#dealing with fuckin raids right before i go on work vacation

[heyitscel]

On those weeks where literally everything goes wrong all you can do is just survive at that rate like you just gotta

[brynfelan]

Okie dokie, one more fluff prompt before i possibly jump back into angst, or leave you alone because I've absolutely raided your askbox. Made a home here, you might need me to take a vacation 🤣

Some girl or guy is flirting with Hajime while he's walking to eat with class 77. We'll say its genuine, because I can't be that mean in a fluff prompt. They don't see that Hajime's uncomfortable with the flirting, but Fuyuhiko and Peko do, and they're about to fight for their boyfriend. By fight i mean murder, but semantics.

Plus the person is touching Hajime's hair and shoulder constantly. Too much contact for someone that's making advances at their boyfriend.

Just as said flirter is about to need a funeral, Hajime turns to face them and says "Listen, I'm sure you're great, but I have a boyfriend AND a girlfriend who i care about deeply, I'm pretty sure I love them, so you're noy going to get me to leave them. Not in a million years. I'm sorry." Hajime watches the person flirting with him leave dejectedly, sighs, and turns around only to wish he hadnt.

Fuyuhiko has never looked more smug than he does right now, and while Peko is blushing, she's also trying not to laugh at the situation.

Hajime's screwed. They definitely heard everything he said. Cue the tsundere ass ahoge ways to try and deflect attention away from what he said about them (but it won't work, not today. Rip Hajime. A blushing mess the rest of time. The affection they'reabout to give him is TOO MUCH for his tsundere ass).

fuyuhiko 100% doesn’t ever let that go. he’s a bitch that can hold a grudge, and he’s a bitch that will never let hajime live that one down.

peko is just smiling, because her boys are hilarious, but also because hajime’s adorable when he doesn’t realise they’re around and he’s defending their relationship.

the whole walk over, fuyuhiko’s poking him with this smug grin on his face like “Huh, you love us? Why don’t you fuckin say that to our faces?” and to hajime it’s absolute hell, and peko’s just laughing because fuck’s sake fuyuhiko why are you like this.

hajime’s absolutely bright red by the time they actually get to the rest of the class, and he’s like one push away from it being too far. but also he can’t actually be mad at either of them, because fuyuhiko’s cute when he’s taking the piss out of him, and peko hasn’t really done anything to warrant hajime being mad. but he does say something like “if I ever get asked out again in your presence, you’re going to deal with it and not me because I don’t think I can live through this kind of embarrassment again” lol

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 17

Warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, anxiety, heartbreak, police violence (potentially triggering encounter, please heed the warning), language

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here it is. All I can do is say...I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fix it. I decided to go ahead and post this tonight because I haven’t gotten to write much lately, I’ve been working constantly and now I’ve got a second job - so I just love getting to write and post when I can. Thank you for sticking with this story. It’s almost a year old now! As always, let me know what you think!!

“I dunno, Mom - I mean it’s not like I planned this-”

“Well, no, honey,” her mother huffed over the phone. “It doesn’t seem like you planned any of it.”

Y/N winced at the sting of her words but didn’t argue. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she grabbed another stack of underwear and socks from the dresser and turned back towards her bed, where a suitcase lay open. A few pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters were already folded inside. Off to one side, her toiletry bag was stuffed full - skincare and toothpaste and hair products she might not even use but tossed in anyway in her flustered packing frenzy. Her grip on the socks in her hands tightened to keep her fingers from trembling.

It had been 2 days since her fight - breakup - with Bucky. For the first 24 hours, she fell into an anxious, disorganized catatonia; she shuffled from room to room in her house, pacing and biting her nails, opening cabinets at random then promptly closing them. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, and her heart raced at a breakneck pace. If a single clear thought managed to arrange itself from the scattered clutter of her panic, it was only Bucky’s face, red-eyed and tear-stained as he pleaded with her. After splashing some water on her face and changing into sweatpants, she had put herself to bed, settling in for the longest night of her life. She tossed and turned, hearing the minutes tick by from the clock on the wall. At around 3 am, she threw off the covers in heartbroken frustration and stalked to the kitchen, setting the kettle on for tea and raiding her cabinets for any treats she could find. Thank God she still had that fancy dark chocolate she’d gotten last time she went to the city; it was the only thing her cupboards could provide in the way of comfort food. Armed with a steaming cup of lavender chamomile and an entire half-pound of dark chocolate she settled back under the covers and grabbed the T.V. Remote from her nightstand. If nothing else, she prayed Netflix could distract her, fill her mind with different faces, different voices - drown out the one that wouldn’t leave her.

She managed to doze off towards the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, tearful confessions playing in the background of her not-quite-dreams, and woke just before 7. A cold, clear morning greeted her through the window, the air in her room practically frigid, but something in it settled her. Quieted the static that had blurred out all thought since Bucky walked through her door the day before. With a deep breath, she threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed, leaving the tea cup and chocolate wrapper to deal with later. It was her running shoes she reached for.

An hour and 10 kilometers later, she jogged back up her front porch steps, breathing heavy and feeling light. Her cheeks were charted from the wind, and her nose was running, but the grip on her heart had shaken loose. And as she clambered into the shower, stinging hot and billowing steam, new thoughts began to string together - thoughts for tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

Still in sweatpants, hair dripping, she’d scribbled down a list while she sipped her coffee. Names, to-do’s, a seed of a plan. In order, she phoned the clinic, her best friend, her residency program coordinator - and now, at last, her mom.

“I’m driving up to stay with Kat for a few days - maybe a week,” Y/N sighed, ignoring her mom’s comment. “Just to…clear my head, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” her mom agreed. “Though I don’t know why you couldn’t come here…I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving-”

“Mom.” She closed her eyes, one hand settled on her hip. “It’s not a vacation.”

“No, sweetie, but it doesn’t hurt to come let your mom take care of you…”

Knuckles pressed to her eyelids, Y/N sat down on the edge of her bed. The old mattress creaked, as it had every night she slept in it for the last several months.

“I-I just,” she licked her dry lips and tried to swallow. “I need to be alone for a little bit, Mom. Once I’ve got it all figured out, I’ll let you know. And maybe…who knows, maybe I can come visit soon.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice on the phone is tired, resigned. “Why do you always try to do these things by yourself? You don’t have to be alone.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. She breathed slowly, warding back the lump that threatened to close off her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this time I do.”

**********

“You’ve got to go in there and wake him up-”

“I’m not doing it - I wouldn’t touch him with a 10 foot pole when he’s like this.”

“Well, someone’s got to. We’re bugging out in just a couple days-”

Heavy-eyed, and feeling like death warmed over, Bucky stirred at the sound of the voices outside his bedroom. Harsh winter sunlight burst through the blinds over his window; even before he opened his eyes it hurt. Something throbbed inside his skull, and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his parched mouth. Why the hell did he feel this bad? He couldn’t remember the last time he drank like this, to the point of blacked out nausea. His stomach roiled as he turned over, and he felt far too old to be drinking like there was no tomorrow, like he hated himself-

And then he remembered.

Y/N.

Suddenly he had no interest in getting up, getting water, getting something that would settle his stomach. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pressing firm against his eyelids and blocking out any light that came through. It was hot in his room, the combination of heating and a pile of blankets that someone had tucked him in with, but he didn’t move the covers, choosing instead to sweat underneath them.

How had he fucked up so badly? The best thing that ever happened to him - and now she was gone, baby, gone. It would’ve been alright, maybe, if Natasha had allowed him to talk to Y/N himself, but-

Natasha. Just the thought of her set his blood on fire, and he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes flying open - only to immediately regret it as a stronger wave of nausea threatened to claim him. He quickly folded himself in half and put his head between his knees. When his head finally stopped spinning, he propped his elbows up against his knees and threaded his hands through his hair.

Already, he felt a thread of shame and guilt tugging at his gut. It wasn’t right to blame Natasha. He knew that. The lies were all his own; all Nat had done was reveal the truth.

But, God, the look on Y/N’s face - she had never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning when she was afraid he might be a criminal. It chilled him - right down to the marrow of his bones - the cold anger, the mask of disgust and disinterest that she wore to hide the way she hurt. And she did - he could see her pain cracking the ice in her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it.

He hated himself for it.

A soft knock at the door, and Steve’s blond head poked in.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows jumping in surprise. “You’re awake.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened as Steve and Sam kindly let themselves into his room and took up post at the foot of his bed.

“Yeah - thanks to you two. You wouldn’t know how to whisper if your life depended on it, Wilson.”

To his credit, Sam didn’t respond - merely rolled his eyes and cast an exasperated glance at Steve. With a sigh, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes down on the soft blue quilt Bucky had haphazardly wrinkled during the night.

“Look, I understand that you’re really upset right now.” Steve’s voice was soft, barely more than a murmur. “I know…I know how much she meant to you.”

Bucky felt his eyes starting to burn as he stared at his friends, and he hastily scrubbed at them with his palms, sniffing.

“But,” Steve continued, licking his lip. “We’ve got our marching orders - we’re on standby to pull out any day now. We - I - can’t have you going on binders, AWOL for 24 hours, and then stumbling in here piss drunk at 3 in the morning.”

“We thought you were dead, Barnes,” Sam added, clenching his jaw. “We’re on fuckin’ suicide watch, man. You’re gonna drink yourself to death over a breakup? Huh?”

Growling, Bucky reached behind himself for a pillow and hurled it at Sam’s head.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“No, Buck, Sam is right.” Steve’s brows were knitted together tightly. His eyes were sympathetic, but the rest of him was unflinching as stone. “You can’t do that again. What if you’d run yourself off the road, or gotten hit by a car?” Bucky scoffed, but Steve didn’t back down. Raising his voice he went on. “No, I really want you to think - would you be better off dead? Is that what you want? Is that what she would want?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky saw her face right before him once again, her smiles, the way she used to look at him. The panic in her eyes during his parking lot showdown with Rumlow, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating on something, how sleepy her eyes were in the mornings - each little piece of her, precious secrets he had tucked away in the hidden corners of his heart. He had thought, dreamed, that he had a lifetime to collect them all, fit all her parts together like a puzzle one piece at a time, and love every moment of it. Now, though. These lone pieces are all he has left, and they will never be enough.

What did she want? He knew only one thing for sure - that she was the only person who could say.

“I don’t think it matters to her either way, punk.”

**********

A few miles outside of town, just past the last lonely gas station, was the exit ramp to the interstate. The road had seen better years; the pavement was pitted with potholes and cracks, haphazardly patched with uneven lumps of asphalt that left drivers weaving between lanes and wondering which would do more damage to their tires. But, since this part of the state saw less traffic than other areas, infrastructure money was slow to trickle down towards repair and reconstruction.

Y/N had driven this road a handful of times - as she moved into town, and then when she had taken the drive a couple of times to visit her friends in the city. It was desolate enough to be a slightly depressing drive; nothing but scorched fields for miles on either side of the road, and the steep ditches that banked it on either side were overgrown with wispy stalks of dead grass. Overhead, a grey and overcast sky shadowed everything, promising a winter day best spent indoors.

She tuned in and out of a true crime podcast while she drove, hardly seeing the road in front of her. Her mind was too far gone on the events of the past few days - and everything she had to do with the coming ones. But there was something comforting here, in the grip of the wheel in her hands, a travel mug of coffee still steaming in the cupholder, an open road ahead of her. She felt…awake, present. Bruised, but not broken. And ready to get back up.

Of course, it shook her when a cop car pulled out of the overgrowth on the shoulder of the exit ramp, putting on speed to keep up with her. Mentally she reviewed her driving - still only 5 over the speed limit, her lights were on and working, her tags were in date. They had no reason to pull her over, she rationalized.

And they didn’t. The car stayed right behind her for the next 10 miles, quietly driving at her speed, keeping a couple car lengths’ distance between. No flashing lights, no sirens.

So why were her palms sweating?

After 20 miles, the sirens finally started blaring, blue and red flashes blinking in her rearview mirror. Despite being raised to respect the law, she felt nervous as she glanced back at the car, easing her foot off the accelerator, but not quite braking to pull over. She bit her lip, hesitating another few seconds as the alarm grew louder behind her. Her stomach clenched nervously.

Stop freaking out. You’re just worried about getting a ticket. Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she scolded herself and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road, careful not to get too far into the muddy grass along the shoulder. Fingers fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel, she watched as the officer got out of his car and strolled up to her window at a leisurely pace. His head was shaved, and he wore dark mirrored sunglasses, in spite of the gloomy light of the day. As she rolled down her window, she squinted at his face, trying to recognize him from the adrenaline-blurred memories of the night Bucky killed Brock Rumlow - but the low slope of his cheekbones, the clean-shave, the firm-set frown are all unfamiliar to her.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted her, one hand on his hip. It drew her eyes down towards his gun. “License and registration please.”

Instinctively, she nodded and reached towards her wallet lying in the passenger seat to dig out her license. The officer was silent, propping one hand against her car while he waited; she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and willed herself to calm down.

Clearing her throat, she gathered her courage and spoke up.

“Excuse me, officer-” He barely glanced up from where he was perusing her car registration. “Why did you pull me over?”

He looked up at her fully at the question, shifting his stance and licking his upper lip.

“One of your tail lights is out,” he said, shoving her papers back through the window. “That’s a real safety issue.”

“My tail light…?” Her tail light - which had been changed only a month ago. She knew, because Bucky did it himself. He had always been worried about her safety; every time she was going somewhere without him, he did a full inspection of the car, testing brakes and changing the oil, going over every last inch of it and then filling up the tank with gas before she left. Last time, she’d sat in the garage nursing a cup of cider as she watched him fiddle with the lights…

She shook her head to lose the thoughts of him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but my tail lights are working just fine, I just had the bulbs changed.” She leaned forward in the seat, peering up at the officer. “Are you sure that there’s something wrong with them?”

Frown deepening even further, he crossed his arms and widened his stance.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car?”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of the car, ma’am.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, just calm down and get out of the vehicle.”

“But-” her protest broke off as he shifted his stance back, one hand inching towards the mace in his belt. She glanced at her phone, sitting in the unoccupied cupholder with her aux cable connected to it. Her fingers twitched - for a microsecond, she contemplated the very bad idea of reaching for it, refusing to get out of the car, calling-calling…someone. Someone.

But surely, if she cooperated, this would all be worked out with just a minor headache, or maybe a ticket, she reassured herself. She repeated it in her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, climbing out of the car carefully, her hands held out to her sides where they could be seen.

Once she was out of her car, the officer took a step forward and pushed on her door, shutting it with a resounding click.

“Okay, I’m out of the car…”

“Turn around and put your hands on the hood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed, hearing her voice hitch in alarm. Her eyes cast up the road and back towards the exit ramps - there were no other cars in sight. No witnesses. “Am I under arrest?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, out of patience. His hand went to rest on his gun now. “Turn around and put your fucking hands on the hood of the car.”

Her fists curled and she stood her ground. She willed away her thoughts of Bucky.

“No. I haven’t broken the law, you can’t arrest me for having a tail light out-”

In a blink, his gun was up and trained directly on her.

“Put your hands on the fucking car!” he yelled, loud enough to make her wince at the volume. Her thoughts tunneled on the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest.

Wordlessly, she turned and planted her hands on the cold metal, shivering in just her sweatshirt, her winter coat tossed in the passenger seat while she was driving. The tips of her fingers went numb and her eyes watered, stung by the wind. Her dry tongue pressed against the backs of her teeth - if she tried to swallow she’d choke.

“Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she managed the words. Scared and alone, but she’d fight, goddammit. She’d fight. He would want her to fight. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“Shut up.” A firm, cold point of pressure between her shoulder blades as he pressed the gun against her back. There was a faint buzzing sound and then the rustle of fabric; when he spoke again, it clearly wasn’t to her. “Yes, sir?” He answered his phone. “Yes - we’re on schedule. I have the package. Will confirm when its secure and en route.”

Her heart raced wildly and her mind went white with fear. What was he talking about? This had to be some kind of mistake, a misunderstanding-

Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the butt of his gun came down against the back of her head; her vision exploded in stars, and then faded to black as she slumped against her car. Barely conscious, she felt herself being dragged away down the road, lifted and shoved into the backseat of the squad car, unceremoniously dumped with her face down against the cold leather. The engine hummed to life; a seatbelt clicked - not hers.

“Sir?” He spoke again from the front seat. “Package is secured.”

She wondered if Bucky was coming to find her. He would, she told herself. He’d come.

And then, nothing.

[ofmontys]

“ ah, well. acceptable forms of payment include but are certainly not limited to :  booze, food, arms, real estate,  f a v o r s ... i’m not picky. but for this lot? ”  monty shakes a small plastic bag between forefinger and thumb, lips decorated with an iced smirk. “ the price’ll be a bit... steep. ”

or, alternatively:  hello, hello, hello! delighted to be here! the name’s linc ( she/her ) and i’m comin’ to you live from the ever so lovely est timezone with the one, the only, the absolute bloody douchecanoe,  monty monroe !

( charles melton + 23 + muse 51 ) isn’t that ignatius “monty” monroe over there? i heard he joined faction: nomads after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip because his fraternity received disciplinary community service hours & downtrodden greek lifers equaled eager customers. hopefully they fit in there – they’re VULPINE, but also PERFIDIOUS. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine.

“road work ahead? uh, yeah, i sure hope it does!” ( alternatively: monty monroe, a roadmap. )

firstborn to two of the most powerful executives in the world in hong kong, heading alacritas, the world’s most cutting-edge pharmaceutical company to date. meaning “cheerfulness” and “life”, alacritas’ company mantra is based in life-giving –– “in vivacity, we shine.” lest we forget, though, these pharma high rollers definitely did more than dabble in delinquency. big pharma comes with big drugs: not always the legal kind. and while monty’s parents certainly generate an impressive gross income from respectable trades, they also outsource sketchy labor not listed in their tax reports... illegal substances. mercenaries. insider trading. the monroe’s exploited their industry to the fullest, securing their way to the top of hong kong’s sociopolitical ladder. and, when chinese authorities began questioning their records in 1998,  neville and meihui did what any good parents would do to secure a promising future for their only progeny: they shipped two-year-old ignatius off to london, england to live with neville’s sister.

up until his thirteenth year, ignatius thrived: he grew up alongside his younger cousin, essentially as siblings. his aunt became more of a mother than a simple caretaker. the boy was bright. brilliant, really. in primary school, he distinguished himself with his sharp wit and indelible charm. a footballer and intellectual, he fostered many friendships and networked his way into london’s youthful elite. so, when his aunt uprooted their small family to marry an american she met during a layover in dublin, young ignatius was less than pleased.

his aunt’s husband happened to own property in a hole-in-the-wall town in kansas, west ham. ignatius despised the name –– and, upon arrival, his dislike only grew. its sleepy streets couldn’t compete with bustling south kensington. despite their opulent accommodations, he developed a sour taste in his mouth concerning west ham and its residents. some semblance of self-perceived superiority took hold –– and, as ignatius easily landed the role of striker on west ham’s varsity soccer team, his peers mostly enabled this attitude.

in high school, he earned the nickname monty: something a bit less posh than his birth name. it worked, and monty found that, by his senior year, he’d grown more comfortable in participating in west ham’s suburban traditions. still, he aimed to attend university far away. and, with an acceptance to stanford’s business school, nearly bloody succeeded. if it weren’t for his idiot step-uncle...

( tw: automobile accident, death, drugs )  the week before graduation, his aunt’s american buffoon of a husband decided it’d be wise to drive home during one of the worst rainstorms of the season. inebriated. he flipped their prized audi. totaled the damned thing. and totaled himself, too. monty’s graduation bash had to be postponed for funeral services. his aunt fell into a terrible depression and, in order to keep the household running properly, monty had no choice but to stay here. in west ham. it was the right thing to do.

so he began school at west ham’s local uni. and hated every moment of it. of course, seeing his high school friends was ideal –– but he wasn’t challenged. wasn’t stimulated. he began sneaking one or two of his aunt’s pills, here and there. the habit slowly grew, little by little. once he rushed omega nu, he began dealing a bit here and there. with the cash, he was able to acquire more lucrative inventory.

he started off in the greek faction but quickly became a nomad due to a little incident concerning a pocket knife and a bit too much alcohol. i imagine he’s still on good terms with some of the guys, but damn... this kid has turned into a loose canon. 

personality tidbits! woop woop.

there’s no easy way to say this. he’s a fuckin’ ass. and, ever since their return to this shaken-up version of the world, it’s gotten worse. any moral compass this kid previously had has vacated the building.

while everyone else was panicked about their parents’ absence, monty raided the local pharmacies and practically cleaned them out. he inventoried his own stock and rummaged through the entire estate, broke into rooms his aunt and uncle hadn’t previously allowed him access to. and oh, did he like what he found: a considerable portion of alacritas’ inventory –– and not the entirely legal kind.

you want drugs? got an aching back? a throbbing heart? monty’s got something for that. but it’ll fuckin’ cost you, big. maybe a gun. maybe that pocket knife, or your toolkit. y’think he could have that antifreeze in exchange for this weed? four pills for tomorrow’s rations. think about it. you need this. he’s helping you. but this place’ll go to absolute shit without a market economy so, really? he’s keeping the peace.

business major. definite snake. slither slither, bitches. don’t trust him. he’ll charm your socks off. he’ll seduce you with his warm-honey voice and buttery smile.

have you... seen his little cousin....? no??? he’s worried but won’t admit it. good bloody riddance!! pah! he’s got his fuckin’ house to himself! don’t you even THINK about telling him otherwise, unless you’re there for business... but you’ll have to meet him at a neutral location to exchange goods. he’s not about to, like, orchestrate his own demise, thank you very much.

honestly? hasn’t had a sober moment since their return from the trip. he went with the intent to sell and, because of it, he’s got a heckin stash. so shut up and smoke this blunt with him, or so help him god.

will look you dead in the eye and describe, in detail, how he'll flay your skin strip by strip and use it to sew himself a new pair of boots, if you don't pay up now. cue a snort of cocaine off his key before he twiddles an outstretched palm “understood?”

a true businessman with no instinct for self-preservation. just profit. profit, profit, profit. though he wasn’t raised by his birth parents, they sure as hell passed on their ophidian genes.

honestly quite unhinged. doesn’t respect anyone else’s authority but his own. always armed in some capacity. likes playing with pocket knives. has an affinity for winking for no reason. eyeing you like you’re his next meal. maybe you are. better give him that last red gatorade before you have to find out.

heavily inspired by “bad guy” by billie eilish.

somebody break him. somebody make him break. because he’s a bloody cadbury egg, y’all. eventually, his shell’s gonna crumble.

bisexual as heck. mess as heck. not repressed about it, but will absolutely play about with the truth. not above faking genuine emotion to get you in his bed. or to steal your shit. his sleight of hand is uncanny. for a rich boy, he sure knows how to grift.

but yeah pls like? hmu for plots? i know this is a lot. and a bit half-baked. so i just.... yeah. message me and we can plot, y’all! i’m so hype for this and i can’t wait to write with y’all!! xoxo

[ninjakitten3]

2017

Hmm where to begin with this year… I started 2017 fawning over a bartender to anybody that would listen, and I ended 2017 with a kiss

I actually fawned over the bartender and then one of my professors to Jon. And Jon asked me to stop talking about other boys to him soooo I did.. And we tentatively stopped talking as much. Which led to me meeting a guy named Alex who is not the same person as my ex. But Alex was another mod on a board that Jon moderated so I thought lets ask him if Jon is ok cuz I haven’t heard from Jon in weeks. One thing led to another and bam we’re fuck buddies.

Oh somewhere in that time frame I graduated. I have a bs degree. It’s bs cuz all I learned while gettin my physics degree was that I don’t want to do physics for a living. Movin on…

I went to Japan for a week with my boss and Greg (oh Greg you poor thing) and I guess it was exciting. The nightlife was the funniest part I think. Well of course I think that.. Free alcohol right lol

Anyway so Alex and I were fuck buddies then Jon comes along and is like wtf why did you lie to me bout this it’s lying by omission. When I’m sitting there like you told me not to tell you about other men… Damn I wish I had that first phone call after a week of no contact recorded. I remember he said thinking about me with Alex made him disgusted and it broke my heart. I thought my year of veiled flirtation with Jon would come to an end. I hung up and he was like dammit Jenn call me back we’re not done talking about this. So I called him back and he told me that even though he hated ‘what I’d done’ I was somehow special and he couldn’t imagine not having me in his life.

Now remember that at this point, we had never met in person. My role in his life had been consulting on chemical reactions and biological processes. And occasional flirting.

So the conversation ends with us agreeing that we would rather continue being in each others’ lives over not. And he asks when he can flight me out to meet him. At that time I had a summer job and my parents would zero percent approve of any of this. So I had to wait for the week they would go on a vacation by themselves leaving me home to do whatever. That was a week in September but this was the end of July so I had a month to wait. By god was it a long as fuck month.

I went to otakon while I waited for September to arrive. It was an exciting experience and I met more of Alex’s friends (Alex and I stayed friends even after Jon freaked out at us). I literally wasted days just waiting for September to meet Jon.

And I finally did. I finally met him. And he is everything I could ever want and more. My perfect.

But I come back to Virginia. How can I live? I have to move out there and be with him. The days are less bright without him sharing them with me. We make plans for end of September. Jon has had a house in the works since summer and he should move in around then. So I arrange to fly out end of September.

It is wonderful. We sustained ourselves trading bitcoin and being tech savvy. I guess I should have gotten a job ASAP though. But all in all it was a dream. We had a full month of perfection before we hit the first snag.

I had a feeling something was wrong with me but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was. Then my period was late. One day was understandable. Two days was ok. Three days I was getting nervous. Four days made me anxious. On the fifth day I asked Jon to get a pregnancy test. He told me I should pee on it first thing in the morning when the urine is most concentrated. I did. It was positive. I waited a day and took the second one cuz yknow they give you two sticks for some reason. That was also positive.

Fucking hell. I was there like a month. And we already got knocked up. Isn’t that amazing. Kay. So I call planned parenthood and schedule a chemical abortion, November 8. You get three pills with a chemical abortion. An antibiotic, one pill that 'stops the growth of the pregnancy’, and the actual miscarriage inducer. They also suggested I take a painkiller. Up to 800mg of aleve. As far as bleeding out a 6week fetus goes, it wasnt at all painful. Some cramping, but no stabby stabby uterus feelings.

Unfortunately the day we pulled up to the clinic was the very same day the online community we curated was banned off reddit. The community was important for us. We were going to use them as our customer base for a company we were planning. So Jon got busy working on that. The day after the abortion was complete, We had our first actual fight with screaming and crying and that was not a fun night. I blame the stupid hormones for that honestly. I am just not a happy pregnant woman.

After that we spent all of November tryin to keep the community alive. I’m rather proud of the work we did. We got a forum and brand new website up and running in 3 days. It wasnt perfect, but it worked. It was a lot of work. We didn’t have time to set up our business in all the mess so it was a full month before we set up a business meeting with a lawyer to help us with the legal side of starting a business. It was to be after thanksgiving

We had thanksgiving dinner with Jon’s family and then I flew back to Virginia to spend a bit of the holiday with them. Jon doesn’t like traveling. He didn’t come with. Even though he’d been saying he would. Whatever. I spent a few days in Virginia and flew back November 29th.

I wasn’t even back a full week before we were raided by the goddamn federal government. Seriously. The FDA came in and they brought along the DEA, the national guard, hazmat, state police and the local fire department. I wrote a 10 page narrative on exactly what went down that day. There was a fuckin search warrant on the house and Jon’s car and the FDA investigators took that as a go ahead to ruin our lives. This is ACLU level worthy shit. Like. Jon isn’t the most sensitive or PC person ever but this just made him look like a perfect feminist ally person.

So that’s what I’ve been dealing with for the past month. I had a taste of paradise and it was ripped away. Now I guess I should look for a job out there but I need a place to stay and you can’t rent a room unless you have like 2 pay stubs which I don’t have because I need the room to work there for a month before to get pay stubs. It’s a stupid mess. I’m only half adulty enough for this to work.

Jon is the first person I have outright said I loved in years. That both terrifies and excites me. I believe so hard that this will work. I will make it work. We complete each other. Either one of us alone can survive in this world and be successful most definitely, but both of us together can make magic happen. That is something I never want to have to live without ever again. I'm wary though, as I sound like an infatuated high schooler again. Just like with the last boyfriend. And the one before that. The difference now I guess is that I don't want to be afraid I'll get hurt anymore. I don't want to keep believing everything will end horribly. I don't want to keep a part of me protected from Jon. I want to love him unconditionally and forever. And I'm willing to do almost anything to make it work.

All in all it was an amazing year until the end. I hope to god our new coding project works and we can find a place to live and I get a job with cutie animals. Sorry there isn't much in depth psychological analysis happening this time around.