#it's getting on 2 am and i just went to bed

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 19

Warnings: Ghost makes you get out of bed when you’re hungover

Summary: 2

Notes: My grammarly broke and deleted a bunch of text and I’m too salty to rewrite so ENJOY xoxo

Word Count: 1,751

ao3 link

When you awoke again, you were alone. 

Sunlight was beginning to filter through the curtains, not that you appreciated it in your hungover state, and when you shifted away from it, purring immediately started. Soap had noticed you were awake, and had now decided you needed a head massage, his claws digging into your scalp. You rolled away from him, searching for your phone and finding it on charge on your bedside table, alongside a pint of water, a pack of ibuprofen, and your mini whiteboard. Clearly, Ghost had been busy. 

‘Gone to shops. Be back soon. Drink water. - S’ 

Soap walked onto your chest, demanding your attention, and you grumbled, shuffling to sit up in bed, wrapping the duvet around yourself as you grabbed the water and chugged it, desperate for hydration, following it with two ibuprofen. God, you hoped it kicked in soon. It felt like someone had put a vice on your head. You settled back down in bed, letting Soap nestle by your side as you got your phone, lazily scrolling through it as you fussed Soap’s head. 

A short while later, you heard the front door go. That would be Ghost back, you imagined. How he’d managed to get up and go shopping after a night out like that was beyond you. You should have gotten up to help him put things away, but you had no desire to get out of bed while your head still throbbed. After a minute, he came to you anyway, peering his head around the door and then coming in once he realised you were awake. 

“How you feeling?”

In the daylight, you could see that he didn’t look quite as chipper as he had the night before, a certain pale quality to his skin making him look sickly, the bruising on his face only adding to the effect, complimenting the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t changed his outfit, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. At least you weren’t the only one who was hungover. 

“Like shit. You?”

“Been better.”

“The almighty Ghost finally brought down to the level of the rest of us?”

He snorted at you, “Could still take you down in a flash, darlin’.”

You yawned and spread out on the pillows, “You should come back to bed. Sleep it off.”

“You’re getting up.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Either you get up, or I get you up.”

God, you could really see the Lieutenant in him. No doubt he was a complete hardass to the soldiers unlucky enough to be underneath him. You folded your arms across your chest, “I’m not one of your little underlings. My house, my rules.”

Clearly, that had been a mistake. In one fluid motion, Ghost had reached forward to grab the bottom of the duvet and then whipped it off the bed, rudely interrupting Soap’s snooze, who went running into the living room and leaving you exposed in just your knickers. You grabbed a pillow to hide your chest, scowling at Ghost, “You prick!”

“You getting up?”

“No!”

“You gonna make me come over there?”

“Try it!”

You’d been betting on his being hungover to deter him, but that had clearly been a poor choice. He reached out to grab your ankles, pulling you down the bed with ease until your ass was at the very edge, your feet on the floor either side of his. There was no real point in resisting, but you were too stubborn not to, clutching the pillow tightly to your chest as you scowled up at him. He reached out to grab your wrists, pulling you slowly upright into a sitting position as you did your best to be a dead weight. Ghost looked down at you. “You have two options. You can get up and get dressed, or you’re having breakfast in your knickers.” The second you took to consider your options was apparently your answer, and he lifted you from the bed, holding your wrists up above your head and letting the pillow drop to the floor as he turned you around, pressing your back to his chest and then marching you into the living room. There was nothing you could do in protest, so you just stumbled forward at his insistence, letting him lead you to the sofa. 

Ghost had laid out a full buffet for you on the coffee table; there were bacon butties from Greggs, and two mugs of tea, alongside several bottles, a milkshake, a green smoothie, a pink smoothie, a lucozade and a Powerade. It was a hungover paradise. It was almost enough for you to forgive him for dragging you out of bed. Almost. As you reached the front of the sofa, Ghost dropped your arms, letting you cover your chest, and he pointed to the sofa, “Sit.” You did as you were told, sinking down into the cushions, glaring up at him. He was entirely unbothered by your fiery gaze, sitting on the other end of the sofa, “Nobody likes losing. Pick a fight you can win next time.”

There was no way you could comfortably eat and cover your chest at the same time, so you gestured at him, “I’m not eating breakfast with my tits out. Give me your top.”

“What do I get out of this?” He crossed one leg over the other, leaning back on the sofa as he looked you over appreciatively, “I quite like the view as it is.” 

What would Ghost want?

“I’ll give you the keys to my apartment.”

“Don’t need ‘em.”

Of course he didn’t.

“I’ll let you pick the film tonight.”

“Pass.”

You scowled at him, and he grinned back at you, clearly enjoying the little game he was playing.

“Please.”

“Took you that long to remember your manners?”

It had been that easy, apparently. Ghost reached down to grab the bottom of his top, pulling it up over his head in one fluid motion. You could see his torso now, purple and green bruises dappling his skin in the same way they were spread across his face, as well as several healing scabs spattered across his ribs. The burn scar you’d seen on his thigh clearly continued up over his hip to his waist, the skin taut and shiny. You’d never seen such a battered body before; someone clearly had an issue with him. Several somebodies, by the look of it. Battered, and yet undeniably beautiful. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in a ‘slutty rugby men’ calendar, his chest well built, biceps huge, and the ridges of his abs clear on his stomach. It was all entirely too distracting. You held your hand out for his top, but he kept it in his hand, dangling it out of your reach. “You have to come and get it.”

“Seriously?”

He simply grinned in response.

It was bait; you knew it, but you still took it, hook, line and sinker. You shifted across the sofa toward him, and as soon as you were close enough to snatch the top from his hand, his hand flashed upward, holding it high in the air above his head. You narrowed your eyes at him, but he just tilted his head and smiled. He was having too much fun. Still, you played along, shifting one leg over his so you were straddling his lap, keeping one arm pressed tight over your chest as you reached up to try and grab the T-shirt from him. As you stretched up, his other hand reached out to steady you, holding your hip, his thumb skating over your hipbone. Your fingers were so close, fingertips brushing against the fabric, and Ghost’s hand moved from your hip to your lower back, his trailing fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You did your best to ignore him as you finally grabbed the top. At the slightest tug, he let it go, and you looked down to give him a very sarcastic thanks.

Your face was too close to his. His nose was inches away from yours, his lips parted, letting you feel his warm breath fanning out over yours. At this distance, you could see every detail, the myriad of green and grey shades in his eyes, the scar on his eyebrow, the bump of his nose, the gentle curve of his eyelashes. If you leant forward, you could kiss him. Your brain couldn’t seem to think of anything else in that moment, utterly transfixed.

“Food’s gonna go cold.”

The haze that had crept around your mind slowed your response, and you blinked a couple times as you tried to think. How could he think of food at a time like this? He didn’t give you time to respond, taking the top from your hands and quickly yanking it down over your head, breaking the connection between you. You shoved your arms through the holes, and he picked you up, shifting you to the side so he could lean over and unzip what must have been an overnight bag, taking out a fresh t-shirt and pulling it over his head, covering himself back up. He leaned forward to grab his mug of tea and a bacon butty, leaning back against the sofa as he took a sip, looking at you over the rim of his mug. Again, he gestured at the food.

“Eat.”

You were beginning to realise some things about Ghost. For one, he really was quite strict. Probably the soldier in him. Secondly, he cared, and he cared a lot. He could have just brought you tea in bed, but he’d gone out and gotten every drink a hungover person could possibly want, even when he was clearly suffering himself. Yet, the most interesting discovery was how adept he actually was at avoiding intimacy. Sure, he’d flirted with you, teased you, felt you up a little, but he didn’t let you touch him in the same way. Any second there was a chance for real intimacy, he would back off, using some convenient excuse to play off his avoidance. He watched you as you took your tea off the coffee table, clearly noticing the way you were looking at him.

“Fantasise about me later, darlin’. Eat.”

You did as you were told, grabbing your bacon butty off the table and tucking in, the salt and grease an absolute balm to your troubled stomach, but you continued to quietly plot in your head. Payback was a bitch, and so were you.

[roseandbee]

Negative temps are gonna make me nocturnal 😣🥶

[skunkes]

mentioned before I havent felt any tangible significant benefit from meds yet which is fine bc it takes a while to kick in but one small good thing i have noticed so far is even when I get little sleep I feel less tired when I wake up

I don't feel completely incapacitated and in need of being in bed all day, fighting off the urge to nap, to recharge.

I also 1. actually get "Sleepy" now... instead of just feeling very hollowly "Tired" and like i Should be going to bed to try to sleep even though I don't feel like it, because it's about time to be doing that I guess, leading to tossing and turning for 3 hrs before finally succumbing to sleep.

and 2. I actually doze off. Instead of forcing self to try and initiate sleep...this has only ever happened during my rare Naps where im so tired that sleep puts me down by force. Never in actual night time sleep setting... im like dropping my phone and struggling to stay awake sometimes now. At night!!!

None of this is in any of the results I've seen for the medication so i dont even care if its some weird placebo somehow 😭 im jst glad its happening

[sovaharbor]

oh i made a post on reddit and found out i am NOT the only person struggling w/ flashing lights & high-contrast stuff post-concussion. all my googling was like "PHOTOSENSITIVE EPILEPSY!!!!" which was legit terrifying 2 me as someone w/ health anxiety and ocd lmfao..... but it's just nice to know. like. other ppl [have] struggl[ed] w this too. and i got recommendations for stuff i can do re: that AND my other lingering symptom (motion sickness) so that was cool. thank u internet :)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[if-only-we-could-read-it]

I know murder is technically illegal. But. What if the person is being incredibly annoying.

Asking for a friend.

[jorvikzelda]

today i had this Vivid memory flash through my mind of kissing my ex boyfriend (this was like 2018) and i felt so viscerally fucking revolted and I gotta say. it is truly impressive that I didn’t realise I’m a lesbian sooner than fucking half a year ago

[permanentreverie]

.

[keeps-ache]

need to be exploding something but i Can't for some reason. just Can Not. my ability to do is just. Nay

[hballegro]

alright here's the essay under the cut.

entirely just my experience w/ MASH, almost no editing [just spelling mistakes and a few apostrophe misuses]. fair warning, my father was [is] an alcoholic and a horrible person, and i mention that a bit, so if thats something you're sensitive to, bewarned.

         My story with M*A*S*H begins a hundred years ago when I was somewhere between 5 and 8, old enough to watch television but not old enough to remember how old I was when I was doing it. The childhood I had was overall unremarkable, marred only by my pitiful excuse for a father that parented by either drinking or being hungover on the couch in between screaming at his children or beating his wife. Unfortunately, he is part of this story, but only accidentally. See, he used to do all that stuff in our unfinished basement, on an old ugly couch, hiding from his family all day. Then, eventually, he decided he liked the couch and television upstairs better, and plagued the family room for many years instead, putting whatever he wanted to watch on instead of letting his children watch cartoons. I ended up liking The Three Stooges quite a lot, less out of actually thinking it was fun and more out of it being the only thing he’d put on that I found remotely entertaining, so I was taking what I could get. We kept the old burned CDs he’d made of them after he moved out.

         Anyway. My mother had (and still has) a television in her room (it used to be their room, but she kicked him out) that she could avoid him with. Not wanting to be around the violent cesspool of a person on my couch, I’d sometimes crawl to her room, so as not to let him see me and have him make me come over and listen to some music or whatever he wanted. Old guitarist reliving his glory days or something, I couldn’t tell you. But anyway, I’d enter her room and sit down on her bed with her or on the floor, and we’d watch TV. More often than not, she’d put on MeTV, because she watched those old shows with her own father, and it was a bright spot in her memory that gave her some escapism too. There were a lot of shows on there, but I only really ever remembered things like Gilligan’s Island, ALF, Columbo, Bewitched, The Twilight Zone, and, of course, M*A*S*H.

         I liked the other shows, of course. I remember them fondly, especially Gilligan’s Island, maybe it was the catchy theme song with words I could learn. I didn’t like how brown and gross Columbo was, but my mom explained that that’s just how it looked back then. I thought the puppet on ALF was funny, and The Twilight Zone scared me, but I was still interested. I remember enough of Bewitched to remember the nose wiggle and constantly mix it up with I Dream of Jeannie for some reason. Really, anything was better than watching the same episode of Farscape again, which I’ve heard is actually a very good show, but my father kept forgetting that he’d already made me start watching it, and so every viewing session was just the pilot. That’s also the reason I never learned Spanish.

         But then I got to M*A*S*H. I won’t lie to you and say that, as a wizened 5-to-8-year-old, I could ‘tell something was special’ about this show. It was a show. It was a show that I remember looking at my mom during, and seeing her really happy. Later she told me, after watching it with me in present day, that she would watch it with her own father, before her parents got divorced. Her father more or less was not present in her life after the split, and that happened when she was 14-ish. The show started airing when she was the age I was when I watched it with her, and she and her father made a weekly thing of it. Neither of us at that age should have watched it, but for both of us, it was forming a little bright spot in our minds, a good dream with a parent when times were tough.

         I remember laughing, even if I didn’t get all the jokes. I remember thinking I liked the shade of red one of the characters wore, and also the shade of dark blue the same character wore sometimes. I remember one or both of my siblings being there sometimes, laughing along. One of my siblings told me recently that B.J. Hunnicutt and John ‘Trapper’ McIntyre, both filling roles as doubles partners for Benjamin Franklin ‘Hawkeye’ Pierce, had merged into the same person in their memory. I thought that was hilarious; how could they ever think those were the same person! B.J. Hunnicutt had a mustache! Imagine my surprise re-watching season 4’s opener, ‘Welcome to Korea’, featuring a clean-cut fresh-faced Mike Farrell, lacking the horse brush I had so clearly remembered him housing under his nose.

         But the rewatching, yes, the rewatching. It started innocently enough. Between breaks at college, far beyond my young-youth, the real youth people mean when they use that word, my mother opened it up on the tv and put it on. No matter what era you go to in our household, the TV was always going. Most of the time no one was watching it, sometimes blatantly, loudly, explosively chattering and guffawing and gasping with our own business and ignoring it entirely. It was background noise, we all needed it, so we always had it. But something a little strange happened; my mother was watching it, as she often did when she put something on in the evenings to massage her brain to bed after a long day at work. I was typing away at something on my laptop, like I am now, sitting on the couch with her, which I am also doing now (although she’s long gone to bed), and I looked up.

         I saw Hawkeye.

         It didn’t feel like a rush of emotion, it didn’t feel like something important was happening. That was just my old friend. Looking absolutely horrible with the haircut he was rocking in the pilot, but I remembered him. The pilot doesn’t open with the theme, as I recognized that as soon as it played, it opens with golf, a little vignette of the camp before the choppers come in with wounded. I saw Hawkeye, I saw his shirt, and it really was like when you see an old friend, one you can’t really remember what all you did with, or where you met, or even each other’s names anymore, but you know they mean something to you. You knew this person, and you liked them, you liked them enough that even though you forgot everything else, you remember the love that was there.

         And it was a very small thing that happened, and it didn’t happen with every episode, but I would pause my music. My own background noise to drown out everyone else’s background noise, blasting into my headphones. I’d pause my music, read the subtitles, hear them faintly through muffled ears, and laugh along. Smile when I’d see a smile, and a little more than half pay attention.

         I went back to college, life went on, we only got maybe to the beginning of season two, but my mom didn’t continue without me. She waited, and eventually, I came home for the summer, summer of 2024.

         She put it on again, and the same thing happened. But this time, I way more than half paid attention. I really paid attention. By the time we got to Abyssinia, Henry, I completely paused whatever I was doing when it was on and sat, laptop open, head at a 45 degree angle to watch the TV. I’d still futz around during commercial breaks, but I waited for the commercial breaks to do anything now. More and more it warmed my heart, to see all these old friends I’d forgot about, drag them all out of the closet, finally see B.J. Hunnicutt with that stupid mustache again for the first time in over 15 years at least—it was all so amazing. I was laughing at this show that came out over 20 years before I was even born. My parents hadn’t even met yet when this thing ended. Then, of course, because of the way my brain unfortunately works, it is now all I can think about it, to the point I’ve convinced several people to watch it just by virtue of never-shutting-the-hell-up.

         And then? I finally got to see all my friends go home.

         I remember the night I watched the finale with my mother. We’d gotten to the penultimate episode, and we’d paused. It was near 8ish, near my mother’s bedtime, and she and I both agreed we could not handle the finale that night, it was too much. And so we put on something, My Name is Earl, anything to make noise, something funny, something light. That’s how the next several days went; do we feel like we can handle the end? No. Tonight? Maybe tomorrow. Maybe after dinner? It was a long day.

         But then, after dishes had been cleared and we were both sitting quietly, the sun had already gone down, and she proposes we watch it.

         So we did.

         I don’t cry at things anymore. I used to cry all the time as a kid, scraped knee, called an idiot by a sibling, way too much crying even for a kid. I got it out of my system, apparently, because now I’m an adult and I have trouble with making tears, and when they do come, they sneak up on me. The last time I remember crying was at my grandmother’s funeral, months ago, and before that, I have no idea. I get misty-eyed, sure, but nothing makes me boohoo.

         The same held for the finale. Contrasted heavily by my mother, the woman that regularly cries at especially-touching commercials, shedding a few for every other scene (the bus revelation, the final meal, Charles’s music adventure finale, the wedding dress, every single goodbye, and of course the big one at the end), I was mostly quiet. I remember it ending, and thinking, well, that was about the best finale I’d ever seen. I also thought about how I’d seen strikingly few finales, and that I ought to see more series through til the end. I spoke with my mother a bit about it, we had some good moments from the program tossed back and forth, and she went to bed.

         Then I took a shower, and after I got out, the floodgates busted. I was boohooing alright, blubbering too, but I couldn’t point to why. Sure, there were moments in the episode worthy of tears, but this was full sobbing, aching and pitiful and messy. I just left it as something not to worry about, and went on. Since then, on my own, I’ve rewatched select episodes, watched the finale (again) with the sibling that confused Trapper and B.J., done three paintings of stills from the show, made a miniature version of the signpost for my mom, and started writing again for the express purpose of doing things with these characters, and I’ve only now put a fine point on it. It’s a threefold answer of why I fell apart leaving the shower after watching an episode of television that aired 40 years ago.

         The first is simple; I have got it in my head that I need to be alright for everyone. If I’m happy, then everything is okay. I think it’s a relic from what made me stop crying, this need to tell everyone, “Hey, I’m the crybaby, so if I’m okay, then really, everything is okay!” My tears are (were) meant to be shed in private. They were my own cross to bear, especially for places like the bathroom where I could get privacy, as I shared a room with a sibling growing up. This is something I’m getting better about.

         The second answer is very warm; I finished M*A*S*H with my mom. I remember my grandfather, though he wasn’t too present in my life, and I loved him. He passed when I was young, but I was old enough to remember him, and his death date is near my birthday. My birthday is actually near a lot of either death-dates or birthdays of people that are now dead that my mom loved very much, so I am constantly reminded that my birth is the only good thing that happens to her that month. Finishing the show with her was special. We did it. It’s a tradition now. I don’t plan to have kids, but the future may be strange. At the very least, I know at least one sibling does, so I’ll just have to make sure their kids watch it, too. I don’t have anything of my grandfather’s, his family wasn’t kind to mine  and took pretty much everything when he died, but now I have this show. And I have this with my mother. It keeps my heart warm.

         And lastly, the thing responsible for the most boohooing, is that, like I said; I got to see my friends go home.

         I didn’t really think about it hard, but these were my little friends. I couldn’t remember them, but I remembered that I loved them. That they were something that made me happy, and made my very sad mother happy when I was little. They were funny, they were going through a very bad time and they were still being nice to each other and doing their best. They laughed, cried, cried some more, laughed some more. They drank, but in a safer way than what I knew of it at home, so it felt okay. They hugged, they fought, they loved each other. Then they were locked away in a little memory in my heart, and they sat there for over a decade, nearly two. And then those lovely people that made my life a little bit better finally, finally,

         Got to go home.

         A catharsis.

         Everything isn’t perfect, but all of us are somewhere better now. We have new problems. We have old scars. But the big bad is over. A little part of me healed. It was okay, finally. They got home. It’s okay.

         And if I can pick up a show from the 70’s about the 50’s that’s also still about the 70’s and the Vietnam war about all war that’s also about love and family and surgery with a cast that’s almost all gone now that so painfully soldered its place in my heart that watching the end of it all put me in a puddle on the floor of my bathroom at 11 at night, if I can wait 15 years and still manage to rouse these old soldiers and send them home, a little cracked but finally safe,

         I think B.J. Hunnicutt can drive those 3,000 miles to a little place in Maine to see his best friend. 

[newtness532]

okay i need to find something to crochet or knit or sth cause i really cant spend one more day just sitting in my bed doing nothing

[steviescrystals]

i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane

(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)

[seilon]

pro: ran into a coworker at a bar last night who I don’t really talk to usually (he works upstairs, I work downstairs) and we talked and im pretty sure we were highkey flirting and he bought me a drink and the bar merch shirt i was interested in and thanks to the power of alcohol i guess i asked for his number and he gladly gave it to me and. yeah

con: i have the second worst hangover i have ever had and have been fighting for my fucking life just to eat saltines

[crystalpallette]

my best friend, onstage ringo, who I spent every last one of my magic gems on and pulled exactly zero of

[moe-broey]

Sometimes I forget my icon is Alfonse Fire Emblem and I feel like it occasionally adds a layer of comedy to my tags LMFAO