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yelenasdiary · 1 year ago

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Platonic idea! Nat meets reader (female) undercover while on a mission. Maybe R’s a waitress trying to make ends meet for her kids, while Nat frequents the restaurant for her mission as that’s where she meets her target. They develop a friendship, but R doesn’t know nats true identity. One day, shit hits the fan w the mission and R is caught in the crosshairs. Suddenly her “friend” is in a fight with random people. But Nat makes sure to protect R. When it’s all done, Nat explains herself and her true identity. Bonus points if she helps R w her financial situation. Thanks!

You're Too Nice!

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Single Mom! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: With struggling to make ends meet with your current job, you were surprised when a guest tips you every time she comes to eat, leading to an unexpected friendship.

AC: Thank you for sending this!! I miss platonic Nat!! I hope you enjoy this x

"What can I get you today, Nat?" you smiled softly at the red head as you came up to her table. The new guest now eats regularly at the restaurant you worked at. She told you she'd just moved to town and was a terrible cook and enjoyed the food here. Although, this place wasn't a place you thought somebody could afford to eat at almost every night for dinner, but it was clear that Natasha had money, with every tip she left you was bigger than the last.

"I think I'll have the rib-eye steak tonight" Natasha looked up with a smile.

"Good choice, would you like a wine to go with it?" you asked, dotting down her order.

"Sure, what not. Surprise me, I trust you have good taste" she replied.

"I'll be right back" you gave the redhead a light nod before walking over to the bar and getting your co-worker to find the best wine that would go down with her order. "What's her deal? She eats here every night" the bartender asked.

"She just moved here and enjoys the food"

"Ha! I wonder how long it'll take until she gets bored of this place" your co-worker poured a glass of wine before handing it too you, "I don't know, she seems different" you took the glass and made your walk back to Natasha.

"Here's your wine, your food shouldn't be too far away" you smiled once more, placing the glass on the table. "Thank you" Natasha smiled but her eyes stayed glued to the table of gentlemen a few tables away. A group of 17 men all in suits, laughing over poorly made jokes as they sipped on their beers, whisky. You tried to work out, slyly, which gentleman she was so intrigued by, but you noticed she wasn't just watching one, but all.

"If those gentlemen are too loud, I'd be happy to move you to another table"

Natasha looked up at you then back at the table of gentlemen, "no it's okay. I was just wondering what they were laughing at" she replied, brushing off your offer. "My mistake, I'll be back with your order shortly"

That you did, you placed her order on the table and told her to enjoy and that if she needed anything just to holla. You waited on other guests while Natasha sat by herself, eating her dinner and sipping her wine. By the end of the night, Natasha along with the table of gentlemen and a few others, were the only ones left.

Natasha waved you down and asked for the check as she got out her purse. You returned to her table not long after, placing the check on the table. "I hope you enjoyed your meal tonight" you smiled.

"It was lovely, and the wine went down just as well, I knew I could trust you with" Natasha replied, placing $300 on the table. "Oh, please. this is too much!" You looked to her, she was tipping you $150 for your service. "Please, take it. You deserve it. I've seen how hard you work and how little you get. Also, it seems you need to get home to your child or children so you're not paying the babysitter too much, right?" she explained to your surprise.

You nodded, "How'd you know?" you asked.

"You keep checking your watch and the butterfly sticker on your name badge gave it away. How old?"

You totally forgot that your 4-year-old daughter had placed a blue colored butterfly sticker on your nametag before your shift started. Money is tight and you try your best to not work late as the babysitter charges by the hour, on some occasions when you knew work was going to be busy around the holidays, you'd ask her for a flat rate which she was kind enough to set a price but you always felt bad that you were taking from her rather than giving.

"My daughter is 4 and my son is 6" you answered the redhead with an almost embarrassed look.

"They sound lovely" Natasha smiled, handing the check back to you, "If you're working tomorrow night, I'll see you then" she added before standing up from her seat.

----

It's been a few weeks since you told Natasha about your children and since she was new to town you offered to show her around on your day off. Quickly, the two of you formed a friendship that honestly surprised you. Going from waiting on her whenever you had a shift to now sitting in a park drinking a hot coffee while your children played.

"What made you move here?" you asked, dying to know.

"I heard it was peaceful and I need peaceful in my life right now. Besides, the café near my apartment makes great muffins" she replied before taking a sip of her coffee.

"I've got to ask, do you not know how to cook?"

Natasha laughed, "I guess you can't count making peanut butter sandwiches cooking, can you?"

You shook your head, "not, that's barely a meal!" You chuckled, "Look, I love cooking. I'd be happy to cook a little extra and drop it off to you. It'll save you from having to come to the restaurant every night, which now sounds really bad like I'm trying to drive you away from us" you offered before blabbering on.

"I don't mind it; in fact, I enjoy it. The service is really good" Natasha replied with a chuckle.

"Maybe you should get a job there, you've seen pretty much how it works and what we do, how we do it. If you're looking, I can talk to the manger" you offered before taking another sip of your coffee.

"You're too nice, did you know that?" Natasha turned to you, "is that a bad thing?" you questioned.

"It can be. Some people might take that for granted"

"The world is already full of crappy people doing crappy things, there needs to be more people doing kind things" you explained, making Natasha chuckle at your choice of words. "Crappy things?" she questioned with a raised brow.

"Sorry, I try to reframe from swearing. I don't want my kids to swearing just yet" you explained.

Natasha nodded, "So if you think that there needs to be more people doing kind things, why do you try to refuse to take my tips every night?"

She had you there.

"W..I..well, I am very grateful for your tips but I feel bad for taking them. I give you the same service I give any other guest an- "

"and they don't see how wonderful your service. Lets make a deal, I'll let you drop off some food if you take my tips without trying to get me to stop, deal?" She interrupted you. Again, she had you.

"Fine, deal" you playful shook your head.

----

The night started off normal as usual, except Natasha hadn't come in. A table of 3 gentleman in suits waited patiently for a fourth member and none of them seemed happy to be there. But regardless of their rudeness towards you, you gave them your best service and did your best to make sure they would leave without complaints.

"That wasn't the deal!" one man shouted as you quietly came up to their table, placing their second round of drinks on the table. "I don't care if you don't think it was the deal, it's the deal now!" another snapped.

"That's it!" the first man replied with anger before standing from his chair.

"Sit down! Don't make a scene" the other muttered, "I'm sorry miss, somebody has had one too many drinks tonight" He looked at you with an apologetic smile. Before you knew it, your life flashed before your eyes as the angry man wrapped on arm around your neck, trapping you in a headlock while having a gun pointed to your left temple.

You instantly dropped your notepad and pen in shock. Other guests took cover under the tables while staff called 9-1-1.

"Let her go, idiot! You're over reacting" one of the gentlemen spoke.

"We had a fucking deal! If you do this, my entire business will go under and I won't let you do that to me! Not again!" your attacked spat back, pressing his gun harder against your temple.

"P-please, let me g-go" you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks. All you could think about were your children and how badly you just wanted to get home to them. "Shut up! And as for you bastards, if you do this, I will make sure the entire world know what you plan to do!"

"Damn, looks like you guys beat me to the fun" a familiar voice caught your attention, Natasha. "Who the fuck are you?" Your attacker turned you both slightly to face her. "How about you let her go and I'll show you who I am?" Natasha replied with a light smirk, her own weapon pointed at the man holding you tightly in his hold.

The man pushed you to the floor and quickly fired his gun at Natasha, missing her as she took cover and taking him out with a clear shot between the eyes. The other man quickly jumped up from their seats with their own weapons pointed at the red head you considered a good friend. Meanwhile, you took cover under a table with other guests while the sounds of guns and bullets flew across the restaurant.

Moments passed and you along with all the other guests were too shaken up to come out from under the tables as the restaurant grew with silence. Some guests began to emerge from the safety, "It's safe now everybody, you can come out" Natasha announced but still, you couldn't bring yourself to come out from under the table until Natasha came to you.

"Are you okay?" she asked with worry in her eyes.

"W-what, I m-mean who are you?" you asked, hesitant to take her hand. "How about we get you home and I'll explain everything" Natasha offered. You had no reason not to trust her, she did just save your life. So you took her hand and nodded softly, still in shock.

----

"So you're an avenger? That explains why I've felt like I've seen you before" you looked up at Natasha she handed you a cup of tea, Nat chuckled, "I couldn't say anything. I was undercover and I'm so sorry you got in the middle of all that" she sat down beside you.

"Hey, the way I see it, I now have a fun story to tell the kids later on when they're older" you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. "I guess you'll be moving back to New York?" you asked, your eyes dropped to the mug in your hands.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we still can't be friends. I'll give you my number and we can catch up whenever. Besides, I think I'm going to really miss the food" Nat smiled softly. Making you playfully shake your head at the Avenger, "I should get going, I have to report back to my team but I'm going to write down my number and leave it on the fridge for you, okay?" she added.

"Sure" you smiled, "thank you for the lift" you added.

Natasha left, leaving her number stuck on your fridge for you to put in your phone later on. You placed your now empty mug in the sink for tomorrow's problem when you noticed a small bag on the countertop, you did recognize it and assumed that Natasha had left it behind, so you called her.

"Hey Nat, it's Y/n. You left a bag in my kitchen" you spoke when she answered the phone.

"Open it, it's yours" Natasha replied, "I'm going to hang up before you can say anything about it" she chuckled before she hung up. Slowly you unzipped the bag to be greeted with a sight of cash, more than enough to help you get on top of rent for months to come with a little left over to buy general things for your kids. On top of the cash was a note;

"Just a kind person doing a kind thing, don't think too much about it. Thank you for your lovely service, I'll see you again soon.

~ Nat x"

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #marvel #fanfiction

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milotehacegrand18 · 3 months ago

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I saw a post where they made a joke about Crosshair having a crush on Anakin and that's canon to me now. Not only because of the ship itself but more because of how implicitly funny it is.

It's fun to think about because now I have the new Headcanon where Crosshair has VERY bad taste in men. First, while I think Crosshair is not the only one in the Bad Batch who likes men, he is the only one who ONLY likes men and that is already a source of ridicule with his brothers. And secondly, as a good chaotic gay with traumas and a shitty personality, having terrible taste is part of the process. But to be honest, Crosshair is more likely to be the complex one in any relationship unless he's looking for someone worse.

Also the idea of the Bad Batch having to console Crosshair because a Trandoshan bounty hunter broke his heart or some shit like that will never not be funny (especially since I know that at least Hunter would make fun of him for it until the end of his days) .

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #english #star wars the bad batch #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #crosshair the bad batch

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astheforcewillsit · 1 month ago

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If you're referring to Quinlan's Fall in Dark Disciple specifically - I think it's because Feloni was poorly attempting to recreate his arc from the Republic comics, which was a /lot/ more compelling and complex imo. The comics were written well before The Clone Wars, so they didn't have the same frame of reference as Dark Disciple w.r.t. Barriss and Ahsoka and their respective trials.

(I will talk about how bad the Dark Disciple book/arc is until I'm blue in the face 👍)

Rant coming up because I have thoughts too.

It is a genuinely bad story, and I'm so stressed learning about it LMAO. The way it destroys established understandings in canon is what's getting to me.

Poor Ashoka, poor Barris, Poor Slick.

I just have a sour taste in my mouth about how these three were treated, because at least Barris and Slick had a reason for what they did. It wasn't right how they went about it AT ALL, but the issues they had weren't necessarily wrong. We have in-canon context proving that.

They just went about critiquing them wrong. And I feel bad for them in the sense that they were imprisoned or killed, and Quinlan wasn't?

AND QUINLAN? Quinlan's fall was so intrinsically motivated and he's given a slap on the wrist for it. Over a woman? A woman, mind you who has hurt so many clones and Jedi? And like he did some seriously bad shit when he Fell. Like if Anakin did that he'd be blasted on sight I feel?

Why did the Order allow him back in? He killed his own friend in cold blood? Like who gets justice because of Quinlan Vos? How is justice served for those that we harmed because he decided to play a double agent?

How many clones lost their lives because of the support he provided for the separatist. How many Jedi? This was over a repeatedly long time.

Even Crosshair from TBB went through more shit in his redemption arc than Quinlan did.

Like that genuinely disgust me, that someone who willingly endangered the lives of his friends and family, killed them, and gave Republic secrets was allowed back into the Order and faced no substantial prison time.

It makes the Jedi Order look absolutely terrible for letting someone like that back into their ranks, after he deceived them twice? It makes them look hella incompetent and reminds me of religious orders who protect men who harm people, but throw women and marginalized people to the wolves. And I think that's what's bothering me the most.

And like Obi-Wan, he deceived you personally?? Stand up please. Be ab it more upset. Stop forgiving him. The same Obi-Wan who left his padawan on a burning planet...you know what nvm

At this point I only like Quinlan because I ship him with Fox, because he gives me the ick lmao.

#dark disciple #barriss offee #ahsoka tano #quinlan vos #sergeant slick

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questforgalas · 1 year ago

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16, 19, 33, 29 for TBB ask game!

Hot picks babes hot picks

16. Gush about your favorite batcher

What's the character limit on this because there is no limit to how much I can say about Crosshair. I have loved toothpick legs ever since he stepped on the Marauder steps, cracked his neck, and crossed his arms at Rex and Cody like there were 8000000 other things more interesting than what they're about to tell him. I think his skill is the coolest of the Batch and the most fun to watch. He's emotionally reserved while wearing his heart on his sleeves. He keeps everyone he loves at an arms length while poised to take a bullet for every one of them. He bonds deeply and hurts easily. He's a cocky exterior with an insecure interior. He's a snarky asshole with the deepest heart.

19. Which batcher is the first to fall asleep at a sleepover

My brain went immediately Wrecker. He gives me the vibes of the guy who's a ball of energy until it's his bed time and then he's out like a light. Tech's brain keeps him up for all hours. Omega doesn't know how to turn off her energy until 2am when she finally just crashed. Hunter's senses keep him going until he's decided everyone's safe and he can turn it off. Crosshair's trained to sit in a perch for who knows how long (assuming there were times when maybe he did solo recons or the Batch were deep in something so he had to chill in a spot for days) without falling asleep so he's a sleepover champ. Echo is the second to fall asleep, happy to chill with everyone until the yawns start, and then usually follows shortly after Wrecker

29. Tell me a random headcanon you have about Crosshair

Crosshair designed all of the tattoos for the Batch. I think he's hiding a very artistic side and because of his enhancement he picks up details no one else even dreams of which he hones by doodling them or sketching during down time. So, the batchers went to him with their tattoo ideas which he'd sketch out and once they approved what he comes up with, he passes it along to Tech who handled the application

33. Tell me you number one conspiracy theory about how Tech survived the fall

I actually don't have a well thought out theory on this other than pure denial and terrible writing if he is actually dead so home boy hit some trees the right way and made it 🤷‍♀️

Thanks for the asks, Morgan! Questions below the cut for anyone who wants to distract me from studying and the terrible burn out I'm experiencing

If you had to marry a member of the Batch, but it couldn’t be your main crush, who would it be?

Which Batcher would you most want to be trapped in an elevator with?

Which Batcher would you want to be your BFF (not SO)?

Which Batcher do you think would be cutest with a pet?

Which Batcher would you take camping with you?

Which Batcher would you want to be your coworker at your irl job?

Which Batcher would you want to be rivals with?

Which Batcher would you have taken with you to your High School Prom?

Which Batcher are you getting to help you when you need to fake your death?

Which Batcher is going to become a hermit in the woods with you?

Which Batcher are you having a sleepover with? (painting nails, gossiping, watching movies, the whole shebang)

Which Batcher are you taking with you on an undercover mission?

Which Batcher would you have crushed on in high school? (Not who you’re crushing on now, unless you genuinely believe your tastes in men are the same)

When you first entered the fandom, who did you think was gonna be your main man? (and were you correct?)

If you had to pick one Batcher who most needs to be given a boquet of flowers (not who you most want to give it to), who would it be?

Gush about your favorite Batcher

Which Batcher do you think would be a YouTuber irl?

Which Batcher is most likely to fall up the stairs?

Which Batcher is the first to fall asleep at a sleepover?

Which Batcher has the ‘weirdest’ taste in music?

Which Batcher is the best cook?

Which Batcher do you think had the most awkward first kiss?

Which Batcher(s) know how to braid hair, and how did they learn?

Which Batcher is the prettiest? (I want DETAILS!)

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Hunter

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Echo

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Tech

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Wrecker

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Crosshair

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Omega

What is your favorite episode?

What is your least favorite episode?

Tell me your number one conspiracy theory about how Tech survived the fall

What are you using to beat up Nolan? (Chair, a stick, bare hands, etc)

What is your favorite ‘inside joke’ from the fandom?

Shoutout your favorite fic writers in the fandom

Shoutout your favorite artists in the fandom

What color do you associate with each Batcher?

If you had to eliminate one Batcher from canon, who would it be?

Who is your least favorite Batcher?

What fan-favorite episode (if any) do you just not get?

FMK, dealers choice

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Hunter

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Echo

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Tech

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Wrecker

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Crosshair

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Omega

What is the worst possible outcome you think is plausible for Season 3?

How do you hope the series will end (as basic or as detailed as you want)

#the bad batch

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dipsticktapedeck · 4 years ago

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#sir that’s my emotional support terrible taste in men #transformers #crosshairs #transformers fanart #fanart #art #digital art #😩💅#don’t tell my gf #heehee

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anthropophagusthebeast · 4 years ago

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nothing is worth talking about but what else is there to do. yesterday was totally miserable, i failed at everything, and then as usual, as throughout my entire life, my own feelings about my own experience are a burden to others and that makes me a bad person. i wish i had just stayed in bed all day, then i wouldn’t have had to get into anything that just winds up directly engaging me with the fact that i’m beyond help and it’s a problem for everybody else, who would all be having a great time if it wasn’t for me. my whole stupid life. i just don’t want to do anything because i know how it turns out but i just feel so obligated. people get just as mad at you for “not trying” as they do when you try and it’s a big mistake. there’s no way out. nobody gets how all the “little things” amass into one big monolithic thing that only has one message and one character: your life is hard because it’s a waste of time. when you’re a shitty person, one of the problems is that people treat you like some new form of liar, like you’re just making it up that you can’t do anything right, it’s all a routine for the benefit of your captive audience, to disguise the fact that secretly you’re great and capable of anything. as if anybody has ever had a reason to fail on purpose, as if anybody has ever just refused to indulge in their own greatness for some perverse and unknowable reason. it’s so frustrating that while i’m trying so hard and failing so theatrically, there’s this perception that it’s all my choice, i could just Be Better if i didn’t insist on being so stupid and incompetent and uncomfortable. god it’s so fucking funny too that right in the middle of this day that was just one compound failure after another--failure to do something, and failure to simultaneously act like everything is perfect--my parents would bring up humiliating early childhood shit, and some of it not even early ENOUGH childhood shit to justify how stupid it was. i hate thinking about that stuff. while they were at it i should have busted out the story about how i submitted something for this special writing test and the proctor made an example of me in front of the whole entire room filled with my classmates, to show how even someone who you think is “smart” can be a really awful, boring writer with nothing to say. everyone thinks it’s funny that i’m depressed and everyone thinks that the things i hate myself for, i’m doing on purpose and could just stop at any time. i mean if i were capable of being at all different or better, i wouldn’t have to feel like this. i care about my family but so often i just feel like i’m sick of talking to them. i want to just leave them to their own devices so i don’t have to sit there conspicuously looking out the window with nothing to say while they gush over the news of the day or some celebrity event or just like, what it’s like to be a published writer and an overachiever of great talent. like what the fuck am i ever doing in that room, besides anxiously struggling to keep my behavior in check so nobody gets mad at me for having the wrong look on my face, which i invariably fail at. like if only i could just be nominally involved and send a warm greeting card whenever they’re getting together to share their amazing successes and everything. count me out. i get up in the morning and i feel pretty sick, which i announce, and i kind of wish it had factored in to how the rest of the day went, like maybe i could have at least gotten some forgiveness on my energy level or whatever, but it didn’t matter. nothing matters. for some reason i cannot communicate to my husband that i’m trying to plan our trip to the liquor store. i’m trying to say that i can either do groceries now and he can go later if he wants, or if he doesn’t want to do that, then i’ll just do my whole trip later, and for some reason he tells me that he can go AND that he doesn’t have a good reason to go, at the same time, and for several minutes there was just nothing i could do to get my point across so i could get a real answer. then i make this remark about someone having red hair, and honestly most of the reason i said it is that i can never get on the same page as him about what constitutes red hair, so i adjusted my identification to what i think he always says, and he disagreed with me AND explained why i was wrong. it just got me thinking about all the basic material things in life that we cannot agree on, like “what tastes salty to me tastes sweet to him” sounds like a ridiculous hyperbole but it’s a literal example that happens all the time and it just makes me feel so stupid or like i’m going insane, that we can’t even agree on black/white up/down type of designations. i sat there thinking about every example of this and thinking about how i have to stop caring about this, i have to stop caring about this, i have to stop caring about this. i have to stop caring. i’m always telling myself this because it’s the only thing that makes any sense. just stop caring. my caring about anything never makes the slightest difference in the world except that i get upset, and then other people are upset at me for being upset, like it’s something i’m doing to them. and of course while i’m gazing at my bookshelf thinking about my list of things to never bring up again--don’t say who has red hair, don’t say what things taste like, avoid every single topic where your husband is reliably going to say an inside out version of what you experience, just don’t talk about any of this stuff again, it doesn’t matter anyway--he of course is suddenly at my side with deep concern in his voice about whether i’m annoyed because we disagreed about the redhead. i was actually honest and remarked that we’ve never agreed about whether someone is a redhead in our entire relationship, and then we went on to disagree about some more redheads, and i GUESS it was good that i was honest because supposedly that’s always good, but was it really? did it matter THAT MUCH that i didn’t just absently refuse to say if something was on my mind? i mean what difference did it make? i have these fantasies all the time about just never speaking again because i’m always wrong and i always have to back off, but then it’s also “wrong” to not speak, or speak less, that is ALSO something bad and abusive that you are doing to other people in the process of just trying to avoid unnecessary and irresolvable conflicts that don’t go anywhere. then we have to play this game i made him get me for my stupid birthday, or more specifically i caused him to get an extra controller by suggesting that we could actually play together, which i should have known would be a bad idea; things had been ok the previous day but then all of the sudden he started playing to shut me out completely, he cleared every single screen by himself before i even got my crosshairs on anything, i was totally incapable of landing a single point and when i decided to just stop trying as an experiment, it didn’t change anything that was going on on the screen, he just completely took over like i wasn’t even there. it seemed like i had two choices: either quit and just let him have the thing all to himself which is what was effectively happening anyway, OR try to remind him that this is a cooperative-not-competitive game and i don’t really want to play if he wants to score every single point while i just sit there, which would have resulted in him sitting around politely twiddling his thumbs while i struggle to catch up, which sounded even worse to me. so i bailed and somehow that had to be controversial too. i mean i forced him to get this extra controller somehow, and now we have this thing in the house that he went out of his way to get, that we can’t use because i’m not good enough for that activity, or not even a good enough person. yet another fuckup of mine that cost effort and money to accomplish. more things to feel guilty about. like yet again i’m not allowed to just NOT do something where i’m only going to humiliate myself or waste someone else’s time. like what is this societal obligation to just grin and bash your head into the wall over and over again so nobody has to be mad at you for not participating. then we talked to my family and i guess i made an asshole out of myself by trying to escape attention, and i FELT like an asshole while i sat there with nothing to say while my husband led this whole conversation with them--except for the times that we had to talk about my bad, sad, failed children’s art. like i tell this story about an object that i thought was mercifully long gone, but my stepmother brings it up, a “book” i made at a library event when i was a little kid, which i remember so well because the librarians were desperately trying to get me to string more than two ideas together and i just couldn’t, i just couldn’t think of a story at all, not even a ripoff one like some of the stuff i would write later when i was trying to live up to the accusation of being “gifted”, even with them getting visibly frustrated with me and breathing down my neck trying to explain to my little retard self about what “beginning” “middle” and “end” mean. maybe they thought my parents would be mad because probably they paid for me to do this little workshop and if my thing came out bad then they’d be pissed, like when the school photographer jumped up my ass about how i wasn’t smiling enough and i was supposedly acting like I was “angry at the world” when all i was trying to do was not take a picture with my big stupid hideous toothy grin that i felt terrible about, but he was probably just trying to protect himself from angry parents. anyway and for some reason my father’s response to this is to bring up this unbearably pathetic story i did when i was a little too old to be making shit like that, this miserably serious x-men fan fiction that included a talking crayon. this seems to come up whenever i try to bow out of the idea that i’m “talented”, whenever i try to say that i’m not creative, which is really true, somebody wants to mention like the saddest most pathetic thing i’ve ever done in my life. i’m 39 years old and i’m still hearing about it. it makes me feel like garbage every time, at least for the reason that something terrible i did when i was 12 or something is still the most memorable work i ever produced, and everyone laughs and i’m supposed to like, enjoy this somehow, or take up the mantle of amusing everyone with what a piece of shit i am, and do it with a smile and a good attitude. like everyone knows i’m a piece of shit but i’m not allowed to FEEL like a piece of shit about it, what kind of life is that? so finally i removed myself from all of this and just hovered in the kitchen trying to do the one thing that i almost do right every week, which is make this one dinner when otherwise i totally fail year after year to contribute to the meals in this house, and i completely fucked it up. my husband could barely choke it down, it was terrible to see. i really don’t want to do it again, ever. and of course i made some remark about how he doesn’t have to eat it, and that was a bad thing to do too, that also made me a piece of shit, an even bigger one. ruining dinner. ruining the game. ruining my family’s good time. ruining groceries. ruining everything. all i want to do is kill myself but everyone would be mad at me for that, too. some of my most moving fantasies are about people telling me it’s ok if i kill myself. it’s just ok. i don’t have to feel bad about it and everyone understands that i have come to the mature and reasoned conclusion that my life is a huge waste of time; if i don’t like it, and neither does anybody else, then it’s obvious that i should end it, everyone will understand and forgive me and be glad that it’s over. but of course that would never happen. i just can’t win, i’m not competent to just get through a day uneventfully, and whenever i show who i really am or how i really feel everyone hates me for it. i hate myself. who wouldn’t hate themselves for, day after day, failing to do anything good, and then everyone treats you like it’s funny and you should be laughing. there’s just toil and misery and it’s fruitless. the paradoxical insistence that you make a clown out of yourself AND act like you like it AND act like actually you are also capable of great things just like everybody else, OR ELSE you have a bad attitude and everyone has the right to hate you for it. i just want to die, all the time. nothing works and nothing helps. i fantasize about having a brain aneurysm and dying in my sleep, or getting hit by a car, or catching a stray bullet, or anything where i just spontaneously expire and i don’t have to do anything ever again. like right now my husband is fucking grinding coffee in our bedroom which is totally and completely abnormal, just to avoid me. what the fuck am i supposed to do. literally what the fuck am i supposed to do. communicate better than i can communicate. play better than i can play. be more creative and successful than i can be. cook better than i can cook. don’t be sad. don’t be confused. don’t be angry with myself about the same things nobody else likes about me either. don’t kill myself because then everyone else will be pissed off even more. like what could i possibly do to ameliorate things. just don’t be yourself, at all costs, do not ever be yourself. don’t escape. don’t forfeit. don’t quit. don’t have feelings. don’t have a hard time, ever. don’t stop trying to do things you’re bad at. don’t stop humiliating yourself. don’t stop acting like you like it. i wish my mother had had an abortion and i’m sure so did she. just kill me, please. or do i not deserve the fast death, either. i don’t want to do anything. just thinking about how i spent about $100 on trash bags because i was too stupid to figure out what to do. just thinking about walking out in the rain to “help” take the trash out, realizing that there was a problem, and having my husband yank the bad wrong bag i stupidly bought out of my hand and leave me standing there doing nothing while in front of me he dragged all the trash across the sidewalk by himself, shouting and cursing. and this is it, now he’s working in the bedroom. never happened before. it’s me, i’m garbage. i’m shit. maybe i’ll die. i ruined everything. because i ruined yesterday, i also ruined today. maybe it will turn out that yesterday i also ruined tomorrow. and on and on and on it will go. nobody knows what it’s like to just be trash. i’m afraid to stop typing because there’s nothing else to do. i can’t imagine going to yoga tonight. the only thing i feel in my body is this cortisol response. a cold rock in my stomach. imagining people laughing at me writing things like this and talking about what a pill i am after i’m dead. yesterday i was so upset that i started imagining animals, being deep in a forest somewhere and just taking comfort in the company of animals. it was alright until somehow the question came up of do i want to feel better, why don’t i just choose to, and i couldn’t respond to that. i just feel so bad. intellectually i’d like to feel better because then i wouldn’t have this exhausting problem. but it’s hard to imagine from where i’m standing, when i feel like i have this bottomless supply of grief that i can’t just pretend isn’t there. maybe i would like for people to feel more sorry for me, is that it? when i try to admit this stuff i start comparing myself to my most intensely selfish friend and it disgusts me but maybe that’s why we’re friends, because secretly i want everyone to pity me just as much as he openly demands pity. i guess it makes him better than me that he’s more honest about it. but like i don’t need people to somehow uplift the idea of me or anything. i just want to be dismissed. i want people to say “ah yes, claire can’t do this, she can’t do anything, we’ll just leave her out of it,” and then i want them to really do that and not roll their eyes at me or laugh at me or yell at me or treat me like i’m secretly depriving them all of something they deserve. just leave me alone. just believe me when i describe how i’m incompetent, or even demonstrate it! that’s probably the worst thing, just not being believed. when you’re trying desperately to explain your sense of reality and everyone just turns it inside out because it’s not convenient for them. because nobody in the world feels the way you do. i hate the way people treat the suicidal. i hated that documentary where the kid kills himself and his stupid friend dissects his suicide note to explain that it was all bullshit because all teenagers feel that way. well obviously all teenagers do not really feel that way because all teenagers do not kill themselves; they have good days and some bad days, they don’t REALLY hate themselves, they strive to be liked and have friends because they realize it’s possible, they get over it, whatever “it” is. just because someone isn’t eloquent enough to explain to you convincingly that their life is agony doesn’t mean that their agony isn’t authentic, that it’s just shallow childhood bullshit. nobody truly believes that you’re in pain until it’s too late, and then even after that, they develop all these theories about how your pain was inappropriate and flimsy enough to have been dispelled with a cup of coffee and a hug, so basically it’s your own fault for not “reaching out”. and now we’ve reached the desired conclusion, that it’s ok for you to be angry at people who experience lethal psychological pain because they were just being shallow lazy selfish jerks to rudely spoiled your day by choosing to make sure they never lived through another meaningless day again.

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