#i checked all the booths... looked at flags stickers and pins... and nothing.

[lgbtqstuff-va4]

When pride events will literally have flag merch for allies instead of anything for aromantics 😐

[lettersfrombeyondthegrave]

no okay i need to tell yall ab that guy. and more importantly how fucking much of a coward and a blind mfer i am.

yes im obsessing over a guy ill never see again thats beside the POINT. and theres a small chance id see him in a future convention in the next years, so. like, i see hot people all the time, yk thart dumb stereotype of ace ppl being cold and shit? ya no i am not interest in fucking but i am a bi mess at heart. falling in love every 3 fucking seconds. and i remember those cool ppl for a while but he, yk the butterfly thing? ya, that, im getting that, so i gotta get this off my chest.

so like, you know how fairs are, you got the tables with people seeling stuff and what not, he was in this one together with another person that was selling genshin related stuff and like i think they were paired cus they both got an anime art style and also just the vibes?

idk anyway they were also selling pride flag stickers. we're talking alt style person so he was dresed mostly all black and he had this sick ass eye makeup on, think new batman movie but more edgy mixed with like the people that like to cosplay vikings so they put a fuckton of black eyeshadow around their eyes but the borders were spikey like when people do corpse paint. i dont have time for a ms paint rendition so use your goddamn imagination

so we go to the table/booth? is that considered a booth? idfk, i get a genshin pin from the other person, the classmate i was with got a pride flag sticker from him and you gotta take in consideration, im not a backpack girlie. i stopped years ago putting them bitches on both of my shoulders, no i dont know how i havent developed scoliosis yet so its been a year i just bought a shoulder bag big enough to be annoying but not enough to put everything in.

listen totebags are cool but i need pockets and more space, im sorry. i think we need to address the fact that the straps dig into my shoulders and there's seriously not enough space. so he says something like "cool/nice bag" and i dont hear him at the start cus fair=music and voices going on and like bro was majestic so i needed few secs anyway to process what he could possibly say to my dumbass and im like ah thanks and mentally go into gay panic as we walk away to go look at other stuff. and the contact cards thingies with websites, social accounts etc.? ya i started collecting them so everytime i got to these events i take one from each and every person but i dont read them mostly in the moment and OMG I SHOULD HAVE.

because with this mfer? i never talked again for the rest of the event. yk when your eyes go back to someone in particular in a crowd? ya that. i do that alot. i did that a lot. but not talking, not approaching people, just like "you look so cool and interesting to me rn but i am not socially skilled so ill just admire you from here in a way i hope you wont notice cus this is not a romcom and id dig myself a grave. why do i say i should have read the little contact thing? yall, his account nicknames contained the word killjoy. i could have fucking went "oh killjoy? is it some reference to mychem?" AND I COULD HAVE DONE TWO MORE SECONDS OF CONVO. second reason why i should have: to check his socials and see whats the vibe NOT in a stalker way like those ppl that fucking spend weeks reconstricting the entire life of some guy. and if i checked his social, i would have found out he's a ftm person.

now, i talked about blindness at the start. because i fucking looked at this guy, dressed like that, literally selling pride stickers, most common white transmasc haircut ever and i was like "ya thats just a metal straight man i guess" I AM A FUCKING IDIOT "oh but what would have changed if you knew he had the trans swag" nothing but it's fucking HARD even when you're in art school finding people more similar to you in THAT sense, its like yo, i know a bit of whats like going through that. and also i wasnt expecting it cus he just fucking passed so good? like his confidence and attitude felt so much like just something a cis guy has, walking around the world, it's the type of shit that you dont feel like you could ever obtain? idk if im making sense rn, but ifykyk. its also just fuckky i was so fucking blind like no bestie!! mfer is in the community you're just an idiot.

so ya, morale of the story i need to learn how to socialize in the most basic way, im not even talking about flirting, just fucking normal comunication goddamn it.

also that bag gets me always compliments and i don't use all the potential its "attractive people magnet" power has, as demonstrated by this anecdote.

[unholyhelbig]

Mitchsen, carnival maybe? Something super cute.

Check out more Mitchsen one-shots here 

Ice cream dripped against the edge of the girl’s palm, the creamy liquid pooling under the heat of a summer night. The minty color separating each time a new track ran against her elbow. She wasn’t the least bit bothered, not ever deterred by the way it created sticky grime against her.

Beca Mitchell felt her stomach lurch.

Something about kids being sticky, and entering the fairgrounds seemed like a given. There were grease coated fries and powered covered batter that was weaved into an intricate web. It was almost a given that hundreds of messy kids would show up to her booth- and each time, she would force through her disdain and place a leathered softball into the palm of the awaiting player.

The tin cans were rigged; weighted down with little magnets that didn’t’ exactly give away at the small toss from a child. The brunette knowing from the start that all she had to do was manage the tickets- wear the stupid little black t-shirt with the carnival’s logo on it, and make sure that she never had to take down the big prizes.

It was a simple job, one that let her travel up and down the coast. She had constant board and constant companionship, but she always found herself growing exhausted five hours into the night. The small Alabama town that they had settled in didn’t captivate her attention with the type of families they produced.

Her favorite stop so far was in North Carolina. It was a mix between the classic southern folks that yelled too loud at their kids and kept their money in little clips that were decorated with a Confederate flag and the conservative families that looked out of place at a traveling carnival. People who were uptight and wanted to let “loose” by trying their calculated hands at some games.

But in Alabama, it was straight up and simple.

These were people who would get in your face and scream at you the second the heat got too much, and the tin cans didn’t fall the way you wanted them to. The type of people that would offer up money to get the pink horse hanging above the booth because their kid only wants that one.

“This shit is rigged.” The man spoke, his voice gruff.

His daughter barely flinched. She had heard the language before, and Beca did nothing but lean further into the side of the booth, her hands shoved into her pockets as she lifted her eyebrows. “Sorry, sir?”

“I said, this shit is rigged. No way in hell these cans are that hard to hit.”

“Want to give it a shot then?”  

She didn’t’ give him a chance to respond, instead tossing him the leather pleated ball that was in her grasp. She was bored- she would charge him later depending on her anger, but right now she wanted to stir him up, even with the sweat that dripped down her back.

He stumbled but caught it, eyeing her under the baseball cap that covered up his balding hair. He was sunburned where his t-shirt cut off, an uneven tan that was attributed to long days spent in the vast fields here. She thought she saw corn on the way in, or maybe it was cotton. It all looked too green. Too rural.

“I want the dolphin.” The girl finally spoke up, her voice leaking in twang.

Beca couldn’t help but scoff audibly at that. Even if the bottles weren’t plagued with tricks, it would take a near-impossible shot to get anywhere close to the neon sea animal. He seemed to squint his eyes at that and shoot off the ball with an even hit. It got down the top two, something with a little less pull.

“Oh, good job” She smirked, reaching behind the counter as she pulled out a little clear bucket filled with fake spiders and other Knick Knacks. They were little games, a couple of sticker sheets, scented markers. Certainly nothing worth the time and energy. “Better luck next time.”

The man puffed up his chest, crossing his arms before nodding at his daughter to grab one. She quickly snatched up a little ring and shoved it in her pocket before the two of them stalked away. Beca smiled softly to herself before kneeling to pick up the fallen milk bottles.

“So how much for the dolphin, anyway?”

Beca rolled her eyes, breathing in the soupy air without even bothering to turn around as she placed the glass expertly. “Look, like I told your friend back there, you’ve got to knock down all the bottles in order to get it.”

She turned to face the voice: the woman who stood in the place of a want to be cowboy was far different, far more intriguing. Her smile was what Beca noticed first. It was easy going and simple- and then her hair, golden and framing her delicate features that held their curls even in the humid weather. A real southern bell with emerald eyes and damn… Beca Mitchell would take that stuffed dolphin off the hook and give in with little conviction.

“Oh, he’s not my friend.”

“Husband? Brother?” Beca lifted her eyebrows “Oh my god, is he both?”

The girl let out a laugh at that, nothing shy of a giggle. She was in the South now, and part of Beca resigned to the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a joke. Either way, she was eagerly awaiting an answer.

“A Jackass, I’m assuming.” She answered quickly, leaning onto the counter of the booth. She had an easy five-dollar bill under her grasp, one that was crinkled with wear. “I’d like three balls, please. Best ones you’ve got.”

Beca grinned and took the outstretched dollar, tucking it into her apron along with other tickets and stolen money. She produced the items in exchange and took a step back from the area of fire. Part of her felt a twinge of guilt for lying, for once, after this long edge of time.

She had never once felt any malice from the game. These were people that would show up at a fair to have some fun, but they knew they would be spending money too. If it wasn’t at her little booth, then it would be the next: a little sticky hand, a goldfish that wouldn’t live past three days, and even an mp3 player that had a few songs on it. All worth nothing but the thrill of saying you could knock down a few things or get the firefighter to the top of the burning building.

The beautiful stranger threw the first ball, and like Beca expected, nothing. The bottles wavered and she furrowed her brow over dark green eyes. It was endearing.

The second ball didn’t’ bode well, either. This time it knocked down one of the top milk jugs and it fell to the dirt floor with a slight clang- never shattering, but always making enough noise to satisfy the player.

The third ball hit the tent behind the formation, and Beca had the sudden urge to tell the girl that it was fine. That no one really hit the bottles, and even if they did, they wouldn’t fall over. The magnets were too strong.

“I totally just wasted your time,” she said.

“Oh no, a lot of people do,” Beca flushed at how the words sounded “I mean, not that you actually did. Because you didn’t’. It was a valiant effort, and you… you gave it your best shot.”

Her smile was radiant and well earned, those blue-green eyes of her lighting up like the Ferris Wheel that cast its neon glow against cars parked between spray-painted lines. Their tires were sunken in dirt, kicking up near the rims.

She leaned forward and squinted at the nametag that was pinned to a lanyard. There were different things traced onto the fabric by the more creative crew- glitter and simple little drawings. “Thank you, Beca.”

Beca thought it was unfair for the woman to know her name without giving hers, but she breathed in the sweet strawberry scent that she carried and considered it okay for now. Even though she wanted to close down the booth and walk the rest of the fairgrounds with this stranger.

Beca fumbled easily with the plastic bucket. “Anyway, you get to pick a prize.”

“Right,”

The woman scanned her eyes over the different little toys for a few moments before grabbing a purple scented marker. It was one of those artificial ones that reminded Beca of grade school, the kind that one kid that sat up front would always lick, staining their tongue violet. Beca pondered the choice, but not for long before she dug in her pocket and set a dollar bill down on the table.

“ah, it’s actually five dollars to-“

She uncapped the marker with her teeth, letting it pop open as Beca watched with patience. She scrawled something on the money, something the carnival worker couldn’t exactly see before standing up straight and sliding it across the table.

“This shit is so rigged.” She said, grinning ear to ear before stepping away from the little booth and vanishing into the crowd of people pushing to get to greasy snack food and dripping ice cream.

Call me sometime, Aubrey.