#but i saw a pic of the first few bald days a couple days ago and i miss that too!!

[nadhie]

my hair is finally long enough where my curls are starting to form again :D!!!

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Hate That I Like You - The Premiere (Part 3)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 2600+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only! NSFW

Warnings: Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This is a one shot set after the events of the main story, I Hate That I Like You.

I originally posted the fic as partly as a thank you for reaching 300 followers (and partly because I couldn’t resist that man), but as I go to schedule this one, I hit 400! I am absolutely FLOORED and I can’t eve find the words to thank each and every one of you who followed me, reblogged my writing, liked it (which I know does nothing in the algorithm, but I still see it and it makes me smile), commented, pm me, told me you were re-reading fics I’ve written (cried about that one for a while!), all of it. You all mean the world to me and just know that if you’ve interacted in some way, I have seen your name and I recognize it and you make my day every time.

**Reader is ethnicity inclusive despite stock photo bias

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

The day you got out of the bubble, Dieter took you out on your first date. You expected something lavish and over the top, considering her personality, but it was surprisingly simple and low key. He even rented out an entire back room just so you could have your privacy. When he had arrived at your door, he asked you bluntly if you were sure about dating him because once someone recognized him and saw you with him, you couldn’t take it back. And while the majority of his fans were great people, there’s always those select few that are not. You were sure and happily went on that date.

That was nearly 8 months ago.

Editing takes longer when people are working from home, communicating being a little more difficult, edits and re-edits needing to be discussed. But finally, Cliff Beasts 6 was ready and the premiere was looming.

Dieter had asked you to accompany him and you happily agreed, never having been to a premiere before. He told you it would be different, as there were new procedures in place due to the pandemic. But you didn’t care - you were there to support him. Although seeing your work on the big screen was a definite plus.

A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts and you glance at the clock, surprised he was on time for once. You plan to make a remark about this, but all words leave your head as you open the door and see Dieter standing there.

He’s in simple black dress pants and shoes, no tie, a white long sleeved top buttoned all the way up under a black coat that walked out of your fantasies. It reminds you of something Mr. Darcy would wear. The long black coat comes down to his knees, with a simple 3 buttons and 2 pocket flaps, one on either side of the coat. His hair is wild, his curls roaming free after letting them grow just a little. He’s let his facial hair grow a bit, knowing you love the bald patches on his jawline. He has his glasses on, the ones with the thicker black frames that you adore. He looks up at you, smirking at the look on your face.

“You look like a fish.”

Snapping yourself out of the trance, you retort. “Yeah, well you’re a jerk.”

He smirks. “Not your best work.”

“Yeah well. They can’t all be winners.” You gesture towards him and he gives you a couple claps.

“Much better.”

He finally takes a look at you, eyes roaming up and down your body at the ridiculous dress you have on. You’d never been to a premiere before and had no clue what to wear, really, since you weren’t a star. The minute you asked Dieter for help you regretted it, getting sent pics of increasingly slutier dresses before you finally asked if he preferred you go naked, to which he replied “Only for me.”

The dress was gorgeous and fit your body like a glove, showcasing all of your best features. It cost more than your entire apartment and was definitely not something you would’ve picked out, but you have to admit - you did rock this thing.

“You look beautiful, Bee.”

“As do you.”

He looks at you expectantly and you sigh, giving in only because this was a big premiere night.

“Big D.”

“That’s my girl!”

–

He helps you into the limo, where you sit with your leg bobbing up and down in anticipation. He places a large, warm palm on your bare skin and your knee stops bouncing.

“You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I know, I know. Everyone is just a regular person, but it’s all the cameras and-”

He lets out a raspberry. “Ignore that. Big D will show you a good time.”

“Oh God let me out.” You pull at the locked door handle as Dieter chuckles.

He chats with you, a constant stream of words and random stories - his attempt at calming your nerves. And fuck if it didn’t work. His voice was actually soothing to you, calming you down no matter how wound up you were..but you’d die before admitting that to Dieter.

Pulling up to the front, someone walks up to the door to open it. Dieter squeezes your hand.

“Ready?”

Letting out a breath you nod. “Ready.”

Dieter gets out of the limo, lights on cameras flashing away and the distant sound of screams from where they kept the fans away, having to keep everyone at a social distance. Dieter still walks over towards them, waving and turning around to pose in a giant selfie with them all. He waves and chats as well as he can and you can see how it kills him to not be in the crowd with them, interacting on a personal basis. Someone taps his shoulder and leans in his ear and he waves bye to the fans, turning back towards the main carpet. He offers his arm to you and you take it, allowing yourself to be led down the red carpet, lights flashing before your eyes as photographers yell for Dieter to turn to them. You gently let go of his arm and he looks at you, giving you a small smile as you nod and step back, walking back several steps and standing out of the way as he poses for pictures.

His whole face lights up with a smile, turning left and right, throwing up hand signs as he could and you find yourself getting warm between your thighs as you take him in. A couple minutes pass before you feel a hand on your arm. Turning, you see Carol Cobb’s long time girlfriend, Amy. You smile a hello and she jerks her head, away from where Dieter stands. You follow, keeping an eye on Dieter so he knows you didn’t ditch him. She leans in to speak in your ear.

“This is where all of the others wait.”

Chucking, you ask “Others?”

“Yeah. Significant others, friends, parents. The others. We’ll meet them at the other end of the carpet. The press needs their pics.”

“Oh right. Dieg-Dieter mentioned that. Thanks for grabbing me.”

“Welcome! You can hang with me.”

A bit goes by before you and Amy make it to the end of the red carpet, waiting for Dieter and Carol. They arrive and you all exchange the basics before turning to head inside. You mill around, speaking to random people and waiting by Dieter’s side as he makes the rounds, always making sure he’s touching you, as if he’s checking in. You squeeze his hand or touch him back to let him know you’re good.

About 20 minutes goes by before a man comes up to Dieter and speaks in his ear, Dieter nodding.

“Come on, Bee. They need us backstage.”

You both follow the man to a backstage area. It’s basically empty, no one milling about or even walking by. The stage where the giant screen is is just beyond the curtains. The man ushers you both off to the side before leaving.

“I gotta say a few words before the premiere.”

“I can’t believe they picked you for that.”

“They said I was the most charismatic.”

“Then we’re all screwed.”

He scrunches his nose up at you in response and you wink at him as you turn to try and peek out of the curtains, Dieter moving to stand behind you. His hands come to your arms, tracing light paths up and down your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Then his fingers start dancing towards your cleavage and you grab his wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His voice is in your ear, speaking low. “Touching my girlfriend.”

Heat rushes your body at the thought and Dieter notices, taking advantage of the moment to slide his hand down the front of your dress and pinch your nipple.

“Diego…” You get lost in the sensation for a moment, the heat between your thighs getting louder. But then you remember where you are and you pull his hand out, pushing it off to the side. He lets out a huff, momentarily letting you be. Suddenly, Dieter pulls you to his chest, wrapping you in his coat with him.

“What are you-”

“Sshh. Hold this.” You look down and see the opening of his coat, being held together by his hands. You grip it, brows furrowed in confusion. But before you can ask again, his lips are on your exposed neck, biting, licking, sucking, kissing. Your knees go weak for a moment but you don’t fall, Dieter holding you up inside the coat.

“You gonna be quiet for me?”

“Why would I n-need..oh!” The last word is whispered out as Dieter’s hands slide into the coat, finding the slit in your dress and slips his hand inside, running his fingers along your seam. He grunts in your ear when he feels how wet you already are.

“Already waiting for me, huh?”

“Fuck you, Diego Morales.”

“That’s the point, Bee.” He chuckles and you can hear the smirk on his face.

“God, you’re insufferable sometimes..” His fingers found your clit, rubbing circles there.

“I think you’re ready.”

“What? No, Diego. We’re in public.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I only did it to shut you up.”

“Well then, hold tight to the coat.” He grabs at your dress and lifts it up towards your hips, unzipping his pants to free his hard cock. He slides it through your folds and you moan, unable to stop yourself.

“Now now, shush. Big D will give you what you want.”

“Oh God, don’t you shut up?”

He plants his hand on the wall in front of your face, gently leaning over your body to bend you over slightly. He thrusts up into you and you whine, his other hand flying up to your mouth.

“You need to be quiet or we’ll get caught.” His voice is low and raspy, and you hate how much it turns you on.

He sets a rough, quick pace, knowing that you’re playing with time. Your fingers clutch at the opening of the coat, holding it together as if the coat could hide the way you’re practically slamming into the wall. Dieter’s hand is on the wall slightly above your face, bracing himself as he fucks into you. His hands are so large, the little bullseye tattoo straining with the pull of his skin as his fingers grip the wall. You remember exactly what those fingers could do and you can’t help the cry that escapes your lips before slamming them closed.

“You like that? Like how Big D fucks you?” he whispers in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“Don’t let my feelings fuel your ego, Big D.”

“Ah ha! See?”

The idea of getting caught, the way you and Dieter verbally spar as he fucks you fantastically grows your orgasm quickly. You grab his hand that’s not on the wall and bring it to your clit, rubbing circles there. He thrusts into you twice more before you come, squeezing him as the hand on the wall flies to your mouth so you can moan into it. Once you start to come down, Dieter’s hand returns to the wall and he resumes his pace, chasing his own high. It only takes several more thrusts before he’s grunting in your ear, spilling himself inside you.

He places two soft kisses on your neck before pulling out, stuffing himself back in his pants. His hands ghost across your hips, finding the edge of your dress and pulling it back down, smoothing it out as you drop his coat. You turn around to face him, still slightly out of breath as you look into his eyes, which are now soft.

“I hate that I love you so much.”

“I hate that I love you so much.”

Smiling at each other, you kiss, several moments passing before you hear someone clearing their throat. Breaking apart, you see the man who had escorted you backstage.

“Are you all set, Mr. Bravo?”

“We’re good, kid. Thanks.”

The man turns back around and starts to usher some people back into the area where you had previously been alone. Realization sets in and your eyes grow wide as you turn to Dieter.

“Did you have that man keep the room empty so you could fuck me?”

His eyes sparkle. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Your jaw drops open, but you don’t have time to respond before hair and makeup rush Dieter, dabbing at him before his time on stage. He kisses the back of your hand as you’re escorted to the main seating area, sitting down in your designated chair next to where Dieter will be sitting.

The nerve of that man! You find yourself trying to stifle a smile. But he did it for you, knowing he could help you relax. And ensure you wouldn’t actually be caught.

The lights dim and Dieter steps on stage, a spotlight following him around as he starts his speech. You watch him, his eyes sparkling still as he gestures around, his hair looking impossibly soft as it curls up at the ends, his face animated in his speech. And that’s when it clicks into place -

You would spend the rest of your life with him if he asked.

–

The movie was…well it was Cliff Beasts 6. But everyone seemed to love it and you watched Dieter maneuver around the journalists, answering questions and posing for pictures, but this time, his hand never left yours. You would shift yourself behind him, wanting him to have his time in the spotlight but he would pull you back around, inevitably bringing up the fact that you were the one that styled his hair during the entire experience of being in the bubble.

Back in his apartment, you stand in front of the window, admiring the night time view of the city, lights twinkling and cars zooming by on the road below. Diego walks up, handing you a glass of wine and you clink it on his, taking a sip after. You both stand there in a comfortable silence, content to just be around the other.

“Marry me.”

You nearly drop your glass as you stammer out, completely caught off guard. “Wha-what?”

Diego turns to face you and gets down on one knee, taking your hand in his. He pulls a small box out of his coat pocket, neither of you having undressed when you got back. He opens it to reveal a gorgeous ring, completely your style, and you realize that he had to have had it in his pocket the entire evening.

“Bee, I know we started out hating each other, but you somehow crawled into my heart. I love how we get each other riled up, but we also use that same energy to love each other so intensely that sometimes I’m overwhelmed with how I feel. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but that’s only because I’m used to being the only one who looks out for me. Now I have you…if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

Staring down into his eyes, which were now round and glossy, just like a damn puppy, you remember your realization from earlier and know what your answer will be.

“If only so I can continue to knock your ego down a few pegs.”

He smiles wide. “That’s a yes, then?”

“Yes. I’d follow you anywhere, Diego Morales.”

He slides the ring onto your finger and stands up, crashing his lips to yours before pulling back.

“I love you so fucking much, Bee.”

“I love you so fucking much, Diego.”

His lips find yours again as he walks you backwards towards the bedroom door. Wedding planning can wait until later.

—----

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[mrsdobrik]

CHAPTER 2:

warnings: Idk. But be warned. Y/n’s boss is an ass

It had been about a week since David met Vardan’s teacher and he couldn’t get her smile out of his head. He had actually thought about picking Vardan up from school just so he could see her again, but it would have been difficult to explain. So instead he just spent hours thinking about the way her hair fell on her shoulders, the little shadow her lashes cast on her cheeks, the way her lips moved when she talked. It was amazing how much time he could spend thinking about a fifteen minute meeting...

“David! Are you even listening?”Natalie was frowning at him.

“No, sorry, I drifted off”

“What is wrong with you lately? You are even more distracted than normal, and for you that is definitely impressive”

“Ha ha, so funny” He retorted sarcastically.

“Just turn left at the next intersection and try not to “drift off” while driving, I don’t know about you but I would like to live a couple more years.” 

They were going to meet some of the guys at a burger place before going clubbing. It was Jonah’s idea, obviously, he said they had even better burgers than In-n-Out, and if Jonah said so that meant something. 

After a few more turns they arrived at a 50’s diner. Zane, Heath, Mariah, Jeff and Jonah were already seated at one of the tables. The place looked awesome on the inside, the walls were pink and had old posters, photographs and neon signs on them. The floor had the classic black and white tiles and all the booths were red. It even had a jukebox that still worked and you could go and choose the song you wanted. David could tell he would be able to get great disposable pics in there. 

They all looked at the menu and decided what they wanted to eat, then while everyone else waited to place the order, David went up to the jukebox. He wanted to play “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen. 

By the time he went back to the table they had already ordered the food. The girls were not at the table and the guys were discussing how hot the waitress was.

“Did you see the way she looked at me? She is obviously into me, I am so getting her number” Jonah said

“Baby, are you delusional? She didn’t even look your way!” Zane replied

“Yeah, besides I am sitting right here so…” Jeff said, running his hand through his hair. 

“Nah dude, I am telling you, she is totally into me” Jonah went on.

David was checking his instagram as the guys kept bantering and then he heard Heath tell Jonah to shut it since the girl was coming. David looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes, it was Vardan’s teacher. She was wearing a pink uniform with a little white apron and had her hair in a ponytail. She was carrying a tray full of drinks in one hand and was talking to another waitress as she approached their table. 

David could see her cheeks blush when she met his eyes. He found it adorable. She started giving everyone their drinks as the girls returned from the ladies room. When she finally got to David she said hi in a soft voice, kind of like a whisper. He stood up to say hi to her

“Hey! How are you doing?”

“I’m great, and you?” she said blushing even more.

“Cool, just going out with the guys” At that point everyone in the table was very obviously staring at them. “These are Zane, Heath, Mariah, Jeff, Jonah and Natalie” he said even though she had admitted to watching the vlogs so she probably already knew. “She is Y/n, she is Vardan’s teacher.”

Everyone said hi to Y/n but Natalie who, after living with David for a couple years, could read him like a book and was giving him an inquisitive stare. David just ignored her. Y/n’s eyes were gleaming and David could see how excited she was to meet everyone. They had been talking for about two minutes when David noticed that from across the room a bald guy standing by the wall was giving Y/n an angry stare. 

“Hey princess! Do you want a cup of coffee too? Move that ass! Your tables aren’t going to serve themselves!” He yelled and the entire table went completely silent. 

Y/n’s face went completely red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. 

“I should go.” she said softly before grabbing her tray and heading for the kitchen. David’s blood was boiling and from the looks of everyone else at the table he wasn’t the only one. 

“Who the fuck is that?”David said whilst clenching his jaw as he saw the bald guy follow Y/n. “What is his fucking problem?”

“That is the owner of the restaurant” Jonah said “I’ve seen him here a couple times.”

“He’s disgusting.” Natalie said. She wasn’t wrong, David was ready to punch him in the face right then and there. 

As they waited for their food David kept his eyes on the kitchen doors waiting to see Y/n come out. About fifteen minutes later she finally did and she was carrying two trays filled with food. He watched her wait on a few more tables before she came up to theirs.

“I am so sorry for the delay” Y/n said while giving everyone at the table their plate.

“It’s okay,” said Natalie “I just hope we didn’t get you in trouble.”

“Not at all” Y/n said looking down, she was a terrible liar and David could see right through that. “Will you be needing anything else?” she said as the bald guy exited the kitchen doors and stuck his eyes to her. 

“No, that is it! Thank you!” David said locking eyes with her for a short second.

They ate their food and brainstormed bits to film the next day. David kept eyeing the manager every once in a while and kept checking on Y/n during the rest of the meal. 

Y/n’s POV

It was Friday, most people look forward to Fridays: the end of the week, hanging out with friends, possibly going out for drinks. But for Y/n it was a really long day of teaching and then rushing to the dinner for the night shift, which ended really late, and then barely making it home with enough energy to get out of her uniform. She was exhausted and overworked, even though she would never complain about it. 

However, that Friday turned out to be just a bit different because as she was serving tables at the dinner she saw some of the people from the vlog squad come in. Suddenly her heart skipped a beat when she considered the possibility of David being there too. Since she had met him at the school he was popping into her head a lot more frequently. 

As she approached their table to greet them and take their orders she noticed David was nowhere to be found, a knot of disappointment formed in her stomach. As she went into the kitchen to serve the group’s drinks Bob, her boss and owner of the place came in. He had a reputation for going after employees and was extremely rude towards most of the girls working there, he was a chauvinistic ass.Y/n tried to avoid contact with him as much as possible.

“Hey princess! Looking good tonight!” Bob said, staring a little too intently at the hem of Y/n’s skirt. He smelled like alcohol and grease which made him even more unbearable than he already was. 

“Hey Bob!” Y/n said looking down and quickly exiting the kitchen. “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen was playing and she couldn’t help by humming, she loved Queen. She went over to the table where the vs was sitting to serve them their drinks only to find David now sitting at the table. He introduced her to everyone, which Y/n loved. She wasn’t going to fangirl in front of everyone but she was extremely excited to be meeting them. She had been chatting with them for about a minute when Bob’s voice filled the air. 

“Hey princess! Do you want a cup of coffee too? Move that ass! Your tables aren’t going to serve themselves!” He yelled and the entire table went completely silent. 

No, please don’t

Her entire face went red and started heating up. That was so embarrassing she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. How could he yell at her like that in front of the customers? If it weren’t because of how badly she needed the money she would have quit a long time ago, but bills needed to be paid. 

She told everyone at the table she’d better leave and headed straight for the kitchen, Bob’s heavy steps following close behind. As soon as they were out of sight he grabbed her arm tightly.

“Don’t forget why you are here princess, this isn’t Cinderella, you are here to work” he said before letting her go. Y/n could feel her eyes itching, tears starting to form, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t cry, crying would only make things worse. 

Jazmine, her roommate, best friend and coworker rushed to her side as soon as Bob went into his office. She was the only close friend, one might even say family, that Y/n had in L.A. They had hit it off immediately after their first shift together when Y/n first moved to the city and had been inseparable ever since. 

“Girl, calm down, it's going to be okay. You just need to get through this shift and tomorrow you can sleep till noon and watch movies on the couch. Okay?” She always knew how to calm Y/n down. 

“Okay.” Y/n said. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and resumed her work. 

She served all her other tables before she inevitably had to make her way back to the vs. She could feel both David’s and her boss’ eyes on her while she ran around the diner. When she started handing them their food her eyes crossed David’s just for a moment but it was enough to make her stomach feel funny. 

God, he is so cute. Quit dreaming girl, you’ve got work to do. Besides it's just a childish fantasy, he is rich and famous and you are just delusional if you think he’d ever lay eyes on you. 

Sometimes your mind can be your worst enemy, and for Y/n it was. All the reasons why it was impossible would keep popping in her mind through the night, even long after he had left.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Graphic description of BLood and Violence. A Mild description of Panic/Anxiety attack .... 

And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 3

Chapter 2

Word count : 2.4 k

From time to time their hangouts on Fridays become less frequent. Tim had already made meeting with Jason -a regular civilian- hard enough with his lifestyle. Back then, Jason would always seek Tim, just taking him out of that busyness for a chill night out. Or just because he misses Tim, and wanted to see his face.

Jason doesn’t do that anymore.

They used to meet once a week, that turned into once in a while, and it’s been two months since Jason saw him last. They would still text regularly though, because even though it’s hard to meet Tim face to face, Jason never wanted to cut Tim off, never. So texting and calling it is, and it’s so much easier than seeing the person physically.

Jason loves when Tim sends him pet pictures. Tim would send a picture Titus the great dane snuggling with Alfred the cat, and it was the cutest sight he’s ever seen.

Sometimes he would check on Tim, asking if things are well. They would call and chat about petty things at work or things they’re mildly annoyed with. Or sometimes just banter about politics. None of them know how they got into that, but they did.

Jason would ramble about novels and Tim about a newfound manga. Talking and chatting like that is easier than meeting Tim, but it gets less and less easy for Jason.

Sometimes their call will be interrupted by someone. Sometimes Tim sends a couple of pictures with Superboy. Sometimes Tim didn’t reply for a month because of a mission, and Jason can’t do anything but to pray to the void and the universe that he’s alive at least.

He hated those days without hearing from Tim. There are times that his hands will start to shake whenever he was reminded that he hadn’t heard about Tim. His mind just whirls into the worst possibility ever and it’s swirling down too fast for Jason to stop.

It gets dangerous when he would drop heavy things in the middle of work. A car engine, a box of tools, his phone, and as a bonus, sometimes they land on his feet. Or when he sees bad news from a villain on TV, the world would spin a little and it’s harder to breathe.

He wanted to check up. He just wanted to walk to Wayne manor and demanded to know where he is.

To calm himself, he reminds himself that Tim has superheroes friends on his side. A Kryptonian as a soulmate too. Tim will be fine.

But sometimes those train of thoughts backfires.

They really have grown up after all. Jason promised himself that he’ll never let Tim grows away from him, but knowing the path he takes, and the soul mark on his body, some things are inevitable. Even so, Tim will be fine. With or without him.

As ridiculous as it sounds, Jason is anxious because there’s nothing to be anxious about.

“Jason!”

The ground is so close to his face. When did he get down on his knees? No, not on his knees anymore, he’s sitting on the side of his hips. He sees his open hands on the grease-stained ground, and they started to double into four.

“Breathe, Jason. Come on, follow my lead.” It’s Mrs. Knope’s voice. Feeling her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and following her commands to inhale and exhale.

Jason is getting his composure back, enough to look back to the TV hanged on the wall.

A swarm of robots attack in central Gotham. Red Robin is the first to respond. Tim’s bleeding, thrown to the ground, but he keeps getting back up. Jason wanted to run there, to help, to do something.

His friends came in. Superboy carries Red Robin away.

And Jason sighs at ease.

Tim is safe.

Tim will be fine.

++++++++

[Two Months ago]

Tim

Saw you on tv todya

Today

I rly thought you gonn die if not for your bf saving your dumbass so many times

Get back to me after you’re conscious you mad lad

[One Month ago]

I hope you’re on a mission rn and not purposely ignoring me

Or are you still recovering? you better be having some fingers cracked for not replying to me

Jk tho heal faster bitch I need some Alfred’s fluff belly pics

[Three weeks ago]

Tim what’s going on?

[Two Weeks ago]

Hey, dude, I’m just checking in

Saw you in crime alley

You’re dressed as a girl but you ain’t fooling me

[Two weeks ago]

Nvm it’s not you

Where are you tho?

[Yesterday]

Tell me you’re okay at least

Just something

Anything

Tim

++++++++

It struck like a bad feeling. Like a ghost going through your body, sending chills down your spine that can only mean nothing but bad. He’s started shaking like a scared rabbit. The ground under his feet feels like moving like a boat through a storm, he lost strength in his grip and his legs.

He lands himself on the side of the car he was working on, leaning there until he gets his ground again. From far away he can see Mrs. Knope coming over to him.

“Jason, it’s okay,” she turned the TV off, knowing it’s one of Jason’s trigger.

It’s not. Not this time, and the reason is something Jason couldn’t explain. He holds on to her, and regain his breath like the practice she taught him.

“Mrs... Mrs. Knope,” Jason said after finally catching his breath, “I have to go, right now, I’ll work on weekends in return.” Then Jason takes off without looking back.

“What- oh you better!” she scolded before she’s out of Jason’s hearing range.

Running aimlessly, Jason found himself in the depth of Crime alley, trying to look for Tim there and it is as crazy as that sounds, but his mind is awry from rational thoughts to think any differently. So, there he goes running like he’s a scared tourist. Then, after regaining some of his sanity, he calls and texts Tim even though his chat from two months ago hasn’t been read yet. Unsurprisingly, Tim didn’t pick up.

Bearing no fruit from running around, the only reasonable place he can look for Tim is the Wayne manor.

He has absolutely zero fucks at the moment that it’ll make Batman know that Jason knew about their identities. That’s a problem he’ll deal with after he calms his sudden anxiousness. It sounds like a petty reason but currently, Jason feels like dying.

There’s no public transport to the rich residential area, but there’s a stop near there so he takes it. Annoying the people on the bus with the tapping of his foot. He calms himself, thinking about good things, positive things. That maybe he’s just imagining things, that Tim is fine and maybe on a prolonged mission, and he’s making a fool of himself.

That must be it. He just needs to know that Tim is fine, even though going to his home is stalker-ish, it’s just something Jason needs to do. His embarrassment will have to wait.

Jason runs there as soon as the bus’ door open, powered with adrenaline and anxiousness. Soon, Wayne Manor came into view, and he spams the bell by the gate until someone finally speaks from the speaker in a British accent.

“Wayne Manor, state your business.”

“I need to see Tim,” Jason demanded.

“I’m sorry sir, but Master Timothy is still at work.” Oh, that’s good, now he just needs to go there.

“Where? Tell me the adress.”

“And what is your business with Master Timothy?”

“I just need to see him, he’s not returning my calls and texts the past two months. So, just tell me where he is!” Jason is getting impatient.

“Pardon me, but I don’t like your threatening tone, please contact Master Timothy himself if you’d like to meet.”

“No! Mr. Pennyworth I’m sorry just listen to me,” Jason called his name, and the static noise means the butler hasn’t disconnected yet.

Jason felt like his breathing is getting hard, but, oh god, not now...

“I need to see him,” Jason’s breath is getting shallower, he doesn’t want to do this, but Pennyworth is stalling, deflecting, now Jason knows something is wrong. “I know you know who I am, and I know...” Jason gulps, “I know.”

There’s a pause from the other end, and the gates open.

“Please come in Mr. Todd.” The speakers say before it’s off.

Jason runs through the pathway to the grand 4-meter tall door. A butler opens it before Jason has a chance to knock. Face stoic and head high. A balding drey hair, matching thick mustache, judging eyes and dressed in a pristine black suit and white shirt. The old butler moves away from the door and gestured Jason to come in.

The room inside is warm and cozy, but so big that it feels uneasy for Jason that used to tight spaces. Carpeted floor, a high ceiling with a chandelier in the middle of it and a massive family portrait at the end of the wall. Tim is in it, along with Bruce Wayne, the first adopted son Richard Grayson, the second adopted daughter Stephanie Brown, and the blood son Damian Wayne.

“Master Tim had gone off-grid for an hour,” Pennyworth informed, “The others are trying to find him at this moment, we could wait together if you’d like, to calm yourself from having an attack.” The butler eyes him knowingly, eyes fond and understanding.

Jason grits his teeth, impatient, “No, where is the last point he’s offline.”

“If you have any intentions to find him, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“You have to,” Jason stares down at the butler with fist clenched, “Depends on the area, he may not make it.”

“I assumed you knew about Master Timothy’s capabilities, I guess I assume wrong.” The butler shows his deprecating face towards Jason, and he’s not having that.

“Oh I know Tim can kick-ass, but I know these people even more, and their reputation underground. You don’t know how deep those villains connection runs. The people down there will do anything, only for a few bucks, or just something to eat. And you bet they would kill and conspire, and they won't care who they kill.”

Then, the butler’s expression is finally something else than calm stoic, but he stays silent.

“You don’t need to tell me anything else, just what his alias is, and the last time he’s visible. Please,” Jason begged, and it’s hard to control the croak threatening at the back of his throat.

“He’s last seen on Fulton street,” that’s near Crime alley, “his alias is Cal Corcoran.”

Jason sighs a relieved breath, “Thank you, and one more thing, don’t tell them that I’m looking for Tim.”

“Why is that.”

“Because he won't like my way, and I don’t want him to hold me back.”

Pennyworth’s face twisted in regret, but before the butler can say anything. Jason holds his arm in a firm grasp, eyes sharp the other’s pair of old wise eyes.

“I know you don’t trust me, but you have to believe in me. I’ll find him.” He’s filled with unshakable tenacity, newfound courage and an absolute determination to do anything. “Even with my life on the line.”

Pennyworth doesn’t move even a muscle on his face, then he holds the hand on his arm.

“Please bring him home,” the butler finally says.

Jason nods gratefully and runs towards the city. He knows exactly who to see first.

++++++

Jason had never been back here for years. When he left, he never looks back. How many years has it been? Yet everything is still the same. Still so easy to pick the door open. The room still smells foul, and the furniture is just as old and scarce.

An old man sprawled the couch, a beer on his hand and the tactical gear on his body means that he just returned from ‘work. He looks even older as if that’s even possible compared the state Jason last seen him.

“What are you doing here,” his dad slurred in his speech, not even bothered to stand up.

“You are going to tell me the list of your friends and where I can meet them.”

“And why do you think I would tell you?” He smirks, and he laughs, like a drunk. Then he throws the bottle of beer, aiming for Jason’s head, which he gives credit to his dad it was pretty close.

But he avoids it with ease, and the bottle breaks on the wall behind him.

“Get out! Get the fuck outta--” His dad finally shuts up, thanks to Jason’s knife against his throat.

His dad twists his face in outrage, “You don’t have the balls to--” Jason takes the knife away, leaving a red mark on the neck, and sink that knife on his dad’s right hand and through his thigh when Jason sees it grabbing into something in his pocket. The man only screamed for a millisecond before Jason shoved a bundle of cloth on his old man’s screaming mouth.

There are tears rolling down his sunken eyes. Jason never saw him cry before, not even when his mom died.

Jason left the knife there, and pulls another one and place it on a red line on his neck. His dad twitch away, he tried to, but Jason’s knife presses his neck hard against the couch. There’s no compassion left in him for his dad, not ever fear or guilt when looking at the man’s terrified and pained face.

“I will and can kill you if you’re not useful. I can get the names from anyone else, but I figure... You’d like a chance to do your son at least one favor, wouldn’t you?” Jason doesn’t frown, doesn’t show any expression. He doesn’t want to grace his dad with any expression. The knife sinks into the think fled on his neck, and Jason mercilessly drags it towards his Adam's apple like cutting a cake, leaving a trail of red that leaks blood.

“Wouldn’t you?” Jason says more firmly, pressing the knife even deeper.

His dad is shaking, eye blown wide in terror, and finally nods.

“Good, and along with the names, I’m going to need your guns and stash of drugs.”

[saranel]

Tagging @mags-duranb, who asked (thank you for the interest btw, it was super sweet. Also, I love your art <3333) :)  I was gonna make a post anyway, but I wanted it to be a timeline photoset hence why I’m not replying directly.

I thought it was about time I gave you guys a nice long update on the purrito, since we have now officially reached 2 months of age as of yesterday!

To answer the requester’s question, SHE is doing just fine xD  That’s right, when we visited the vet about a week ago for the second round of shots, we got visible proof (or rather lack thereof) that we have a little girl in our hands.  This was only a couple of days before I made an insta post announcing the official name, because of course it was. Way to embarass me, kiddo.

So I’d like to introduce you all to Buffy, because hello, so dang pretty, look at that last pic that was taken only yesterday, and she’s also pretty fearless and resourceful, though not necessarily highly intelligent xD  Not a vampire slayer, but an ankle slayer for sure.  I generally post updates on her every couple of days on instagram.

Oh, and, just as a final note on the whole name thing, yes, we still call her purrito from time to time, as well as a thousand other nicknames ;) 

So! On to the update (and an extra... suprise?¿¿??) below the cut:

Buffy’s issues with food have gotten a lot better.  She used to be vicious about meals, meowing and pleading hours before her feeding time.  At first we thought we were perhaps feeding her too little, so we followed the general advice everyone gives re: how much to feed kittens, which is to say we just let her eat her fill.  She did not stop until her belly was so distended I had to physically drag her bowl away.  So we decided to slowly increase her intake whenever we saw she started to get skinny.  Which, given her Longcat status, was so. damn. OFTEN.  Seriously, if she looks malnourished in some pics, I assure you she’s not.  She just grows and grows like a damn weed.

Lately, however, since her weight has reached a healthy plateau, she’s gotten much better about food.  No screaming, no scratching, and she doesn’t really complain before feeding time anymore.  She still follows us whenever we dare visit the kitchen, but hey, it could be worse xD

Something I’ve never mentioned here is that when we first found her, her whiskers were very short and stubby, which we originally attributed to her being very young.  But eventually, we noticed that not only were her brow whiskers much longer, there was a lone whisker next to the stubby ones that was regular-sized, and the shorter ones looked almost... manually cut, if that wakes sense.  A bit of research led us to find out that sometimes, littermates may do this to a runt (bite them off) when they’re competing for mom’s milk, which... not only makes my heart ache for our little buddy, it starts to put her whole attitude toward food into perspective.

Long story short, we were prepared for the possibility that she may forever have issues with food, but she’s been improving constantly.

Other than the food issue, Buffy has grown into a happy, healthy kitty :) She’s up to date on her shots, and we took her to the vet only last week where we got nothing but good news.  

She’s very attached to us, especially me since I work from home and basically see her all day, and though she doesn’t complain and yowl when she’s left alone, she is super cuddly when we return home.  

Given her age, she’s incredibly playful to the point that we get more exhausted playing with her than she does xD She likes climbing all over the place and exploring everything within reach, always looking for new ‘lairs’ and stuffing her butt into every nook and cranny, she loves to chew on cables (which has led us to do some highly creative concealing) and often engages in what we call ‘Crab Dancing’ when she gets excited/territorial during playtime:

( I *****MAY***** have edited this.  Slightly.  For my own amusement.  It’s kinda soporific if you stare at it for too long)

We were glad to see she takes to new (human) acquaintances very well, and she hasn’t (yet) started wreaking havoc in our apartment.  She, has, however,  gotten very bitey during playtime, and it’s ALWAYS playtime, so we’re trying to encourage her to bite on toys instead of our fingers: it’s a sloooooooooow process.  There’s also the possibility that she’s teething a bit early so she’s just constantly looking for relief.  We’ve bought her a few special chew toys that should arrive shortly, and hopefully they’ll help.  Even if it’s still early for her, hey, new toys, amirite? xD

Still, she never lashes out to us in anger/anxiety, not even when we gave her a bath where she was visibly distressed (yes, I know it’s not necessary for cats, but we’d never cleaned her with anything but pet wipes since we rescued her; she needed at least one) and yet she never tried to scratch or bite us.  TL;DR she’s mischievous, but not aggressive outside of playtime.

She’s super long for her age and will most likely be a pretty long kitty when she reaches maturity.  Seriously, y’all, Longcat 2.0:

( USB stick for size comparison, lol )

I’m still bummed my theory that she was part Van doesn’t seem to be true (in my defense, she has something very similar to the characteristic Van spot on her nape!), but hey, less shedding xD She also has a permanent bald spot on her spine now (as we knew she would), where the vet had given her that shot that saved her life back when she got sick.

She’s a sweet little doofus, who thinks she’s really a parrot and likes to perch on our shoulder, and meows the whole time I’m in the kitchen because how dare someone in this household eat when she’s not eating too, and when I ignore her grey-green supplicating eyes she just curls up over my foot while I wash the dishes, and she constantly gets tangled up in our legs and waits for us behind closed doors, and she’s a friggin’ Duracell battery who does.not.tire, and she  tosses half the litter out when she digs, and she loves to take naps with us cuddled right over our chests so our heartbeat can lull her to sleep, and we love her.

Here’s to the next two months :)

Size comparison below, using my hand in both pics.  Then and now :)

Addendum:

Edit: You can keep on reading, but the story has a sad ending, unfortunately :(  

The above was the post I had prepared and was going to post yesterday on Buffy’s 2 month ‘birthday,’ so I’ve left it intact.  However, I would be remiss if I didn’t add this latest development:

For a while now, we’ve been discussing how to deal with Buffy’s inexhaustible energy levels, because we do have other responsibilities, all of whom also require a good night’s sleep, which as you may imagine, has been a bit rare lately.  There’s this saying that the only one who can keep up with a kitten is another kitten, but we were very reluctant to adopt another one, since we’re currently dealing with an imminent move and we weren’t sure if we could even afford it.

Well...................

I found and rescued Buffy.  My partner found and rescued this little guy yesterday:

Five things here:

1) NO THIS WAS NOT PLANNED THIS IS SO BEYOND UNPLANNED I’M WFSJKLSDFJSKDHFSDKJ

2) MY PARTNER DIDN’T EVEN FIND HIM IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD HE WAS VISITING HIS MOM ASJKFDHLSADGHFDDFAS

3) WE SERIOUSLY DON’T KNOW IF WE’RE KEEPING HIM.  SERIOUSLY.L

4) YEAH I KNOW YOU CAN’T REALLY SEE MUCH LMAO EVEN HIS WHISKERS ARE BLACK JFC BUT I DIDN’T WANNA SCARE HIM SO I DIDN’T USE FLASH

5) 31 FUCKIN YEARS WITH NO KITTENS AND NOW TWQO, TWO KITTENS WTFFFFFFFF ITS RAINING KITTENS PRAISE BE TO BASTET i guess?? wtffffffffff

*breathes into a paper bag*

I’m going to be even more reluctant to make any grand claims than I was when we found Buffy, because this little dude (this one is a dude, indeed) is in pretty bad shape.  Though she’d been abandoned, Buffy was very clean and hale when we found her, even if she was a bit small and underfed.  

This one though... poor little soot sprite is all skin and bones, he was flea-ridden until we took him to the vet, he’s filthy, he’s terrified and has a bum leg from some sort of accident.  We didn’t even have a plan yesterday when my partner found him, but we figured since we had a lot of leftover milk powder and kitten pate from Buffy, we might as well feed up this little orphan. 

It took some coaxing with a syringe, but he got a bit of milk down which got his appetite going and we were able to feed him some pate.  He actually ate a fair bit, which is encouraging.  We know for a fact he was abandoned by his mom, btw, she’s still roaming around the neighborhood but refusing to tend to him since he’s already older than 4 weeks (maybe 1,5 month old max).  Just two weeks younger than Buffy.  After he got some food down, we took him to our vet, who was reserved but cautiously optimistic even for the leg.  He made us no promises, of course, and he advised we prepare ourselves for the possibility that he might not make it.

We’ve now had him for just under a day and he’s been improving.  He was very scared at first, hissy when I went near him, and the first time I fed him at home, the new environment had stressed him out to the point that I had to use a syringe again to get him to eat.  And yeah, we’ve had to keep him isolated ofc to protect Buffy (and him, omg, she’s literally twice his size in weight, no exaggeration, and most likely a social dunce with other kittes, she would destroy him).  I’ll be able to give him a bath tomorrow afternoon after the 48hr clock on the flea medicine runs out, which is yet another reason we had to isolate him.  Today, he’s been getting less and less reserved around me and he hasn’t needed to be force fed once, he’s been downing pate like no-one’s business.  I weighed him earlier and found he’d gained about 40-50 grams, a number I offer cautiously as both weighings at the vet and today aren’t entirely accurate, because squirmy kitty.  Still, he’s gained weight, even if only a little.   

Buffy can tell something’s up, since we basically had to move her litterbox and feeding area and haven’t let her in that room since.  It’s been... an adjustment xD But she bounces back admirably fast, she didn’t even bat an eyelash at the change; she’s just curious to discover what we’re hiding from her, obviously.  She’s probably heard him meowing, too.

We honestly have no clue what we’ll do with him.  Taking it one day at a time.  He might not make it at all, and even if he does, he may never get along with Buffy, in which case we’ll have to give him away for both their sakes.  I’m not gonna lie, money is a concern.  Research tells me at their age and beyond the cost isn’t prohibiting, not even double that of a single cat.  So if he doesn’t require any costly meds, we can afford him, especially since Buffy can now eat dry food (and so will he in a couple of weeks).  This, again, is all hinging on a) him not having any serious, contagious illnesses, and b) him and Buffy getting along.  In the long run, we know it would be way better for Buffy to have a companion to play and cuddle with, but we have to be realistic and prepare for the worst for now.

Soot sprite is a little cutie, he has the softest, most plaintive meow and there’s even hope for his little leg down the road (though honestly, that’s the last thing that concerns us; even in his current state, he’s perfectly mobile).  His eyes, too, should get better with time if he grows healthier. 

SO WE’LL SEE.  RN I am beyond stressed and reserved, but also kinda hopeful. *sigh*  

[scarletjedi]

do alllllll of them!

oh gdi pop - cut for length

1:Is there a boy/girl in your life?

My lovely wife :D

2:Think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

define “hurt” - physically? Of course! I twas an accident and she’s 3. non-physically? yeah, I do.  

3:What do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

Oh, no, where did you pee!?! (Our cat has been stress-marking)

4:What’s something you really want right now?

Someone else to bring the boxes from my office up to the attic

5:Are you afraid of falling in love?

Already there, luv. It was never the *love* that scared me. 

6:Do you like the beach?

I do! I like to swim, and I’m not bothered by the wildlife. I’m less fond of heat/no shade, but those are manageable. I like the “shore” even better - boardwalk food!

7:Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

Yep! Mostly in college, though my wife and I have napped together on the couch a few times. 

8:What’s the background on your cell?

The lock screen is Gimli face-palming from CAA, drawn by the lovely @kooriicolada. My home screen is Legolas laughing from the same pic. 

9:Name the last four beds you were sat on?

Um? I sat on my bed here, my bed at my mother’s house, the bed in the hotel room from my cousin’s wedding, aaaand...my mom’s bed, probably? 

10:Do you like your phone?

I do, mostly. It’s an iPhone 6 and still working, though I should get a new case for it. 

11:Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

I honestly thought I’d be making more money/have a full-time career (thanks for that, economy), but I *did* think I’d be with my forever someone so--yes and no?

12:Who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

Ha! My cousin on Christmas eve. I laugh because I remembered that! 

13:Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler?

Rottweiler. 

14:Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

Emotional. 

15:Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

Depends on the season. 

16:Are you tired?

At the moment or in general? 

17:How long have you known your 1st phone contact?

12 years. (You do mean “speed dial” yes?)

18:Are they a relative?

Technically? I married her. 

19:Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

No. We all ended for very good reasons. 

20:When did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

In person? 5 hours ago. 

21:If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

I’d marry her again in a heartbeat. 

22:Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Of course :D

23:How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

0! Because I am working. 

24:Is there a certain quote you live by?

Make Good Art. - Neil Gaiman

25:What’s on your mind?

That I have far too much shit in my office. 

26:Do you have any tattoos?

I have a half sleeve of a dragon against a nebula. The nebula is in color. The dragon is not. 

27:What is your favorite color?

It changes. I’m partial to red at the moment, but it’s also been blue and lie green. 

28:Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

When she gets home tonight. 

29:Who are you texting?

My wife and my best friend. 

30:Think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

Yes. I don’t think these questions are made for married couples. 

31:Have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

Yep. All the time. My favorite are the “So and so is dead” phone calls that I get--I can tell from the ring. 

32:Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

yep. 

33:Do you think anyone has feelings for you?

I’d hope it’s my wife

34:Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

I hear it all the time. I believe it from my wife. 

35:Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

that depends entirely on the context of the situation. 

36:Were you single on Valentines Day?

Nope

37:Are you friends with the last person you kissed?

Yep

38:What do your friends call you?

my name, usually. It’s short, and hard to make nicknames from. Or “SJ” or “Jedi” or occasionally “Scarlet” 

39:Has anyone upset you in the last week?

Yep. 

40:Have you ever cried over a text?

Not really? 

41:Where’s your last bruise located?

My leg, I think.  

42:What is it from?

I walked into the coffee table.

43:Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

Christmas

44:Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

My mom. 

45:Do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

I’ve a pair of black doc marten boots that I wear nearly every day. They’re the same boots Ray Kowalski wears in Due South. Yeah. I’m that nerd. 

46:Do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?

Not really. I can’t keep track of them. 

47:Would you ever go bald if it was the style?

Sure. I’ve near-buzzed my hair before. I liked it. 

48:Do you make supper for your family?

I tend to bake rather than cook, and my wife cooks rather than baking. But yeah, we’ve made dinner for the family. 

49:Does your bedroom have a door?

Yep

50:Top 3 web-pages?

By visit? Tumblr, ao3, and youtube

51:Do you know anyone who hates shopping?

*raises hand* Though I hate it less than I used to. 

52:Does anything on your body hurt?

My head. I think i’ve got a weird stress headache thing going on. 

53:Are goodbyes hard for you?

Depends on the situation. I’m a rip off the band-aid sort of person. 

54:What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

Coffee. The answer is always coffee. 

55:How is your hair?

Fine, how are you? 

(I need a haircut, but it’s short on my left and longer on my right--say 2 inches vs 6 inches? and my natural blonde)

56:What do you usually do first in the morning?

check my phone. 

57:Do you think two people can last forever?

yeah, i do. 

58:Think back to January 2007, were you single?

Ha! yes! I was. My wife and I started dating that March. (though, to be fair, we were the friends who were practically dating but not officially at that point). 

59:Green or purple grapes?

yes. 

60:When’s the next time you will give someone a BIG hug?

When she gets home from work.

61:Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

Scotland was lovely. 

62:When will be the next time you text someone?

Probably when I’m done with this meme. 

63:Where will you be 5 hours from now?

sitting on my couch watching tv (or possibly while my wife plays Skyrim), and writing in my notebook. 

64:What were you doing at 8 this morning.

sleeping. 

65:This time last year, can you remember who you liked?

My wife?

66:Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

My wife. 

67:Did you kiss or hug anyone today?

My wife. I’m sensing a pattern. 

68:What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

I was thinking about @fialleril‘s double agent vader stuff, particularly the post-vader parts. I’m in love with that AU. 

69:Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

*looks at stack of rejection letters* Yep. 

70:How many windows are open on your computer?

Browser windows? 1. (11 tabs, tho) 8 total (pages, word, and itunes)

71:How many fingers do you have?

10. 

72:What is your ringtone?

the bobs burgers theme. My mother has the godfather theme. 

73:How old will you be in 5 months?

31. my birthday is St Patrck’s Day. 

74:Where is your Mum right now?

I’m not sure. 5 on a Wednesday? Probably at Ruby Tuesday with my stepfather and their friends for dinner before they go to bingo. 

75:Why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

I am. I may have dated before her, but I fell in love with her. 

76:Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

yep. my wife. 

77:Are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

yep! I’ve only added friends since then. 

78:Do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?

what’s that in American? 6th grade? I don’t think I had one, yet. Unless you count, like, Luke Skywalker. real people didn’t interest me until 7th grade. 

79:Is there anyone you know with the name Mike?

several. I’m related to a few of them. 

80:Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

yep. the wife. 

81:How many people have you liked in the past three months?

...i’m not even gonna say it. 

82:Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

*stares at camera like on the office*

83:Will you talk to the person you like tonight?

*Stares at Camera like Ben Wyatt*

84:You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

I’m not doing that? 

85:If your BF/GF was into drugs would you care?

Oh yes. 

86:What was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

I SAW ROGUE ONE. That’s an event in and of itself. 

87:Who was your last received call from?

My mom. Unless you count my wife calling so I could find my phone.

88:If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

It says something about how little money I have that I considered it. COME ON GUYS! COMMISSION ME! I NEED TO PAY OFF MY CREDIT CARD BEFORE MY JOB ENDS.

89:What is something you wish you had more of?

Money and Time. 

90:Have you ever trusted someone too much?

Yep. My consolation is he was terrible in bed. 

91:Do you sleep with your window open?

yep. 

92:Do you get along with girls?

I do! I don’t understand a lot of hyper-femininity (In that, I think its too much work for me/I’m not practiced at it), but I’m cool with them being into it as long as they don’t look down at my boots. 

93:Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

Not that I can think of. 

94:Does sex mean love?

No, but I’m inclined towards liking it better that way. 

95:You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

Only if I haven’t eaten recently/there isn’t a bathroom. But you mean sexy stuff, don’t you? You saucy minx!

96:Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

No, but if I play my cards right, my wife might get to (I’ve been thinking about it, but it depends entirely on my job situation). 

97:Did you sleep alone this week?

nope. 

98:Everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

I do!

99:Do you believe in love at first sight?

I don’t think so--i think love, real love, is based on trust. But! I do believe in that moment of “oh, it’s you!” with someone you’ve never met before, and I do believe in soul mates. 

100:Who was the last person that you pinky promise?

Ahh....*shrug* probably the one friend I have from elementary school. We kept that up through college. 

I HOPE YOUR HAPPY POP! I TAG YOU BACK! ANSWER ALL THE QUESTIONS YOU HAVEN”T YET!

[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

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[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

Pregnancy & Parenting

Etc

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