like the sun. 

Taking a step back he forced his brain to remind his hormonal heart that he no longer had the luxury of thinking like that. 

He belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. And to the people who threw money away to spend time with him. No matter how disgusting he felt when he crawled into bed at night, it didn't matter. He had people to protect, parents and a friend or two. He couldn't allow himself to feel things towards those he couldn't have. 

And he couldn't have you.

~

~

~

PART 2

[angstymilfy]

Story time:

My Mom married my step-dad when I was 8 years old. He never tried to be my “dad,” he was just this cool guy hanging around. He taught me how to play poker. He took pity on 5th grade me, (that was forced to wear clothes my Mom made while trying to also fit in at a new school,) and bought me a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and a monogrammed sweater. And this was when they were the very epitome of cool, y’all. Later, he taught me how to drive, then he taught me how to drink.

He had 3 boys, all 18+ when I came into the family (ranging from 10-15 years my senior), so we never lived together. But over the years I had spent a lot of holidays, and shared a lot of backyard bbqs with them. I have favorite memories of each: the youngest, only 10 years older, I stayed with him a lot the summer I turned 18. Because he was still living like a teenager and we partied together. The middle one, he’s 12 years older and once told me, (probably 20 years after I’d been in the family), one night when he was shithouse drunk “you look like a duck and you quack like a duck…” His way of telling me I fit in/was one of them. And the oldest one got a 14 year old me drunk for the first time with a bottle of peach schnapps (that I thought tasted like nehi and drank an entire 5th of by myself), at a party our parents were having.

So imagine my surprise when I found out today, that my stepdad died two weeks ago! 😮 And nobody told me! To get such a strong, and insulting message that “you don’t belong,” is…..insult to injury, really.

But I worried they would do that when Mom left him a little over a year ago, after 41 years together, because he was losing his mind and turning increasingly violent to her. He had fully turned on her; he suddenly decided she was the enemy, and he couldn’t trust her. He was raging out all the time and banging tables and slamming his fists into shit, and then going and taking her name off accounts, and calling the cops on her for literally no reason (he told them he thought she was going to kill him in his sleep? and they hadn’t even been arguing or anything. He was just losing it THAT badly). But his boys wouldn’t help her. He had them controlling everything (because of the weird trust thing) but they wouldn’t help Mom or even stop supplying my stepdad with weapons every time Mom took one away. It’s like they WANTED him to shoot her. But it became a totally untenable situation and thankfully Mom exited after he tried to have her arrested, before it got any worse.

That’s it. All she did was be his whipping post and private nurse until she couldn’t anymore. And they basically have been at war with her ever since. Just turned on her like wild dogs. None of them were who we thought they were at all, it turns out.

Now I’m scared they may try to hurt her if they don’t approve of how the estate is settled. The divorce was still in process so Mom is still legally his wife. So I’m anxious as shit about how all that will shake out. Hurt nobody cared enough about me or anyone in my family to even let us know he died. And sad that I won’t ever get to see him again. Or any of them. Even though it turns out they’re all terrible people, these were still people who have been in my life since I was 8 years old. How can they just….turn on her like that? Then not even acknowledge I exist? They knew I had a special relationship with their Dad. Why wouldn’t they tell me he’d passed and give me the opportunity to pay my respects?

……

I’m still so shocked he’s gone.

Even though I shouldn’t be. His health had been deteriorating so it was just a matter of time. But it still felt like it came out of the blue today.

Which would make Christmas 22 the last time I saw him (she left him in feb after that). He’d been super argumentative with Mom all day and I was telling him not to be riling her up, cause he “knows how she gets” wink wink. He and I were always in some sort of rebellious cahoots against Mom’s rules and would 😉 our cahootedness to each other. But that time I was just trying to get him to think he was in on some cahoots with me, to chill and quit fighting with her.

So I guess the last thing I said to him was “be good,” and gave him a look that said “we both know you’re a handful.”

…..

Big sigh 😔

I don’t know what I’m feeling right now y’all. It’s a weird mix of a lot of different things.

I sound crazy. I just needed to vent all this SOMEWHERE.

[shallow-between-stars]

Oops.

Hi, um, yes! Hello!

So, uhh, it's been seven years. I recovered my account about... a month ago and that was an ordeal, then did nothing with that for a bit, then lurked for a bit and am now posting.

SO WHAT HAPPENED YOU ASK?

Short answer: Life.

Long answer: Life, pets, work, and a side of what I think was HORRIBLE BURNOUT.

I didn't really notice I was pulling away from Tumblr, but I kinda did, which is absolutely my bad. Then, y'know, shit happened.

I got back from China in... 2017... promptly lost my job, ended up with a new job I loved for a company I hated, worked there for five years or so. Had to people, like, a lot.

My job was entirely dealing with people. Mostly people under 12. And my poor, introverted soul really struggled with that most days and came home, crashed on the couch and slept. When it wasn't school term, it was holiday care, when it wasn't holiday care it was school term. I was responsible for a lot, including making sure a daily average of 30 kids didn't hurt themselves.

And, y'know, about a year into that, my father (who I love a lot better at a distance) and I had a conversation (started by me) about my moving out of the family home. Mum and Dad basically refused to let me rent and (I'm showing my upper middle class, here, sorry) bought me a house that I am slowly paying them back for.

Yes, I know, and I am so very grateful for their support.

My dad and I shopped together and picked out a (unbeknownst to us) house-flipped 30 year old property with a great back yard and some small things that needed fixing, and I packed my bags and over the course of a week, I moved in.

And then I did what every responsible new home owner would do and waited until I moved in and was settled before making any more drastic life changes.

...

...

...Yeah. I'm lying.

I got two dogs. Ranger, who is the end result of putting all your points into Charisma and Constitution and using Wisdom as a dump stat, and Rogue who went the Int/Dex route but forgot that constitution exists. Seriously. I had her a week and she nearly died from -eating chicken.-

(She's allergic, we have discovered in the interim. She's also five now, arthritic and incontinent, the very definition of THE BEST DOG WITH SHITTY HEALTH ever. I'd say she's the living embodiment of 'adopt, don't shop', but the other dog's adopted and has an almost 1:1 ratio of "years alive" and "windows broken because he got scared".)

So. I worked a shitty job for five years (and through Covid, my job was considered an essential role which meant I worked straight through the pandemic, with children, which was low-key terrifying), and then in an episode of "nepo baby" a friend of my mother's got me a job at a high school for kids with behavioural issues where I worked for the better part of last year teaching EAL/D to refugees. I loved the kids to pieces, but as you could probably tell from the 'refugee' part of that sentence, these kids came with very heavy stories and my heart was broken for them more often than not.

Anyway, due to a contract kerfuffle at the end of last year I found myself out of that job, but my boss stepped in for another episode of "nepo baby" and sourced me a -new- job with a friend of hers working at a different school, where I am now. Still teaching high school, still teaching EAL/D and still loving every minute of it.

Anyway, I'm writing again, which is great, and something that I haven't managed to do consistently for years (See: HORRIBLE BURNOUT) and am excited to be -almost- ready to post some new content to my sadly neglected AO3, where the last thing I posted was about... two and a half years ago and at the tail end of Covid.

Surprising no-one, the content I have most recently written is Kal and Bull.

Surprising probably a lot of people, I still haven't played Baldur's Gate 3, but I've got three weeks of holidays in about a month so maybe I will play it then? Maybe?

[czarcaustic]

~ 15 questions & 15 friends ~

tagged by @bobbyskid :)

1. Are you named after anyone?

No!

2. When was the last time you cried?

About a week ago because I've gone back to college and the first two weeks were overwhelming and I was like DO I EVEN WANT TO DO THIS? and had an existential crisis. I'm fine now.

3. Do you have kids?

No.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

I played baseball for many years as a child and I used to cycle/trail bike ride regularly in high school and for a couple years after, but I moved to the city and people kept stealing bikes from my house :( I'd like to get back into it, it's just kind of a pain to try and keep a bike in the city

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sometimes. I don't think much more than the average person.

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Aw geez, I dunno. Faces, I guess.

7. What's your eye color?

Green.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I really enjoy scary movies but I have found since my mother died I prefer happy endings in most other media.

9. Any talents?

I'm good at art.

10. Where were you born?

Rural Ontario.

11. What are your hobbies?

Hiking, camping, canoeing, painting, making art, writing, playing the banjo uke, reading poetry.

12. Do you have any pets?

I have a dog (Digby) who is 13 years old... I've had her since I was 16 :') ... and we also have an aquarium snail named Speed Racer

13. How tall are you?

5'8" (and a half. I have to add the half because I'm childish)

14. Favorite subject in school?

In school at the moment, Ecology. In art school I liked Painting and Textile Arts, and in high school I enjoyed all of my assorted art classes, as well as Politics, which was probably the best class I ever took because the teacher was absolutely amazing and prompted us to deeply question and analyze the world around us.

15. Dream job?

I would love to just sell prints of my art, and occasionally sell originals or 3D art. Unfortunately I'm a disorganized person and have no head for business. Right now I'm back in school to hopefully get a job as an ecologist, which is certainly something I'm passionate about.

I tag @microsuedemouse, @trexila, @wewontbesleeping, @casfelldown, @jonathanrook, @melanchor, @irisparry, @samblerambles, @killersbabe, but ignore this if it does not SPARK JOY

[tcfkag]

2024 and the Return of the To-Done List

So, after a year during which (a) our daughter ran full-speed (literally) into the trying two's, (b) I had multi-focal pneumonia that resulted in a week or two in the hospital (including a brief sojourn in the ICU), (c) I had bizarre, seemingly inexplicable seizures for the first time ever [which meant I couldn't drive for six months...right after we moved to a semi-"rural" town...for the northeast that is], (d) had an acute kidney injury, (e) had several bouts of unexplained pitting edema in my legs, (f) started a new job that I actually really like, even if there is a steep learning curve, and (g) lost my Mom after a long battle with mild to moderate dementia/Alzheimer's that then dropped off a cliff into end-stage dementia in less than six months (depending on how you count it), and (h) just generally felt like I was never managing my physical or mental health as well as I could or should be, I'm going to try to make some changes. These aren't resolutions because I truly think that New Year's resolutions just set you up to fail. Instead, I'd call them goals. Or, at least, hope that I want to support with action as much as I can. While still giving myself grace knowing that I can and probably will mess up along the way. But, the first step is that I'm going to try to bring back a kind of journaling-like activity (since I suck at journaling) that my old therapist recommended when I was feeling like this before. Each day I make a list, generally on Tumblr for at least a tiny modicum of peer pressure, and I just make a list of everything I've done that day. No matter how big or how small. As she put it "make it your base assumption that each day, you will do absolutely nothing, so you get credit for everything, even things as simple as showering. I frequently restart these lists when my depression and anxiety have gotten bad enough that I know I'm not taking care of myself, mentally and physically, so a big part of my goals are (a) to move more [in whatever form that takes], (b) eating healthier, and (c) to take care of several medical/dental appointments that I've been putting off for way too long. The beauty of the list is that, a lot of the time, I ended up doing stuff BECAUSE of the list. So that I won't be staring at an empty page as I try to make my list each year.

Things I'm proud of today...so far:

when we took Peanut to the trampoline park to burn off some of her "no daycare today suckers" energy and this time, I bought a jump pass for myself. I only made it ~30 minutes but it was a great work-out. 10/10 would recommend.

I took the dogs for the "long" trail walk out to the back of our property,

I did a core and flexibility routine this morning,

I decided to take one for the team and point out to my Uncle that the nostalgia he feels about Aunt Jemimah as a syrup mascot isn't as important as the company making money off the likeness of a woman who died 100 years ago who was used as a stand in for the generic idea of what an enslaved (or recently freed) Black woman did or should do, and (finally)

this one is a few days late, but not only did we drive 12+ hours to visit my in-laws for Christmas, but we also stopped in NJ in both directions to pick up Monotasker's Aunt who is 80-years-old, hard of hearing, and in the early stages of dementia or Alzheimer's and I didn't even lose my shit at a single person...even the ones who deserved it.

Happy New Years everyone!

"May the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows." (Jason Mraz) And even if the worst of your todays are the best of your tomorrows, I hope you can still find your way out and through by the light of the moon to guide you.

[alollinglaughingcat]

i have so many kittens rn its silly so i made a gallery of some (some!) of my cats' ages XD

Frito is a bottlefed kitten I just picked up today, alongside their three siblings, Cheeto, Dorito, and Lay. They're 3 weeks old

Maya is a stray kitten my mom found outside three days ago, and she's a bit older than a month old, around 5-6 weeks old

Checkers is my long-term foster kitten, whom I've had since she was 2 months old, and she's now 8 months old about. I also fostered her sister, California, for a month. Checkers had a bad reaction to fluids (or the needle was contaminated) that caused her skin to split open, and she's got a few months left of healing to go!

Mac n Cheese is my wobbly syndrome cat, whom I've had since she was 6 weeks old and I swore was still under a year but she's actually a month over at 1 year, 1 month! :O time flies!!! my baby's so fat now!

Gizmo, not pictured, is another cat I have, who's about 2 years and a half now. Very smart and knows sit, high five, and spin! :) My mom also found him as a stray, same age as Maya, and he gave all my cats (and me) ringworm lmao

Princington and Battle Axel were two cats I also had who are now deceased and they were the same age, only about a week apart, and would both be 3 and a half years by now (Prince died at 1 year, Axel at ~2)

Tweetie aka Sweetie aka Angel is a cat I've had since childhood, so I can't remember her exact age. She was born on my grandma's farm, and we took her and Tommy aka Mustard (now deceased) when they were weaned off their mom, so about the 5-6 week mark

Sheldon is another cat I have, big fatto, and my mom fostered him since he was a bottle baby and kept him because he had anger issues and she feared no one would take him and he'd get euth'ed. He's about 9-11 years, I'm not sure of when he came into the picture even though I remember him as a kitten

Shadow is our old boy, somewhere in the 14-16 year old range. His ears are all fucked cause he got something like a hematoma in them and blood burst. He's a good boy but hell at the vet, so since the ears aren't lethal/painful, we didn't do much past give him meds for infection and clean his ears. He has a sister named Macaroni who is very chill and does not look as old as Shadow does lol

Also had a cat named Princess and another named Misty before them, but only faded memories :)

I had hamsters (Digger, Gumball) and guinea pigs (Marvin, Sweetflower) previously as well, had a rabbit (Cookie Dough aka NumNum) briefly, and currently have one some-months old hamster named Buster who loves biting people, and two gerbils, Gemini aged 1 year and Mama Virgo a few months older. Gemini had a sister named Libra that previously mentioned California ate. My mom also has ducks, chickens, and guineas

and not to mention our dogs! Shaggy is like a 4 months old sheep-a-doodle, then Adrian the mini pom is like 10 years old, Rocky the Shih Tzu is 12-14 years old, and Sonny the mutt is pushing 19 years old! We previously had a pom named Destiny who died at like 15 and PP aka Penelope the German Shephard mix who died young at 10 years old because of arthritis/other conditions

its going to be so strange going from so many animals to 2-3 cats, 3 critters when i move for college lol

[bobfloydsbabe]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

I was tagged by my wonderful friends @ryebecca and @blue-aconite–thank you, darlings!

1. Are you named after anyone?

My dad was obsessed with supermodel Helena Christiansen and that's how I got my name. He likes to tell people that it was a Helen of Troy thing, though.

2. When was the last time you cried?

About two weeks ago, I think. I was feeling pretty bad about a tumblr situation, and actually burst into tears after it had died down a bit. It was a lot.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. I am, first and foremost, a child hater.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Constantly.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

I did gymnastics as a kid, but was advised by my doctor to stop because I have weak ankles and some hypermobility.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Their face? I don't really zone in on a specific thing.

7. What’s your eye colour?

Green, but I have the genetic mutation sectoral heterochromia, so part of my left eye is hazel/brown.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings, but I prefer a bittersweet ending if I'm honest.

9. Any special talents?

I can cluck like a chicken.

10. Where were you born?

Denmark.

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing, doing puzzles, reading, making art, and calligraphy.

12. Do you have pets?

Unfortunately not, but I'll get a dog when it's financially viable for me.

13. How tall are you?

I'm a tiny little thing at 159 cm or 5'2.5 (and yes, the .5 is important)

14. Favourite subject in school?

English and social studies.

15. Dream job?

Full-time author. It's been my dream since I was eight years old, so you could say I picked a dream and just ran with it.

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @mothdruid, @joaquinwhorres, @veetlegeuse, @withahappyrefrain, @wkndwlff, @sylviebell, @desert-fern, @bradshawsbitch, @thedroneranger and anyone else who wants to do it. If you've already done it or just don't want to, please ignore this.

[blubushie]

SO YOU WANT TO BE A BUSHIE

Step one of being a bushie: DON’T.

This is the question I get asked the most on here and if I’m being honest, if you have to ask me how to do what I do, you aren’t ready to do what I do. You’re going to end up another Chris McCandless. If you don’t know who that is, please see this video to understand why going into the wilderness is fucking stupid and will get you killed.

And it’s not just the danger.

I’m aware that I’m at least partially if not mostly to blame for this. I’m aware that putting my life out here for everyone to read about is something that makes people aspire to follow in my footsteps, and perhaps there’s a part of me that’s selfish and doesn’t want to share my world. There’s no worse feeling than going walkabout—roaming and discovering new places—and arriving at a secluded area and finding footprints. There’s no worse feeling than the realisation that you are not the first. That somewhere has already been contaminated by the plague of humanity.

And I don’t want to be the thing what aspires someone to end up dead in the wilderness.

I talk a lot about how great it is being a bushie. About the fun parts. So I’m going to give you folks some very hard, but very necessary truths.

What I don’t tell you about is how everyone forgets you. Time is linear, and it don’t stop for you. The people you love stop caring about you. Your brothers forget they have a youngest sibling. Your father forgets he has three sons instead of two. Your own mother forgets she has a child. I don’t tell you about how your mother stops trying after the fifteenth, twentieth missed call. How abandoned you feel when your father stops sending letters. How if you’re unlucky like I was, your family calls you crazy and disowns you in advance to spare themselves the grief of losing you. It’s not so hard to hear your son is dead when he was dead to you a long time ago.

The world moves on without you. The people you love move on without you. You go into the bush for five days and you come back to find a month’s passed and the Queen died a week ago. You disappear for two weeks, it becomes two months, you come back and everyone’s flying blue and yellow flags and you hear talk of a war.

You hear about the rule of threes—three seconds to make a decision, three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food, three months without people—and you think it’s bullshit. You keep thinking it’s bullshit until you’re in your third month and you find yourself having a one-sided conversation with your ute because she won’t start. You think it’s bullshit until you start asking your rifle what it thinks about dinner. You think it’s bullshit until inanimate objects take the place of human beings in your life, and you think it’s bullshit until you’re four months in and the rifle starts talking back.

You go hungry. I joke about a bushman’s brekkie but the thing is that I’m not joking. Most days I go without brekkie. At certain points of the year, I go days between a meal. It’s worse when you have a dog. I stockpile food and Misty eats before I do. Misty never goes hungry, I make sure of that, but she eats the meals I don’t. I tell you jokes about a bushman’s brekkie, but I don’t tell you about how you’ll come out of winter weighing as much as a 12-year-old. I don’t tell you how you’ll get so hungry that you’ll sit on the floor eating dog food from the bag just to stop the pain for a little while.

You see things. There’s things in the bush that people know are out there and they don’t talk about it. I don’t talk about it. But you’ll see things, things you won’t understand. Things you never will. Eventually you learn to stop asking questions.

I don’t tell you about how fucking cold bathing is, or the embarrassment of someone—god forbid—coming across you. I don’t tell you about how painful it is to wake up from a nap with a full-body sunburn to places that should never be sunburnt. I don’t tell you about how the smell of gum smoke rises a desperate panic in you that you’ll never understand until you’ve fled a bushfire. I don’t tell you about what that heat feels like, about how you swear you’ll blister your hand just by touching your window.

I joke about the drinking piss thing, and I don’t tell you what it’s like to feel the moisture evaporate off your tongue. How after three days of no water in the Australian sun your skin starts to blister regardless of how covered it is. How your clothes run your body raw. How you contemplate eating poisonous gum leaves just to quench a little bit of your thirst. How dignity becomes a concept for fools because moisture is moisture.

I don’t tell you about how you’ll stop being a person. About how you’ll revert into something primal, something wild. How after a few months in the bush you feel like a castaway on an island and seeing another human being raises some vicious territorial side of you, like you’re seeing something from the uncanny valley, that you react to it the way cats do their own reflection. I don’t know what that is, just that it walks two legs and it isn’t me.

I don’t tell you about how you’ll start gaining weight as soon as you’re back in civilisation. How you hoard food. How your muscles atrophy after only a month. I picked up my rifle on Sunday to clean her and I don’t think she’s ever felt so heavy.

I don’t tell you about how you adapt to the bush. I don’t show teeth when I smile. I can’t hold conversations well. I wake up at every little noise. I can’t sleep without a knife. I can’t sleep without my back to something. If I hear Misty so much as whimper I’m awake with a knife in my hand ready to take on the world.

I don’t tell you about the nightmares.

And I wasn’t like this before. All this in three years—can you imagine what kind of thing I’ll become in the next ten?

You want to learn how to a bushie? Here’s my advice: don’t.

If you’re going to ignore my warnings: abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

First rule: don’t be a fucking idiot, and don’t be a fucking hero. Take a hunter's education course. Also learn to fish. There's books that can teach you a bit about how to survive out here. Bushcraft 101 by Dave Canterbury is a good one. When Technology Fails by Matthew Stein is another one. Also the Special Forces Survival Guide by Chris McNab. Books can only teach you so much, though, so you do have to go out and put these things to practice. Never assume you know anything. You know nothing. You never stop learning.

Start off with small camping trips, AND NEVER DO IT ALONE. Start with overnight, then a few days at a time, then a week, and gradually work your way up. Practice knots. Practice fishing. Practice your aim. Always stay learning.

And don’t become a fucking bushie or I’ll track your arse down and fight you for your turf.

[mywifeleftme]

297: I Giganti // Terra in bocca (Poesia di un delitto)

Terra in bocca (poesia di un delitto) I Giganti 1971, Ri-Fi

Today was the day I think I finally turned heel as a record collector. There’s a cute little shop not far from my house that specializes in CDs, but has a modest used vinyl selection. Most of it is very basic fare (I’ve never seen so many Blood, Sweat & Tears records in one place in my damn life), but all priced like it’s ten years ago and the vinyl speculating bubble never happened. I ducked in for the first time last week, and after some assiduous digging plucked some outrageous gems: an original pressing of Junior Kimbrough’s All Night Long and a Canadian OP of Richard & Linda Thompson’s I See the Bright Lights Tonight! The first goddamn Exuma record for $11! I even found Roger Miller’s debut, a theoretically dirt common record that’s nonetheless eluded me for years. I walked out with easily $250 worth of squeaky-clean wax I actually wanted for less than $100.

But rather than just enjoying my good fortune, it set the blackly gleaming coils of avarice inside me into motion. I’d snagged a cool little compilation of Bengali playback songs by Aarti Mukherjee for $12 from their modest little Indian music section (a record I had to add to Discogs myself), and while grooving to it I decided to look up a couple of the others I remembered seeing there. That’s when I discovered the Lata Mangeshkar record I’d briefly considered at $15 last sold on Discogs for almost $380. Reader, I try to suppress my Jungian Deals for Deals’ Sake shadow, but through my father’s side of the family tree I’ve inherited a deep streak of flea market cretinism. I fear this situation has made it ascendant. The shop was closed the day I made my dark Discogs discovery, so I waited, slavering, for the following morning, whereupon I told my coworkers I had to walk a traveling friend’s dog and would pick up the hour at the end of my shift, and shambled to the store to see if my dusty prize was still there.

Portrait of the collector courtesy the Royal Arachnological Museum

I felt as though I were robbing the mom and pop shop as I clutched the LP to my chest, telling myself that at least their small selection of recent extreme metal records were neatly labeled with little post-it notes that indicated the shopkeep had compared his stock with Amazon’s algorithmically-deranged marketplace, but I knew I was only lying to myself. These poor sods didn’t know about Discogs. Only I did, and it had merely cost me a shred of my soul. I bought the Mangeshkar, and two Bengali records of unclear value, though one is autographed. And I bought this dorky Italo prog record reissue on blue vinyl that I have far less legitimate musical interest in than the Mangeshkar, purely because some Greek psychopath is trying to sell his copy for $300 US, and other pressings are starting at $75 and up. It’s a concept album about the Mafia that was so thoroughly censored by Italy’s corrupt media it was practically unknown till the ‘90s, which, as a backstory, objectively rocks. A lot of it sounds like Jesus Christ Superstar, which objectively sucks. I Giganti thank Karl Marx on the back of the sleeve but include a poem by the horny proto-fascist Gabriele D’Annunzio in the gatefold, who pioneered Mussolini’s tactic of haranguing crowds from his balcony window and in an unrelated incident later fell out of a window and hurt himself so badly he had to withdraw from politics, which is confusing. The album itself is… fine really, has some cool Mellotron, though I’d rather hear Goblin play The Godfather theme. Someday I will try to sell it for a profit, but if God is just the bubble will collapse before then and I’ll be entombed with it.

297 reviews in, I am finally lost.

297/365

[something-tofightfor]

15 questions to get to know me!

thanks for the tag, @skyshipper!

1. are you named after anyone?

I am not. My mom even spelled my name differently than it usually is because after a bunch of hours of back labor she didn’t care what my name was or how it was spelled. (I was supposed to be a Jessica, but my grandma said absolutely not.)

2. when was the last time you cried?

A couple days ago thanks to my Timehop. The end of March and first couple weeks of April are always really painful to relive. 

3. do you have kids?

I do not and I never will and I’m sick of people trying to convince me that the only way to feel fulfilled and truly happy with my life is to have kids. I’m perfectly happy and content to be able to wake up in the morning and decide to take a spontaneous trip, or make a purchase just because I want to or do what I want and need to do with my free time. 

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

If something sarcastic doesn’t come out of my mouth regularly, you know something’s wrong.

5. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

Physically? Their eyes. But the first thing I look for is how they treat the people they come into contact with. 

6. what’s your eye colour?

Blue, but it’s sort of tinged with gray? 

7. scary movies or happy endings?

I’ve never seen a truly scary movie, but I’m always on the hunt for a good one. 

I like happy endings, but they have to be realistic. (Hallmark movies don’t count because those bitches are always the most unrealistic BS and yet I can’t stop watching them.)

8. any special talents?

I have an insane amount of useless and trivial pop culture knowledge in my head. I am INCREDIBLE with word puzzles, and am really good at things like Family Feud and Jeopardy. 

I’m also a more than decent cook. 

9. where were you born?

About 10 minutes from where I currently live in Ohio. I’ve lived in the same state for all 35+ years of my life. 

10: what are your hobbies?

Cooking. Reading. Writing. Traveling. Seeing live concerts. Gardening (It’s almost tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime)

11. have you any pets?

Technically, I have three cats, but only one lives with me. Beckett is a cat I got in 2006 while in college that my dad “stole” from me when I took her home for Christmas break one year. She’s lived at his house since late 2008. Reptar is a cat that Chris and I adopted at the end of 2010 (about a month and a half after we got Neptune) that also lives at my dad’s house with Beckett. He went to live there after my childhood dog died, and Beckett needed a friend. Reptar’s really skittish, and they had a larger house with more places for him to hide/be comfortable with. 

And then there’s the Perfect Little Prince, my Tiny Baby Turdle, Sir Neptunington the First, His Royal Highness and my little honeybee .... Neptune. 

I’ve had him since July 2010, we found him on Craigslist, and the person that listed him said he was a Ragdoll/Siamese mix. 

He is not. He’s half Maine Coon, half Siamese and he’s more like a dog than any other cat I’ve ever met and he is huge and he is PERFECT. 

12: what sports do you play/have you played?

I’m the least athletic person you could possibly imagine. I hate the idea of participating in organized team sports, but I love swimming, and I’ve skied since I was 11 or 12, so for about 24 years. 

13: how tall are you?

5′6″

14. favourite subject in school?

English. I also really liked the journalism courses that I took. I hate math, and was not a big fan of my science and biology courses, either. 

15. dream job?

I currently get paid for writing, so that’s great, but it would be really cool to actually get to write things that I want to be writing for $$. I would love to work in the continuity department for some sort of production company, because details are very important and they’re often overlooked. 

Another ideal job, though? Music or food journalist. Someone should pay me to follow tours around and try new kinds of food and drinks. (Reader’s job in Locked Down is directly influenced by something that I’d enjoy doing. The freedom of getting paid to travel and have a good time would be incredible)

no pressure tags: 

@the-blind-assassin-12 @valkblue @haylzcyon @felteppsters @oonajaeadira @heychangbin @wildemaven @writeforfandoms ... and anyone else that really wants to play! tag me so I can see your answers 

[heartsofminds]

15 questions

thanks for the tag @gretagerwigsmuse. the inner leo in me will never not take the opportunity to talk about myself 😉 so here we go! 

1. “are you named after anyone?” 

my parents took one of the most popular girl’s name from the late 90s to the early 2000s and changed a letter to make it unique...worked out though because it was my great grandpa’s name who died long before i was even thought of. 

2. “when was the last time you cried?” 

watching the new avatar like three weeks ago. the ending had me FUCKED up. 😭

3. “do you have kids?” 

no! but in the future (which is not near at all) i want two or three and we’re all gonna be besties. 

4. “do you use sarcasm a lot?” 

yes. being a facetious bitch is one of my defining traits if you know me irl. 

5. “what’s the first thing you notice about people?” 

maybe a weird answer but i kind of get a read on their vibe first? idk. i love people watching and analyzing things so i always secretly watch and observe before approaching. 

6. “what’s your eye color?” 

i have dark brown eyes! 

7. “scary movies or happy endings?” 

i literally cannot compartmentalize scary movies so my heart rate is elevated for a three-day minimum after watching one. happy endings certainly for the win. 

8. “any special talents?” 

okay okay okay. i have a special talent for reading people’s political compass by just looking at them and it’s always semi-accurate. also for finding characters from tv shows or cartoons that resemble people i know irl. 

9. “what are your hobbies?” 

okay, so i adore writing (stuff outside of fanfics, too. i use it as a coping skill so whenever i write about a situation that upset me, i know that i’m over it). i also love running. i’m trying to get my guy friends to teach me how to play pool. 

10. “where were you born?” 

the land of lincoln lol. 

11. “do you have any pets?” 

no! our family dog passed away like two years ago after having her for twelve years. 

12. “what sports do you play/currently play?” 

i did a little stint with cross country in middle school but quit before high school. i also played soccer and volleyball pretty competitively (club travel teams) throughout high school. now i run mostly but i’m thinking of joining rec volleyball and soccer leagues! 

13. “how tall are you?” 

curious to see if y’all think i give off tall girl energy or short girl energy before i tell you....but i’m 5′1, sadly. 

14. “favorite subject in school?” 

GOD i love history. was literally obsessed with american history after the gilded age in high school and it just kind of..comes easy to me? i’m poli sci now in college and absolutely ADORE my con law classes. 

15. “dream job?” 

i would LOVE to be a prosecutor who deals with special crimes! but ultimately, i want a job that allows me to think critically, express empathy, and help people along the way! 

tagging: @hangmanapologist @roosterbruiser @inklore @callsignvalley @sunlightmurdock @currentlybradshaw and anyone else who wants to do it! 

[arzner]

It’s been so quiet and lonely at home ever since my dog died. I feel sick to my stomach every time I open my front door and her adorable little face isn’t there to greet me and make my entrance feel special. I feel forlorn no longer having my little shadow following me from room to room. I miss talking to her and petting her and holding her and playing with her and seeing her tail wag with excitement when interacting with me.

I hate seeing so many reminders of her all throughout my apartment -- her toys, blankets, beds, food, treats, bowls, leash, etc. -- but I also really don’t want to put them away yet. Her food bowl still has her breakfast in it from yesterday when I tried to feed her but she was too ill to eat. There’s an unopened bag of dog food that I’d bought just a couple days ago that I now plan to donate to an animal shelter.

I stood in my living room earlier smelling her collar and it still smells so strongly of her. She was the most pleasant-smelling dog I’d ever known.

It’s jarring how your entire routine changes immediately: I no longer have to let her outside, feed her, take her for walks, shut certain doors to keep her out of trouble...

I took today and yesterday off because I just didn’t want to deal with work on top of everything else + I was exhausted from not sleeping due to the whole ordeal, and now I almost wonder if maybe that was a dumb idea because I’ve just had too much time to think and wallow and torture myself by looking at pictures of her. The skin around my eyes and nose is raw, red, and peeling from how much I’ve cried. Time has gone by so slowly all day, and I can’t stop thinking about her and hoping that she enjoyed her life and hoping that I took good care of her.

I keep replaying the whole day in my head over and over. I brought her to the emergency vet very early Sunday morning when she first showed signs of illness. The vet explained what was happening and suggested that they do a procedure to give her some temporary relief and then she could go home to live out her final days (or weeks or months). I brought her home and we slept for a few hours, but she’d gone downhill again when I woke up. I was hoping to have more time with her, but it was clear that she was too far gone if the symptoms had already returned after only a few hours. Her final moments deeply disturbed me -- she made horrible noises and died in my arms while my mom drove us to the emergency vet to have her euthanized. It was too late for that and I can only hope that she wasn’t suffering too much (or at all, preferably). I screamed and wailed in my mom’s car while she was kind enough to go inside to see what we should do. We brought her inside so they could call her death and then I chose to have her cremated. I should be able to get her ashes in a few days.

I’ve lost other dogs (and people, for that matter) and gone through all of this before, but I hadn’t experienced it since my last dog died 12 years ago, so I guess I’d forgotten just how completely rotten it feels. In a weird way I feel guilty for experiencing the aftermath of this loss in the way I am vs. the way I did when my dad died a few years ago, but every loss is different and devastating in its own way and I shouldn’t compare them.

Sometimes I feel the weight of this, like, kneejerk invisible expectation or judgment that I shouldn’t be so distraught and feel everything so strongly and that I didn’t deserve to take time off from work because she was “just” a dog, but no, I’m not going to apologize for being affected by this and for loving her as much as I did. She was deeply special to me and that’s all there is to it.

[elizabeth-karenina]

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

I wasn’t tagged for this, but I saw it on a mutual’s blog and thought it would be fun to do. I haven’t done one of these in a while, so why not? 

1. Are you named after anyone? 

I was named after a great-grandmother as well as my paternal grandmother—Dorothy Elizabeth (my great-grandmother) and Jeannette (my grandmother). I adore my grandmother, so I’ve always been honored to share a name with her. I never knew my great-grandmother, who died tragically young, and I’ve always been a little sad that I never knew her. 

2. When was the last time you cried? 

About a week ago or so. Look, I cry all the time nowadays, so I can’t even accurately tell you. It’s not even a bad thing, mind you. I cry at cute things as well as sad things; at this point, if I’m feeling the emotion, I just let it take over! 

3. Do you have kids? 

I don’t. I wouldn’t mind having one or two, maybe three, someday with a committed partner. But I am definitely not having children for the sake of having them. If I’m going to be a mother, then I’m doing it because I’m ready. 

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? 

It depends on the situation. I tend to only do so with my nearest and dearest, and in a humorous sense. I’m of the opinion that sarcasm has a time and place, because depending on the situation, sarcasm can be very rude. 

5. What sports do you play/have played? 

I used to play sports a lot when I was a kid. I used to play kickball and baseball with my cousins and my friends in my neighborhood all the time. And I played on a local soccer team with a bunch of school friends when I was 9. I even went to a basketball camp at my dad’s recreation center when I was 10. 

I didn’t keep up with any of this as I got older, mind you LMAO! I’m just not as athletic as other people. But I do love watching sporting events, especially the World Cup. 

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? 

Their faces, especially their eyes and their smiles. 

7. What's your eye color? 

Dark brown, like polished mahogany or melted chocolate. 

8. Scary movies or happy endings? 

Happy endings, for sure! As much as I love a good spooky story, I appreciate and care about happy endings more. 

9. Any special talents?

I can sing well enough, at least among my friends and my family. I tell stories really well; I do everyone’s voices and everything. I’m pretty good at cheering people up and knowing what to say in any given moment. I’m also pretty good at baking, especially cookies and cakes. 

10. Where were you born? 

In America, in Maryland to be exact. 

11. What are your hobbies?

I’ve gotten back into reading lately, which is wonderful, because I think reading is probably my favorite thing to do. Usually I like reading about history, but I’ve also decided to step out of that and try to read some book series this summer. I’ve been learning French on Duolingo for about 3 years now, and one day I’d like to learn Spanish, Russian, Greek, and Mandarin one day too. I like listening to music and podcasts on the weekends, and when I can plan it, I also like going to the movies and go shopping afterwards. 

12. Do you have pets? 

For about 13 years, I had a Latsah-Otsah/Maltese dog named Ringo. Unfortunately, he died last year and it was a hard thing to go through. I would love to have another pet, but I live with my family, so if we do decide to get one we’d ALL have to agree upon it. And right now, my family doesn’t feel like it’s ready for anything else, so SADLY I am petless. :(

13. How tall are you? 

I am five feet tall! I’m literally a hobbit. 

14. Favorite subject in school? 

English lit, world history, my Spanish classes, and my chorus class. 

15. Dream job? 

So many! I wished I had kept up with my music lessons, because I wish I could be in an orchestra or a choir. I used to want to be a radio DJ, too, but that dream fizzled out real quick lmao! 

Here’s who I would like to tag: @1980s-jean-ralphio, @miumiumacaron, @stcndupeight, @nellygwyn, @magalis, @roamwithahungryheart, @pocketwish, @octoberinflorence, @grand-duchessa, @midnightinjapan, @wifeofbath, @spicytchai90, @stray-kaz

[whore-4-drewstarkey]

15 questions for 15 mutuals

hahah thank you for tagging me @slut4drudy and @runningfrom2am glad to know ppl actually want to know more about me. 🤭

1. Are you named after anyone?: yeah, my middle name is my moms middle name and my grandmas and my great grandmas and i think one of my aunts… 😒 (i hate it because it’s basic 😭)

2. When was the last time you cried?: last week…. i hit a fucking coyote on the highway and started crying. i’m horrible i know ✋🏻 no need to tell me. i even tried to dodge it and was tbh probs close to hitting the car in the lane next to mine. i’ve just come to the conclusion i suck at driving.

3. Do you have kids?: no 😭 but i better have some. and it better be with a hot, tall man who can actually tan because i don’t want my children being cursed with my poor genetics of being short and pale as a ghost to where the sun literally reflects off my skin 😭 it’s horrible. i hate it. it’s unfair. and before anyone says “use tanning lotion” babe it doesn’t fucking work on me. i got those strong scottish/celtic genes.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?: idk probably just a little bit?? note: i’m going through this reading my answers and have realized i am quite sarcastic. my apologies luvies.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?: played basketball in the third grade but never again because kids in my tiny town are stupid geezers who make fun of you if you’re not perfect even though they sucked too. i mainly stuck with marching band like a good, innocent girl that i am🤭

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?: their vibe? and maybe their style? idek

7. Scary movies or happy endings?: HAPPY ENDINGS. i cant take scary movies. i get too scared 😂 i just hide my face the WHOLE time.

8. Any special talents?: i know how to play the flute if that counts. and a tad bit of piccolo. i played the flute for 7 years in school. i don’t play it much now but i still know how to play OH and read music for the most part. i’m so cool.

9. Where were you born?: missouri of all places 💀 i hate it here. get me out. it’s misery not missouri. the amount of morons in this state baffles me every day. legit. like people here are so absurd it hurts my brain.

10. What are your hobbies?: i like traveling. i have only traveled on my own. i’ve never taken a trip with someone where flying is involved. so i save my money and blow it all on a trip like once a year…. i’m terrible with money. next stop is nyc 🥳 maybe i’ll fun in to brooke starkey and say she’s a queen and fashion icon (i’ll pretend i don’t know her. just be like omg i love that outfit!)

11. Do you have any pets?: like personally mine? i used to… but then she got mauled to death by my sister’s dog 4 years ago💀 (i have to joke about it or i’ll be depressed for the next year again) (after she died my ass didn’t give a shit about myself and was lowkey reckless while driving and didn’t eat and hardly showered) nah but my family has 4 springers who are crackheads.

12. How tall are you?: 5’4 1/2 but i leave off the half. i’m the shortest in my family and get teased by it all the time 😌 that’s okay though. i need a tall man to reach the higher shelves anyways.

13. Fave subject in school?: math because i was in advanced math in high school and never tried but was getting C’s and some B’s. i think it just came naturally to me.

14. Dream job?: zoologist or marine biologist. that’s what i planned on doing until i dropped out of community college and then decided to go back but then dropped out again 💀 i cant make this shit up bro. all in under 2 1/2 years #slay

15. Eye color?: i get to flex on this one to all my drew/rafe girlies… i have like light blue eyes which pairs well with my egg white skin tone. ✌🏻 hahahaha. they get even more blue when i cry. so often.