#these kids spent their whole lives in and out of motels

[winchestergifs]

You know, back in the day, this was the one day you kept your children inside.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

I have the headcanon in my mind that Sister Winchester as a child snuck out to see Sam at Stanford.

Somehow she managed to gather all her savings, escape from the motel, buy a bus ticket and go to Stanford and when she arrived at university as a girl she simply started asking about Sam until she found him, he spent the whole day with her and met to Jess :3

This is literally so cute, I might have to make a fic of this at some point.

John and Dean would find her letter (a piece of construction paper drawn on with crayon) saying she was going to see Sammy at Stamfor (she tried her best with the spelling)

She goes to the bus stop and just tells the bus driver he has to take her to Stamfor, and the guy just stares at her.

“Do you have parents, kid? Do they know where you are?”

“I’m going to my big brother, and I got money!” She’s say, waving around a little bag filled with ones and change.

The guy would glance around, decide he couldn’t just leave a little kid at the bus stop, and then he’d let her on.

Once she gets there, she just wanders around with a picture of Sam that she stole from John’s wallet, asking everyone she passed if they’d seen him.

It wouldn’t take long, Sam’s very friendly and he’s one of the tallest guys on campus. Some nice friend of his would personally escort the little sister to Sam’s doorstep.

Jess would answer the door, more than a little confused when a little girl is standing there.

“I’m looking for Sammy,” she’d say, and suddenly Jess would know who this tiny girl in a flannel that’s way too big is. She’d see Sam’s nose, his ears, and his stubbornness in the girl.

“Come in, I’ll go get him,” she’d reply.

She’d follow Jess around instead of waiting in the living room.

“Are you Sammy’s friend? Is that why you’re in his house? What’s your name?”

“Jess?” The little sister’s questions would stop immediately when she heard Sam’s voice for the first time in years. “Jess, who was at the door?” Sam stepped out of his room, freezing in the hallway when he saw his little sister. “Y/N?”

After a thorough investigation, Sam would tell his little sister that she had to go home…

…tomorrow.

He got a call from Dean, and Sam assured him that their sister had gotten there safely, and that they didn’t have to come get her, he could put her on a bus in the morning. Dean wouldn’t listen, he’d insist that he and John were going to get her. But it was a long drive, so Sam would “have” to watch her all day anyway.

So Sam would spend the whole day showing his little sister Stanford (he got her to pronounce it correctly), his classes, his friends, his hangouts (he took her for ice cream at his favorite spot). She’d be so happy seeing how happy he was.

He’d ask her about her, and she’d tell him that dad and Dean were still fighting bad guys (she had no details), and that Dean had come up with school that she could do at home (or rather, in motels) so she wouldn’t have to switch schools every few weeks/months.

Eventually, her feet would start dragging (it had been a long, long day, and a long bus ride) and Sam would pick her up and let her fall asleep in his arms. She wouldn’t wake up until Dean and John arrived, and Dean was carrying her to the Impala.

“Wait!” She’d yell, and she’d squirm until Dean put her down. She’d run right back into Sam’s arms. “I’ll miss you. I love you.”

Sam would lower his head so that it was ducked into her shoulder, so that he wouldn’t have to look at his waiting father and brother. “I’ll miss you too, kid. I love you.” Then he’d set you down, and you’d reluctantly walk back over to Dean, who set you down in the Impala before looking over at Sam.

There was no hug between the brothers, but Dean gave his little brother a wave, and Sam returned with a nod. Then they parted ways again.

[ravawrites]

femme fatale

summary: a morally dubious personal investigator takes a holiday to virginia as she had heard that aaron hotchner was in witsec. he was not.

warnings: MDNI!!!!! blowjobs, slight d/s dynamic, slight rough play, open ending.

a/n: This is my first smut like work! so please give me the benefit of doubt as i know i need to improve lol. Hope you enjoyed!! Happy reading <3 SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE. I know aaron doesn’t come back after witsec but for the sake of plot, he does.

word count: 3062

In the past twelve years you had been everywhere in the world. Paris, London, Milan, Sydney, Nigeria, Moscow, and in forty nine of the fifty states. Every one held a different passport and a different name and accent. There was one state, however, you avoided like the plague. Virginia. Named after the virgin queen, birth place of the first president and home to Quantico, the FBI office and unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.

Through the grapevine of criminal connections, you had heard that he had been pushed into WITSEC by Mr Scratch. Him and his son were in Michigan, living a normal life. So you decided to make your way to Virginia.

Your week was spent going around to all the tourist attractions, you had hazy memories of. The Smithsonian, the national gallery of art, and the Lincoln memorial but steering clear of the Capitol. Too risky. Finally, the nightlife.

Holidays in your line of work were rare and short. A night out in a bar, for fun and not information on a suspect was even rarer. You were going out for fun, to get drunk and find someone to pull back into your cheap motel before you were back on the road again. Lightly curled hair twisted around your face, framing it and highlighting the dark, sultry makeup that was precisely painted onto your skin. Dark liner pulling attention to your eyes and a deep red lipstick, surely to leave a mark.

The dress was black, tight, showing everything you had off. It fell around mid thighs that were covered in a silky black stocking that ran down to your feet that were held in expensive black heels. The red bottoms were unmistakable and were a subtle hint at your wealth, steering all of the right people your way.

You’d looked up the bars in the immediate vicinity by your motel. One was a club, that was too young for you, it would be full of college kids looking to score with an older woman. The other was one an older bar with a snooker table and a dart board. This one was too old, filled with older men. The one you’d decided on was called O’keefes. It had a dart board and a moderately sized dance floor. It was the perfect medley between young and old.

The sign outside was glowing red, lighting up the immediate area. Brown wooden doors had little glass windows and you could see the inside was dark with red accent lights, matching the sign in the front. Pushing open the doors, you immediately make your way to the bar and do a scan of the place. The bar was in the middle of the room in a square shape, you sit with your back to the door.

“Can I get a gin and tonic please.” You ask, in a strong french accent, the bartender and she nods, whisking away to go and mix your drink.

“I’ll pay.” A voice says from behind you and you turn around. He’s a blonde, tall, muscular man. “You’re French?” He asks and sits on the red bar stool next to you while nodding to the bartender for a beer.

“Yes, I’m on a vacation?” You say, feigning pauses between your words, giving the impression of changing your dialect to American. “It’s fun here.” You smile at him and rest your chin in your hand.

“Ah I was born here, lived here my whole life.” He tells you and grabs your drinks off of the bartender and you sit and begin to chat. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an accountant. What about you?” You ask him, not breaking your eyes from his, they were bright blue even in the red light. Not your usual type but he would do.

“I’m a gym instructor.” He comments and subtly flexes. Your toes curl in cringe as he does this but you grit your teeth and make a face of recognition.

“That makes sense, you’re very” You look down and sigh, pretending to think of the word. Looking up you make a grunting noise. You look down again, coyly this time.

“Muscular?” He offers and you make an ‘o’ with your mouth and nod at him. “Yes, I go to the gym every day. I do all sorts of things.” Immediately you had regretted talking to this man. He started to go on and on about all the types of workouts and weights and how long and what muscles it works.

He talked your ear off. He didn’t stop. Your eyes roam around the room, watching all of the other people and they’re conversations that seemed miles more interesting. There was a blonde woman and a bald man having the time of their lives on the dance floor, clearly drunk out of their minds, they looked familiar. The red light bounced around the room and your eyes follow it, taking you on a journey of people watching.

There was another couple, this time in a booth, snogging each others face off. They looked absolutely enamoured with each other. Her hands were in his hair and his hands were on her hips.

Your eyes followed the bouncing light to a round table in the corner of the room. There was a group of five people all laughing and drinking, pointing at the people on the dance floor from a second ago. They were close friends. In the background of your thoughts was the blonde man, still rambling on about the gym and being buff.

The light took your eyes to the door of the men’s bathroom as someone stood out of the doorway. His shoes were black leather oxfords, polished and shining. Black slacks that were perfectly tailored and were tight around his thighs. The same could be said for his white long sleeved shirt, tight across his chest with two buttons undone. A small amount of chest hair peeking out in the gap. Now he was more your type. You looked up to his face to study it.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you take him in. The stool squeaks as you stand up from it quickly and the two of you just stare at each other. You’d also realise you’d walked into a bar full of FBI agents and the one who disliked you the most was looking directly after you. Glancing over to the table of the large group of people you had just observed.

“I am not feeling to well, I have to go.” You say, leaning down to the man, who you didn’t know the name of and watched him look confused. “The gin didn’t sit with me. Goodbye.” You put your hand on his shoulder and grab his beer which he hadn’t touched yet.

You had never been so glad to sit near the door. The split second decision to bolt out of the door was risky. Running out of the bar, you rip the door open and made your way onto the Virginian streets. First mistake, wearing heels. Being a PI provided you with a generous amount of funds. However, expensive heels this high we’re for being walked down the the street in the arm of someone. Not pelting it down paved streets, you already regretted your choice to go out tonight.

Second mistake, coming to Virginia in the first place. You heard the bar door open again and he ran through it, bolting after you. He had the upper hand here, knowing the streets. Quickly, you run into the back alley’s. You didn’t stop running, checking the street signs as you ran. Desperate to get back to your motel, you don’t look back once.

Guessing wasn’t your strong point, you think as you randomly pick another alley to run through, hoping to find some familiarity. All of them started to look the same, maybe you’d already been here, or maybe it was the panic. There was a T shaped turn, you could either go straight foreword or turn right in a couple yards. You run straight foreword.

Suddenly, as you pass the right turn you are slammed against the brick wall. You feel the backs of your tights get stuck to the brick and rip and you wince.

“You prick.” You groan and pull your hands up to shove him off of you. “What you do that for?” Bending down you bring your hands to your knees and puff for breath.

“What job are you on?” He says, with his interrogator voice. Eyebrows creased and shoulders squared to make himself look more threatening.

“I’m not on a job, Hotch.” You tell him and stand up straight, looking at this face close up for the first time in a while. Your mind short circuits for a second as you contain yourself. “You have a beard.”

“You’re always on a job.” He states, clearly not believing you.

“I’m on holiday!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air. “You.” Dragging out the word you point at him. “Are supposed to be in witness protection.”

“How’d you know that?” He asks, confused. He takes a step forward, his chest rising and falling.

“Everyone knew?” You roll your eyes at him. “You had to disappear because of Scratch, you were in Maine.” You shrug. “Now can I please, go back to my motel.”

“No.” He says and takes another step foreword. “You’re a murderer.” He states. “I’ll walk you.”

“Alleged, you have no evidence.” You answer quickly, “You have a bias against me. I’m innocent.” You sigh and start to walk away from him. “We can’t be seen together.”

“I know.” You look at him confused. “To all of those things. But it’s dark, I’ll walk you.” He jogs to catch up to you and the two of you walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of your motel. It’s silent for a while and you take in the streets. “You’re British?” He questions, turning toward you.

“I assumed you knew, all these years.” You laugh slightly. “You have reading glasses yet?” You joke. He doesn’t find it funny. “One day, you’ll laugh.” The silence comes up once again, you swing your arms back and forth. “What did you tell your friends?”

“That I had to go.” He states and you turn into the street of dodgy motels. “Why did you mention my beard?” He asks as he walks you to the door. You turn the key you had in your bra, and lean against the open door way.

“It suits you, you look fit.” You shrug and smile. His face doesn’t move. “It’s a compliment, accept it.” You roll your eyes again and scoff. “You want to come in?” He shakes his head and goes to open his mouth but you interrupt.

“I don’t want to fuck. Calm down.” You walk into your room and wait for him to follow. “Close the door.” You hear it click closed. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to have sex again anyway.”

“Why?” He says with a strong breath out of his nose.

“You might get attached.” You smirk at him and he finally laughs. It’s a deep baritone, but silky like honey, you wanted to drown in it. “Also because I think someone knows we’re friends.” You sit down on your bed and pull your red bottoms and frown at the scuffed paint. You look up to him as you peel the ripped tights away from your legs, leaving you in your dress.

“What do you mean?” He asks and you rummage through your bag, pulling out a white envelope. You toss it towards him and watch him pull out pictures of you from vulnerable times throughout the years. “Are these not yours?”

“No, my blackmail is in a safe.” You give him a smile and lean back. “I was served them, like I was being sued.” You explain. “I’m trying to find who’s they are, don’t worry.”

“I will lose my job, if these get out.” He says flicking through them again.

“I know. They won’t.” You assure him and take the photos back, taking them back and sliding them into the envelope. The air in the room feels thick and you bury them back into the bottom of the bag. The dynamic was strange. He didn’t like you because he thought you were a murderer. You didn’t like him because he thought you were a murderer. However, you couldn’t deny the tension the two of you had. You had kept your meetings short for this exact reason, the room heating up. You look up and meet his brown eyes.

“Is that all your things?” He asks and you nod. “It’s not a lot.” He states and stands up rigidly straight.

“I don’t live anywhere for more than a month.” Zipping your bag shut. “I close my cases quickly. You can sit down.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “I should go.” You nod and watch him turn to the door and take two long steps towards it. You never said goodbye. This time though, he hesitated to twist the door knob.

“One more time, couldn’t hurt.” You stand up and the two of you meet half way, wrapping around each other. Your lips hit his neck and you start to suck gently while simultaneously unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. Your hands dive into the hair on his chest and generally feel him up through the open shirt. “You been working out?”

“Occasionally.” He says nonchalantly as your hands wander south. Down to his toned stomach and your fingers fiddle with the button on his slacks. You look up at him for permission and he nods. Slowly, you use both hands to unbutton them and teasingly pull down the zip. “Hurry up.” He grits and your hand slides inside the trousers but stay over his boxers. You felt him get hard in your hand.

He leans down to your neck and licks up to your ear and whispers. “Get on your knees for me.” You do exactly as your told and lower yourself down to the carpet.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot, this carpet is gross.” You say up to him and pull his black slacks down to his ankles. His mouth perks up at the compliment. You learn on the backs of your feet and wait. Your fingers trail up and down his thigh. He pulls down his boxers and that was a sight you missed.

Just looking at Aaron Hotchner, every one could tell he wasn’t small, in any shape of form. His build was big, his chest was big, his hands were big, you could go on. His dick was certainly big, you observe as he holds it close to your face. “Look up at me.” He instructs and you instantly do what he says.

You didn’t know what view you preferred. On one hand, his dick was pretty. On the other, he had grown a beard out while in WITSEC. They were both equal.

“Can I?” You ask, swiping your tongue over your lip but he cuts you off.

“Patience.” He states sternly. He liked to make you wait. You roll your eyes again but do sit there patiently. He pulls you gently from the back of your head closer to him. You furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing. An uncontrollable red flush crawls up your skin as it dawned on you, he was measuring up to your face. Dirty man. He smirks and leans back, “Go ahead.” He finally says and you sigh in relief.

“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.” You snark and lean in, taking a long, slow lick up his length. In the past few years, you had forgotten what he had tasted like, you didn’t want to forget again. Something you’d never forget was the noise he would make when you finally took him into your mouth.

That groan was music to your ears, a symphony that makes you blush. He’s heavy and warm on your tongue. You look up at him through your eyelashes and his eyes are screwed shut as he pants. Hallowing your cheeks, you slowly bob your head along him.

“Nor is it mine.” He moans out and runs his fingers into your hair. “Can I?” He strokes your hair and you nod, mouth still full of his cock. “Use your words.” He commands and smiles down at you as you pull off of him.

“Yes, you can.” You confirm and he grabs the back of your hair in a fist. He then guides you down on him again, but deeper than before almost breaching your throats and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning, vibrating on him and the grip on your hair tightens slightly. “Christ.” You feel the leg muscles you have gripped in your hands twitch as he moves his hips forward to meet your movements.

The frequent small spurts of salty taste into your mouth signalled that he was getting closer to the edge. You try not to smirk and you take him deeper and he throws his head back with a throaty groan.

“I’m not going to last long.” He grits his teeth together and his legs twitch again, gripping onto the back of your head as you control your breathing through your nose.

He calls out your name, a word he rarely even whispers. It falls out of his lips as he finishes into yours.

He pulls out of your throat and you swallow, standing up and then perching on the edge of your bed. “Let me pay you back.” He says and takes steps towards your, lips landing on your neck. A soft moan leaves your mouth. But suddenly, the two of you are ripped apart by the phone ringing. He pulls away and answers, it’s not work, you can tell by his softer than usual tone.

“I’ve got to go.” He awkwardly says, pulling his trousers back up and buttoning his shirt. “It’s my son, Jack, he’s ill.” He grabs his wallet that had fallen on the floor in the chaos. “I’ll see you soon.” You follow him to the creaky door to see him out.

“No, you won’t.” He begins to walk away into the dark of the night. “Goodbye Aaron!” You call out into the darkness as he disappears.

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him)

cw: aint-shit brooklyn hipster ex-boyfriend. millennial real estate angst. Ohio.

Chapter 1

I never thought in a million years I would end up in Ohio of all places. I’ve always fancied myself a real City Girl type. I grew up in the Houston metro area where I was more likely to be perusing the Galleria or eating sushi than I was engaging in any of the more agrarian behaviors outsiders assume Texans are wont to do but largely don’t. And then as soon as I graduated, I made my way to New York to officially start my life in the city I would never leave, as far as I was concerned.

But after 14 years of scraping by, 14 years of overpriced rent and skipping meals in order to afford the bills, I’ve had enough. I sold my furniture, wrapped up my loose ends, and made a break to escape the rat race. 

Okay, maybe I’m not some maverick refusing to buy into the capitalist hustle. My grand escape from New York is a little less Snake Plimson and more desperate-slash-dumped. I was supposed to move in with my boyfriend Mark, the gorgeous and brilliant photographer I had been seeing for three whole years. My lease with my last roommate was coming to an end, so Mark and I decided to do what grown ups supposedly do and finally get a place together to embark on the whole domestic bliss thing. I was absolutely looking forward to having someone to split expenses with, but even more so it felt like I was finally becoming a real adult. Moving in with your boyfriend in New York is, as far as lifestyle accomplishments go, the equivalent of getting married and having kids for people in the burbs. And I was ready to start this next chapter of my life knowing I was on track with the milestones expected of me. 

Unfortunately, Mark was not ready. At the big age of 36, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t know himself well enough to get tied down to a life of commitment– or even the eighteen months our lease would occupy. “There’s so much I still want to do,” he said. “It would be unfair to you if I was here physically, when my heart and soul are somewhere else,” he said. I wanted to deck him.  

Honestly, I can get over the rejection from a man who was self-admittedly only half present, but his dumping me put me in a position far more precarious than heartbreak: sitting there with just six weeks to find an affordable place to live in New York City. Not impossible, mind you, but a significant burden where I will absolutely be forced to make concessions regarding what I want. I was looking down the barrel of a too much for too little housing situation that I’d be stuck in for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I would end up in a street level roach motel with a toilet in the kitchen for no less than $4000/month. 

But after a few hours online searching for options, the algorithm gods smiled down upon me. I was scrolling through my feed having just double tapped on a high school friend’s baby announcement when I saw it: a targeted ad that read: GET PAID $30,000 TO LIVE AND WORK IN OHIO. 

$30k is not going to make me a wealthy woman, by any means, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I stood to lose trying to find acceptable lodging in the city. And while I had a decent social circle I didn’t want to abandon, my desire to go out and spend my free time (as well as my not-so-free-money) had dwindled as of late. I found myself avoiding the parties and bars where I more often than not spent the evening straining my voice just to have a simple conversation with someone I can barely even hear in favor of staying in to read with a glass of wine while brainstorming fan theories with other members of one of the several fandom Discord channels I belong to. And my job has essentially become 100% remote as of late. Any essential meetings I may need to attend could be covered as a business trip, but considering most of my job involves research and grunt work versus client-facing duties, it likely wouldn’t come up at all. I was free to leave New York. 

That is to say, my curiosity was piqued. So I clicked. And I applied. Then in what felt like a whirlwind courting, I was put into contact with a state worker who walked me through the grant application with the kind of midwestern charm I found refreshing after over a decade of city cynicism. I was then presented with a selection of eligible properties, mortgage options, and even connections to discounted moving services. Seemingly quicker than one could say “buckeye state,” I had a home lined up for me. 

A month later, here I am: driving west to Loveland, Ohio. I would never admit it out loud to my friends in New York, but when I saw the option for the little single story bungalow in a town called Loveland, I was instantly drawn to the romanticism of the name. I’ve never considered myself a romantic. After all, my last relationship was built more upon a desire to live a D.I.N.K. lifestyle than some sort of deep, burning passion between two souls made of the same. But finding this opportunity to start anew in an actual hand-to-god house that I could feasibly own felt more like a whirlwind case of woo than dating men ever did. After all, having a place of one’s own to which she can safely escape has been an unattainable dream for women throughout the recorded centuries. 

I am not so jaded as to deny the appeal of true romantic love; the security of a trusted partner and the comfort of consistent, pleasurable sex is not something I would turn away if it presented itself. But I also accept the fact that those ideals are born from a rather modern mindset born from the emergence of the bored middle class who desired a genteel way to express their own horniness disguised under the veil of “art.” 

Well, I mostly know that. Maybe it’s all I’m allowing myself to believe in order to keep myself from being disappointed when I inevitably never experience the kind of love that makes one write poems and paint portraits. I mean, there’s ample evidence in this world that some people truly do fall in love  I recently read that the English poet and surrealist patron Edward James was so in love with his dancer wife Tilly Losch, he had the impressions of her footsteps woven into the stair’s carpet in their home together, creating a tribute to their shared intimacy and the love he held not just for her physicality, but her contribution towards turning their house into his home. 

Of course, Edward and Tilly ended up divorced. To his credit, James didn’t destroy the carpet upon the dissolution of his marriage and her subsequent campaign to pin it on his bisexuality rather than her infidelity. Instead he ended up donating it to an arts’ college and replaced the one in his home with a new commission– this time, featuring the pawprints of his beloved dog. C’est l’amour! One day you’re in love with your gorgeous dancer wife and her elegant footsteps, the next, she’s outing you in divorce court and you’re making lobster telephones with Salvador Dalí. 

So with all that in mind, I find myself here in the Cincinnati suburbs, heading directly to my new life in a land of love smack dab in the middle of The Heart of It All. But despite how it sounds, I’m not holding out for a hero. I will happily settle for falling in love with my new life and my new house. 

I may not be in love, but I am definitely crushing on my new place. As I pull into the driveway, I feel my heartbeat quicken in excitement. It’s so BIG! I mean, I’m from Houston�� I know how big houses can be and this isn’t a mansion by any means. In fact, the listing called it a “modern cottage” style, insinuating that it’s on the smaller side of homes. But I’ve been apartment dwelling in New York for so long, I feel unsure about what to do with so much space to myself. I don’t have even close to enough furnishings to fill this place. There shall be much shopping in my foreseeable future. And there isn’t just a yard– there’s two! I might take up gardening. Maybe I’ll get a dog. My head is swimming with the possibilities. 

I grab my bags from the car and saunter up to the front door. It’s not my first time across the threshold– I flew out here before closing to oversee the inspection and get to know the area. But none of that diminishes my excitement. After all, this is my first home! I get to have a little bit of romanticization within the experience. As a treat.

The first thing to notice when walking into the house is the spacious open-plan kitchen and living area. The kitchen is what really excited me about this house. As an editor for cookbooks, I spend a lot of time there developing and testing. And now with all this room, I can fill it with every specialized tool and rare ingredients my little heart desires. The kitchen island fills the space and features a dozen or so drawers and cabinets of all different shapes and sizes to accommodate all my storage needs. And the appliances are perfect. The refrigerator is a pistachio green color with a design that looks like it came straight out of the 1950s, but it’s actually brand new and energy efficient. The stove features a gas range as well as a griddle top– the kind my Nana used to make us pancakes whenever we’d stay with her over Christmas. There’s also plenty of room for me to set up a desk for when the actual writing needs to occur. I’m going to get so much done!

The rest of the house is perfect for me. The master bedroom faces the east, so the sun pours in as soon as it rises. The connecting bathroom has a huge clawfoot tub AND a corner shower with rain-style fixtures. The second-largest room features floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases that basically called to me when I first saw them in the listing. I was planning on converting it into a dual-use library-slash-guest room, but now that I’m here, I wonder if I’ll be willing to share it with any guests. Is it considered gauche for a grown woman to commit an entire room to house her hardcover romantasy collection? Well, they might just have to call me fucking gauche because I am seriously considering it.

Besides, the smallest third bedroom could serve as a perfectly adequate guest room. It can barely fit more than a bed and a dresser, but it would work. Between the future library and future guest room is the second bathroom. It’s not as nice as the master bath, but all the fixtures are new and the tiling is a really cute black and white subway style that will go well with the modernist decor I have in mind. 

But decorating, working, filling up bookshelves– those are all to-do items for the near future. At the moment, I should really focus on the tasks at hand. First, I need to unload the rest of my things still in the car. The storage pod I have the majority of my possessions in is scheduled to be in my driveway in a couple days, but I brought the bare necessities along with me. After that, I will need to get some food in me. I make a mental grocery list while I unload the car. 

I got the entire $30k from the grant, but I only needed $20k for the down payment, leaving me with a nice chunk of change to invest in a new-to-me hybrid sedan. I haven’t owned a car since I sold the one I drove in high school after graduation. But considering I grew up in a city that is mostly a collection of zig-zagging freeways and pavement, I am pretty comfortable behind the wheel even after all these years of living by the graces of public transportation. The autonomy granted with a personal vehicle is not lost on me. No more showing up late due to MTA delays or having to avert my eyes from strange male passengers whose hands are conspicuously not in plain sight, though still in visible motion. Instead, I now get to enjoy the comfort of a working air conditioner and the freedom to belt out Beyoncé songs at the top of my lungs. Which is exactly what I do on my drive to the supermarket.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I feel like a lot of people will ask for the new mer fic so I will go with arsonist neil snippet please🙏

WIP Wednesday (5/1) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 160)

“Oh.” Andrew wasn’t expecting that, but it makes an alarming amount of sense coming from this wild-eyed arsonist. “Why did he want to kill you? Take too many cookies from the cookie jar?”

“Maybe that was it.” 10 laughs and it’s a weak, pathetic thing. “No. He was abusive my whole childhood. Believe me, I’ve got scars to prove it. But I guess beating your kid is part of being a murderous gangster.”

“It’s not just murderous gangsters,” Andrew says, almost in disbelief that this is a real conversation, “but do go on.”

“Anyway, one night my mom finally got tired of the abuse I guess. She woke me up a little after midnight and said we were leaving. She put me in his least favorite car and we were in another state before he knew we were missing.”

Andrew stays silent, unsure of what to say to such a revelation. Finally, he clears his throat. “So, what happened after that?”

“Mom drove until we ran out of gas, then we spent a week or so living in a motel outside of Philadelphia. That’s when they showed up.”

“They? That sounds rather ominous.”

“Some thugs who worked for my father,” 10 explains as if telling Andrew the color of his socks. 

“You’re serious? Your father was a mob boss who had goons at his disposal. What movie did you crawl out of, 10?”

The arsonist laughs. “I wish I was making this up, Andrew. But no, he had plenty of goons. Three I knew personally.”

“Alright. So he sent goons after you, go on.”

“Yeah. See, my mom didn’t just take me. She took a bunch of his money, too. He wanted me and the money back. And he had the resources and manpower to hunt us through twenty-two cities.”

[chatsukimi]

Friends

Friends to lovers. gamer!reader, highschool!reader, canon-compliant

'Oh, we're just teammates.'

You've been repeating this phrase ever since you arrived in Miyagi with Kenma. His team arrived to play a practice match against Karasuno, and you and Kenma's gaming competition has its last round scheduled at eight.

'Why do people think that we're...?' you mumble.

Kenma scowls, turning his back on the boy with a yellow mohawk. 'Yamamoto, stop bothering Y/N.'

'But-'

Kenma’s judgmental stare stops Yamamoto on his track. You pad behind Kenma, returning to the bedroom. Everyone else eats downstairs. You hear the faint cackle of Kuroo's laugh seep through the floorboards.

'Y/N, do you want to go to a gaming convention when we get back?' Kenma tosses the words out, a lock of hair in his side profile.

'Sure, when is it?'

'January,' he says.

Oh. You nod, thinking in your head, you didn't think you'd be friends for that long.

Since a five am at an internet café, this boy with wondrous yellow eyes has snaked into your life. Now you can't imagine a Saturday morning anywhere but sprawled on one futon against the wall, your head leaned on his shoulder, playing a video game. His shallow breaths hit your cheek as he settles his hand on your side. It barely touches your hip.

This room is filled with futons, empty apart from the two of you. The motel located beside Karasuno hosts not only the Nekoma team, but, looking out the window, runaway Karasuno children too. An orange haired kid and his friend like to ask Kuroo for volleyball advice at random intervals.

When you finish your game, you say, 'it's been five months after we first played together.'

'It hasn't been that long,' he ponders.

'Not that long.' You relax and set the video game down. 'Feels like it.'

He scrunches his eyebrows together. 'What do you mean?'

'No, I don't mean it like that.’ But you did. ‘We live in the same city, we're both in second second year and all... We'll probably be teammates for a lot longer.'

He pulls you closer.

'You're an idiot if you think we're just teammates.' His eyes wandering across the room to you, he says, 'we're friends, dumbass.'

Friends.

It's enough.

'You're the dumbass.'

'Am not.'

'Are.' You gulp, taking in his face, imprinting every detail in your memory. If this were a dream, you'd wake up soon. 'You are the biggest idiot I know.'

To tell you the truth, Kenma is good at figuring out others' feelings. Surrounded by Kuroo's friends, he's never needed to work hard at it. Weekdays, holidays, they were spent buried in his online world, hanging around afterschool at most. But when it comes to you?

His heartbeat stutters.

Daylight blows in through the curtains.

'Am not,' he says, without any venom.

...

You're leaning against the vending machine when you meet the Karasuno boys. First comes Hinata. That boy beside him, Kageyama, is a piece of work.

'You're Kenma's girlfriend, right?' Hinata says.

You swear you hear Kageyama whisper '... setter...', but leave it with a benefit of a doubt.

'That's right, shrimpy.' Here comes the rooster-head. 'Ah, young love.'

As though to make a point, Kuroo leans against your shoulder.

Kageyama whispers, 'boke, Hinata, boke' but you're whirring around to chastise Kuroo when Hinata caws.

'Wah, Y/N! Why haven't I talked to you sooner? Kenma's never told me.' You fight off a wince. 'You're always standing with him. I've seen you a few times, sometimes after matches. You play video games with him, don't you?'

How do you say to a little kid, 'I'm sorry but your whole life's been a lie'? That's what you feel like, facing Hinata's frighteningly casual grin. How could anyone correct him of anything? You'll lock Kuroo out of the bus when this thing blows over.

'We're playing in the same gaming competition,' you say. 'That's why I'm here. Our final round is tomorrow.'

All that your relationship is built on is a game. A game, and certain persistence in keeping up the front.

...

'Kuroo,' Kenma warns, rising from his seat. 'I'm getting my phone from the gym.'

That's to say, don't try anything with you.

Kuroo hands over some keys, smiling. He had indeed locked the phone in the supply closet so Kenma wouldn't play that and not volleyball.

'Poor kitten,' Kuroo coos. When Kenma's out of sight, he sighs, palm on his chin. 'Ah, young love.'

You pick up your phone. Kuroo studies you for a long moment, before even he begins conversing with a teammate. Zipping up your jacket, you force yourself to ignore, ignore, ignore them.

When Kenma returns, phone in hand, his face is unreadable. He sits before his dinner, pausing before he speaks.

'I ran into Kageyama. We're dating?'

He… what?

'Come on, I would never think that.' The words slip out before you can help yourself. 'We're only friends.’

‘Oh, he was confused?’ Kenma scrutinises you.

‘We’re only friends, acquaintances,’ you add, ‘like you said.’

Something ugly twists in your gut. You’re losing the feeling of the floor under your sneaker-clad feet. You pray the silence continues for as long as it takes the situation to disappear.

Because Kenma shouldn't be pushing his chair back. Screech. He should be brushing this subject off, or cracking whatever jokes due to friends in these circumstances.

Because it is six fifty and, 'sorry. I need to charge my phone.'

He is exiting the dining room.

‘Hey, Kenma!' Kuroo calls after him, to no avail.

When Kenma chooses something, he commits completely.

Losing your appetite, you push the bowl of rice on the table away. Your breathing grows more and more distressed until the glare of the lights overhead forms a headache at your temples. The coach has gone for drinks with the other coaches. So far, no one has noticed Kenma's disappearance. He vanishes often.

'What happened? Messed things up?'

‘Just- stop.' You bow your head . 'It's only an hour before the final round.'

Kuroo attempts to relieve the situation. 'Anyone can tell what's between you two is not platonic.' He puts a calming hand on your back, but you swipe him off- even though you wish someone's hug would swallow you whole.

'Then what is it?'

You take a deep breath. You straighten your back.

'Yeah... yeah, that's the problem. I'm not good at this.' A smile wavers over your face. Bitter. 'Wouldn't it be better if this was just some game?'

…

You pay attention to Kuroo’s conversation with Yaku, the noise droning like static. Like waiting for an old game to load when it’s already been disbanded.

At seven, you step out for some fresh air.

The moon glistens over the countryside. Kenma sits on a plastic stool. You face his back. He keeps still- perhaps he hasn’t noticed.

'Hey.'

He tenses. No phone rests in his hands.

'What I said earlier...'

‘No, it’s fine. I was overreacting.’

You watch him fidget as he’s always done when nervous, picking at his nails.

'There's a different world online. I know you know that,’ you dare to begin. Your ears burn.

You focus on counting the stars above you, thousands of them, instead of meeting his eye. Regardless, when you reach count ten, you lower your gaze with intent to see. Whether or not his reaction be good or bad.

You continue, 'but I feel like I'll fail you. I don't want to mess up reality and destroy everything in there.'

He cards through his dyed yellow hair, then stops. ‘We’re playing our last round in an hour. Don’t worry.’ He wants to say, I'm not someone you should love out of pity.

You drag another chair over to his side.

‘That’s not what I mean.’

He opened your eyes to a world beyond gaming. He was the one to lug you out of an internet cafe to here, Miyagi. He made you feel things you’d be contrived to let go now. And letting it fade is to let it go. You would never feel the tips of fingers on your palm again. Lights dapple the village under the hill.

It is seven-o-five.

You stay.

‘I don’t play with you just because of games,’ Kenma says. He looks absent-minded, hesitating, before the exhale. ‘It’s more than that.

‘And not because we’re friends either.

‘We are, but- it’s hard to explain. Each time I pass one level, I want to get to the next. I would like to be with you forever.’

'So,' you offer, understanding what is meant by the phrase, the commitment it accompanies, 'come on, let's play.'

...

It is morning in Spring at the internet cafe. Falling cherry blossoms litter the path there, flush against concrete. It is the even footfalls matched with casual hands in one’s pockets, and the hair tied back how you recommended it. The bell dings. It is chaos and beauty and more.

He sits down.

‘Kodzuken the streamer, huh?’ He’ll never grow sick of eliciting your little smile.

He says, ‘I had to try it out.’

The promise is kept.

Fin

----

Here is part i and part ii if you would like to read the beginning and middle of the story :)

[jesse-pinko]

ALASKA MIKE AND JESSE CONTENT. NOW!!!!!!!!!!!

Off the top of my head…

- Going off my own fic they go to Alaska together after Mike, who was injured instead of killed by Walter’s bullet, rescues Jesse from the compound after he basically stumbles on him months later while trying to track down Walt

- Mike knows it’s unwise for them to keep traveling together, much less settle down anywhere, but one night when they’re holed up in a motel and Jesse has just had a night terror and Mike has spent a good five minutes trying to convince the kid that they’re not even in New Mexico anymore and Jesse asks where they’re going and Mike says he isn’t sure yet- Jesse looks up at him, his eyes huge and lost and looking for anything concrete to anchor him to reality and asks if they could go to Alaska- well, Mike can’t think of anywhere else to go

- They live together at first because Jesse isn’t physically or emotionally in a place where he can take care of himself. The aftereffects of his night terrors can last for hours, which is confusing and terrifying, and could create situations in which he might feel he was justified in doing something drastic. Slowly, these become less frequent and for the most part less severe, he sees doctors and specialists (Mike is surprised that Jesse has the wherewithal or the knowledge to take charge of these appointments himself, and they end up discussing his Aunt Ginny and his interest in sports medicine) and he offers to move out, like he thinks Mike has just been putting up with him all this time. Mike agrees because he thinks it’s good for the kid to have his own space, but Jesse is surprised when Mike’s joke about being glad about getting some peace and quiet sounds even more doleful than he’d expected. The next time he calls Mike, Mike immediately asks him what’s wrong like a dad whose teenager just left for college

- When Jesse gets His Dog the one we all agree he has it’s because he picked it up as a stray on the side of the road while they were still living together and then he tries to hide the dog from Mike like a ten-year-old would from their parents and Mike is like. Do you think this is my first rodeo. I know you’re hiding some sort of animal from me. When did I say we could get a dog.

- Side tangent I’ve seen a lot of heated debates over the years as to what breed Jesse’s dog should be but I work with dogs so I have seniority over all of you and I’ll decide. I love huskies, I do, but Jesse has had enough crazy in his life without adding a husky to the mix. The right answer is Fat Old Lady Staffordshire Terrier, which is a Whole Other Breed, as the kids say. Every time I meet an old lady staffy it’s like meeting a spunky little grandma who goes to pride parades and hits rude people with her handbag. He needs that in his life

- Jesse started having seizures not long after his rescue, and even after it looks like he’s out of the woods they keep happening. He’s not allowed to drive, obviously, until they know the medication the doctor prescribed him works, and Mike is initially put off by him sulking about it when he’s the one who has to drive the kid everywhere after all. But Jesse is actually comfortable enough to open up to him about how it’s more about his fears around being stripped of agency and feeling trapped and they actually have like a genuine discussion about it it’s nice :)

- When Mike gets older and does eventually start having memory problems they essentially switch roles from when he first rescued Jesse from the compound… Jesse does exactly what Mike did when he isn’t understanding what’s happening in the present moment; trying to follow whatever his line of thinking is to a nonthreatening conclusion instead of trying to force a new reality on him, answering the same questions over again patiently, sometimes deflecting with something else he thinks might catch his attention or at least disrupt a distressing train of thought. Sometimes, Mike calls him Matty by mistake. If he doesn’t notice, Jesse doesn’t remark on it. Sometimes Mike will ask if he’s feeling alright, at random, like when they first got there and he was still in recovery, or will swear up and down that he’d come into the room because he heard Jesse calling for his help.

- Jesse’s kid gets them matching BFF bracelets from Claire’s that they have to wear at least once because if you don’t show enough gratitude for the presents kids give you it hurts their feelings :)

[chuckfinnlypwrmadness]

OK, I’ve heard this enough times and it seems like everybody on here has a misunderstanding about tweakers partying with other tweakers.

Hooking up with someone; that is where two people meet with the soul intention of fucking each other and having a good time doing that with each other. Neither one of them is paying the other. If there’s money involved, you’re a hooker. Nobody wants to hire a hooker to hook up with.

PNP; means party and play, not play & pay. When two people PNP normally the guy will rent a motel room for one to three nights, by the party favors and pretty much pay for the whole weekend. I myself or give the lady that I spent the weekend with a little sack to take with her so she doesn’t have to come down so hard. I’m not going to pay someone to show up to do that with me. That’s not how that works. You talk to somebody online or you’ve already know them you meet at the motel room I don’t pay for your gas to get there. I don’t have to cash app you money because you’re a broke ass bum you can’t drive across town probably cause of course you don’t live nowhere near where I’m at. And the funny thing is, y’all try to run that game all the time and it’s bullshit. I need gas money. I need a card all that dumb shit everybody’s hip to it. Meet someone across town at a motel walk in the door. Take all your clothes off. Get in the shower come out. Sit on the bed. Sit next to each other, talk get high fool around kiss watch TV whatever play game listen to music. But in no time does anybody exchange money? Nobody gets paid to be there. Another thing is who wants to send somebody some money so they can watch them on a video blowing clouds? That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve heard in a long time. I assure you there are plenty of women out here that you don’t have to pay at all to party with.

I have had girls that I was going to PNP with who did not wish to have sex and I told them that was fine. We don’t have to. I’ll pay for half of everything you pay for the other half the stuff, the motel, blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah. And they were like why do I have to pay because usually when you PNP with someone whoever’s paying decides on what the activities will be most guys wanna have sex or fool around or whatever and if you don’t wanna do that then we can split the bill right in half. Anyways, I just wanted to clarify that if you’re on here trying to meet someone and hook up or PNP or blow clouds and you want to do it over a video chat or they have to send you money you’re fucking the game up and 90% of these girls on here talking about, I’ll deliver to you  and fuck you they are full of shit. I’m not gonna buy shit online so just give it up. I’m not going to send you money for gas or your sisters kids to watch a video or whatever that other dumb shit y’all talk about. I’m not doing it. Don’t ask me. I have women out here that want to party and play just to party and play and they want to hook up because they wanna get fucked and they are not asking for any money! Something else gentlemen, the majority of these girls on here are not girls. There’s some freaking Asian in a treehouse trying to scam you or some Indian in India trying to get your money. They’ll never show up. You lose all your shit. They are worthless  spineless pieces of shit ! They’re not real.

If you want to meet in PNP or hook up or SK8 and you don’t require any kind of money to get you to show up to have this fun then come on. If you’re broke ass needs money get a job suck dick do something quit trying to cheat everybody on here out of their money. It’s pathetic!!

ONE OTHER THING. PEOPLE WHO GET SPUN OUT EVERY DAY PEOPLE WHO DO THIS LIFESTYLE AND LIVE IT THEY CAN TELL BY LOOKING AT YOU IF YOU REALLY GET SPUN OUT EVERY DAY OR YOU’RE DOING ANYTHING A LOT OF Y’ALL SAY Y’ALL WANNA DO ALL THESE THINGS BUT Y’ALL DON’T LOOK LIKE A TRUE PLAYER!

SOMEONE THAT GEEKS EVERY DAY AND LOOK AT A WOMAN TELL IF SHE’S REALLY GEEKING IF SHE GEEKS AT ALL. SO JUST KNOW THAT YOU’RE NOT FOOLING NOBODY!

⚡️⚡️

[gen-x-catmom]

I don't have space to fill out the meme template but here you go- Gen X Cat Mom's concert history.

Not gonna lie, it's not impressive. I spent most of my life being so broke that shows just weren't in the budget. Also, about half of the artists I would've liked to have seen in concert wouldn't come to Oklahoma City. The ones that did were just so pricey, or my mom wasn't okay with me going unaccompanied (the Cure came while I was in high school, and she was not a fan.) Once I got older, I was still pretty much perpetually broke.

1. FIRST CONCERT: Paul McCartney, Dallas TX 1990. My mom, my brother, mom's delightful friend Monica and I drove from Oklahoma City to Dallas and had an absolute blast. Mom was such a McCartney fangirl- one of her most endearing traits. I believe she saved for the whole trip for quite a while (we were POOR. Like, section 8 housing/food stamps/other welfare poor.)

2. LAST CONCERT: Outlaw Fest, Mansfield MA July 2024. Killer lineup- Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, Bob Dylan, and Lukas Nelson filling in for Willie, who was sitting this one out on doctor's orders. Lukas held it down like a champ. Great show.

3. WORST CONCERT: Vince Gill, Oklahoma City OK 1994 (the music was fine, but I was so sick that I spent a lot of time in the bathroom. My mom was worried about me, but otherwise had a good time. (She loved Vince Gill, and I'm pretty sure she got the ticket for my brother who couldn't make it for some reason.)

4. LOUDEST CONCERT: New Kids On the Block, Oklahoma City OK 1991 (I remember nothing but the noise and being so overstimulated. I lost interest in NKOTB soon after, when I discovered the Cure and the B-52's.)

5. BEST CONCERT: They Might Be Giants, Lawrence KS 1997 (drove from OKC to Lawrence with a couple that I believe I met through the old IRC TMBG mailing list. Their names escape me, but they were so nice. I met Graham Maby- he was such a sweetheart. He offered us a hotel room since they were about to hit the road, but I don't think it was his to offer so we ended up at a different motel.)

6. SEEN THE MOST: I haven't seen any artist in concert more than once. I've had tickets to TMBG twice since 1997 (2015 in OKC and 2023 in Tulsa). Missed 2015 because my request for time off was denied (I lived 3 hours away at the time, this would've been an overnight trip, and my boss was a spiteful jerk). Missed 2023 due to illness.

7. MOST SURPRISING: the White Stripes (they were good but I wasn't sure how I felt about the opening act. Also, it was much more low key than I expected an act like the White Stripes to play- SRO, not all that well attended.)

8. HAPPY I GOT TO SEE: Willie Nelson, Outlaw Fest 2023 (Xfinity Center has rules about smoking in the venue but a lot of folks didn't seem too concerned about following them.)

9. WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN: the Monkees in the 80s. They came to Oklahoma City in 1987 but my mom just couldn't afford it. We were both sad tbh. (Again, we were super broke. Society was not kind to single moms back then. Not much seems to have changed tbh.)

10. NEXT CONCERT: They Might Be Giants, Boston, 12/14/2024 (I splurged on decent seats. I'm really looking forward to it.)

[random2908]

Today is my brother's first birthday since his death. I don't want it to go unremarked. We are working toward some approximation of justice for him, as best we can, but we don't know how much we're going to get.

I know I haven't been around on tumblr much. I already wasn't around much leading up to it--because a month before he died, I had my big African safari trip (the last time I saw him!); and right before that a friend was visiting from out of town for over a week; and the month before that I was moving into a new house; and the two months before that I was selling my old apartment and buying my new house; and the two months before that I was settling into a new job; and the month before that I was moving cross-country out of the apartment I'd lived in for 17 years; and the two months before that I was doing job interviews and traveling to visit my brother and my parents; and the month before that I was quitting my awful job; and the month before that I was... idk, kinda in an emotional limbo of planning to quit but not having done it yet; and the month before that I was on my walking trip in England; and the month before that I was being driven to quit my awful job, including being forced to work for 22 hours straight on a weekend, and a screaming match with my boss in the hallway. So that was a huge 13 months with very little down-time.

While I was at my awful job I certainly did spend a lot of time on tumblr--as well as immediately prior to that, 8-10 years ago, when I was unemployed. (I've had this tumblr for, I guess, 10 1/2 years now, since way back when I was originally giving up on working and sliding into unemployment due to a mix of burn-out and immune diseases.)

But my brother's death shifted a lot of things for me, just in terms of where I was spending my leisure time, and maybe those shifts are permanent. Or maybe they'd already been coming for a year before that.

And I've been so, so busy at work, since then. Mostly because of good things! I'm the second senior-most scientist on a very successful project, and the senior-most scientist on my project can't do any work travel during the school year due to his family situation (he has a small kid, and his wife is a professor). So for 9 months out of the year, I'm the one being sent to do customer installations, and to lead off-site field testing. And I'm being fairly good about not working long hours... But even working 40 hours a week is exhausting when some of those hours are overnight tests, and sometimes I'm away from home on field-testing trips for up to two weeks at a time. The company springs for decent mid-range hotels--not luxurious by any means, but I'm not camped out in a scary motel or anything (except maybe at one point while road-tripping my equipment to a test site). But even so, just being away from home so much is hard.

Out of the past 3 months I've spent 4 weeks away from home for a total of 3 business trips, plus nearly a week on a couple short family trips (eclipse and Passover). It's just... a lot. So yeah, my leisure time and activities are just that much more constrained, just because my attention, even more than my time, is so constrained.

Anyway. I'm still here, occasionally. I still enjoy the time I spend here, but I'm spending 15-30 minutes here twice a week now. So I'm not seeing most of the stuff, and I have close to no interest in any of the more serious posts because my life is so serious. Maybe in the next few months things will calm down and I'll be back more. Maybe things will calm down and I'll pick up a new hobby instead. Maybe things won't calm down, idk.

But I just wanted to say, my life is a soap opera right now, almost entirely in ways I can't talk about here, but not everything is bad. And the reasons I'm not around are most immediately because of good things in my life, even if the whole evolving situation with my brother's death is weighing on me in the background. And I'm still around tumblr occasionally, I'm still seeing like 5% of the jokes on my dash, and I appreciate that they're there when I'm in the mood for them.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

omg, I just had a thought about Daniel and his memories. What is we are all wrong, and Armand (and/or Louis) didn't erase his memories?

We know from the Mayfair Witches that the Talamasca has people who can erase memories. Like Albrecht, the local leader of the Talamasca.

And we know from the books that the Talamasca spent years looking for Daniel. Though in the books he didn't publish the interview under his name, and he was living the nomadic life, so they never found him.

So here's my theory. Daniel runs away that initial night, memories intact. It's San Francisco, but in the books he immediately travels to Lestat and Louis' old place. It wouldn't have been hard to find, he is an investigative journalist and there aren't too many Lestats out there. So maybe he does the same here, with the thought that if Louis won't turn him, maybe Lestat will. (Idk how far he got into the story in that original interview, but I do remember Louis saying something about this is where they stopped the initial interview. Can't remember when he said it, but I'm pretty sure it was before the murder attempt on Lestat.)

We know there are Talamasca agents in New Orleans bc the Mayfair family. That family has been being watched for generations. So they probably knew that there were vampires hanging about during the years Louis, Lestat, and Claudia were there. Their house was probably being watched by the Talamasca. So imagine they see some 20 year old kid-with vampire bite marks go strolling towards the house.

It's approximately a 33 hour drive for San Francisco to New Orleans. Given how Daniel was asked at the bar if he had money the night he meets/interviews/gets bitten by Louis, we can assume he probably doesn't have money for a flight there. Or probably to stay in anything but the cheapest of motels. So he probably drives as many hours he can a day, rests for a short bit, then drives again. So if he's driving around 10+ hours a day, and stopping to rest, he can reasonably make it there in like 3 to 4 days. So those bite marks would still be visible, if somewhat healed.

We don't know how closely the show is going to follow the book. But in the books, Daniel plays the tapes all night, hoping to catch some vampire attention. Let's say he does that here. Now, the Talamasca has probably been listening in, via magic or some psychic shit. So they know Daniel's name and Louis and Lestat's and Claudia's.

We don't know for sure how things will go in the show. In the books, this was his initial meeting with Armand. He'd heard about Armand from Louis, but this was his first time meeting him. We know they've already meet in the show. Maybe Armand follows him here to kill him, so he can't publish Louis' story. Maybe he just comes to collect the tapes, bc Louis likes this one, so best not murder him. Maybe he was just curious. Or maybe they don't meet at Rue Royale in the show. Idk.

But someone from the Talamasca questions him, gets all the info about vampires he knows and erases his memories. Maybe Albrecht himself, they'd be around the same age, at least based on the actors ages. Maybe they take the tapes. (Or maybe Armand was there, and took them. And it explains how Louis has them in the present day of the show. Bc I can't see the Talamasca just sending them to Louis.)

Then devil's minion stuff happens, probably with some bonus Louis action. Daniel does his running away thing. Armand doesn't go looking for him, bc he knows Daniel will be back. Except this time when he leaves, the Talamasca finds him. Someone who spent a decade with a vampire would be a goldmine for them. So they question him, maybe use the aid of psychics if he puts up resistance. Then erase the memory of the whole thing. However, given Daniel's history, he's prone to return to Armand (and maybe Louis). And the Talamasca know a vampire that old is powerful, perhaps powerful enough to detect their meddling around. So they make him forget it all, all the years of it.

They probably erase some stuff, alter some stuff so Daniel can blame his memory lapses on drug use. And he doesn't remember, so he just goes on with his life and has a nice career and family. (Oh, maybe Alice is an agent assigned to watch over him. And falls for him/they fall for each other.) (I hope they don't go there, but maybe she's witch and she 'fixes' him, aka casts a love spell on him. Bc I do believe some stuff from Merrick will come into play, and that's a thing witches could do there.)

And from Armand's POV Daniel just left and never came back. Never reached out to him. Which could explain his hostility during that feeding scene with him and Louis right in front of Daniel's salad.

It is very out there, but the immortal universe is making a talamasca show, so i can see it being featured more prominently in their other shows.

If nothing else, it makes for a fun fanfic idea. And actually combines really well with a fic idea I have brewing.

[pullingheavendown]

time for oversharing.

Keep coming back here, scattering little pieces of myself for myself to find some day, maybe, if we ever think to turn around; if we ever realize the pieces are missing. Bread crumb trail for a starving soul. A red string through the woods for a broken boy toy. (Crue's goddamn journals, 2009)

I used to think I didn't have an inner world, not the way a lot of systems talk about having one. And then pieces started coming back to me: the vivid, borderline lucid, recurring nightmares I would have at times. I would revisit the same places in my dreams. Go through the same motions, with minor variations, always trapped. The world around me would go through some cataclysmic event -- my neighbourhood slowly destroyed by lava we all know is coming but no one thinks to escape. An invading force coming slowly through the city, and you can hear the people in the nearby neighbourhoods being massacred, but you cannot escape; eventually they are at your door.

Eventually whatever it is arrives. Eventually there is no escape. Eventually you wake up feeling hollow, punched through, scared and sick, the details evaporating. You never remember until the next time the dream comes. There's just the fear drilled through you, and that lingers for the next day or two.

The dreams eventually started having a taint to them, like a haunted house. Something bad happened here, I'd think, walking through the same hallways, the same streets, the same particular places some part of me had been trapped in last time. There are a lot of them: some are made up, nonsensical places, like a motel by the ocean that will be flooded and that connects to some underground orca-viewing tunnels, I guess. Sometimes it's a tsunami. Sometimes it's the whales themselves turning violent. Some of them are just places we lived, once: it's the elementary school we went to that gets overrun by lava, or it's our apartment in TO being scaled by monsters while we listen to our neighbours be eaten alive, executed, run through.

My heart is fluttering in my throat and I am just trying to get the words out in some order. Sorry.

Last night was a place I'd only been to once or twice before. Before, they were dream of running: an abandoned, massive, 50 storey hotel that connects to another, mirror building via underground tunnels. Someone always chasing me through them, me trying to use the maze to get away, their relentless pursuit always gaining ground, me eventually trapped somewhere and realizing there is no getting out. Elevators stop working. Staircases become recursive. Whatever thing is hunting me knows this place better than I do and I cannot leave. No doors ever open, it's just hallways and hallways, and...

Last night that hotel fell apart. Last night it was crumbling around us, bombarded by some army. But my sister was there (and I know she was there for the Real Bad Stuff that happened when we were kids), and I couldn't save her. Couldn't save her from the walls falling in on top of her, couldn't save my cats from running away into the danger, couldn't stop staring at the flashing red emergency lights, couldn't stop choking on dust and debris. The whole construct was destroyed. For whatever reason I was carrying around some deformed, half-gremlin looking newborn my sister had just given birth to and I couldn't keep it safe. I couldn't bring myself to leave, either. I just froze, and waited for whatever was going to happen.

(One of the cats, the more emotionally support-animal one IRL, spent the entire night screaming at me. I kept waking up, worrying something was wrong with him, and getting this dream in snatches between shouting fits. I thought he was sick but now I'm wondering if he just sensed something was deeply fucked up with me last night. He does that. If I have so much as a sniffle or an infection, he's all over me until it's better.)

If what I'm remembering about my dad from yesterday is real (it is) -- then I think this hotel, this conjoined monstrosity, was the mental construct we put memories about him in, so to speak. I think the maze of hallways and stairs and elevator shafts was a way to disorient ourselves, to keep whatever's inside those rooms inaccessible. And maybe it coming down around us is a last ditch effort to keep those memories contained, or maybe someone needed it destroyed to finally be free of it. I don't know. No real memories came out of it, just the fear and panic and dread, just this endless heart fluttering sensation in my throat.

All of it started with me having one of those dissociative drop attacks where I just couldn't stay conscious anymore. I just had to shut down, flip that switch, be Gone and let that other deeper subsystem take over, which almost always means being catatonic and "asleep." I think they were drugged a lot. A lot of therapy has been trying to reconnect with them without losing total touch with reality at the same time, because something about that always means they are just... so out of it.

But no rage. And no self-loathing. I'm now so fucking exhausted I want to cry from that alone, and I know I'm using pronouns in the most loosey goosey way possible in here because it's the you/we/I narrator problem we have, but no rage.

Just so much fear. I think the fear was real. I think the feeling of not being able to escape was real. I think the pain of understanding what was happening to us was real. And our brain just shoved it into compartments, which became hotel rooms, and now that the memories are threatening to come back about my dad specifically, it's going to start cracking at the foundations.

Buckle up, I guess. I'm not sure what else there is to do at this point. Buckle up and be prepared for whatever fragments come through the cracks.

...

The memory of my dad was of a time when I (not knowing about his abuse or that he was involved in the trafficking in any way) told him my stepdad had been molesting me, and that was why I never showed an ounce of regret after my stepdad killed himself. I was happy he was dead. And my dad very quietly stood there, and asked if it was all bad?

And in that moment I was so confused as to why he wasn't... anything. Surprised, mad, defensive, understanding, there wasn't anything like that. He just got very quiet, and asked if it had all been bad, and when I just as quietly went yeah, dad, it was all bad, he...

In the first version: he turns around and walks back into the house without a word, leaving me in the field behind his house.

In the new version, he doesn't do that at all. But I think some part of me was left in that field, and I don't want to leave him there anymore. I want him to come home. And if that means blowing up an entire hotel of memories, so fucking be it.

Maybe I should have known better and not told my dad. Maybe I did my best. Maybe I should have realized that he would take that as a reason to hurt me again and reinforce all the training that had clearly been wearing off.

The best version of events is him going quiet and leaving me alone. I couldn't even paper it over with him being supportive or helpful. What a fucking coward of a person.

And I hope his entire house collapses on top of him some day.

[breesays]

rest in peace, my bad muse

Sometimes, instead of starting a new chapter or working on a new blog, I'll go back into a draft to add details. Or edit. Last night, I opened up the section about PJ, which is the second-longest essay next to Tim's. Moreover, I don't think PJ ever lived in or even near California. We met in Florida, flirted in SoCal - but only when work (a tour) brought him to town - Yellowcard, Anti-Flag, The Get Up Kids. I was involved with PJ from 2003 to 2013, when I changed my phone number and severed a bunch of contacts. I say involved with but I really mean in contact with. The height of our situationship was from 2003-2005, and yes, I am loathe to list dates because lord only knows how many other girls he was "dating" at the exact same time. I know of three at least. He wasn't a stand-up guy. I've spent plenty of time cursing him.

Last night when I Googled his name, I found an obituary. PJ is dead. He passed away in January of 2021, at 36 years old. I watched a 23-minute memorial montage set to "Ocean Avenue." Then I cried. No, I wailed. Are we allowed to grieve for people who weren't awesome? What's the protocol?

I didn't want him dead, I just wanted him to be a better person.

When the band fired him, I was told to cut off contact. I did, for awhile. I liked how reactive he made feel - like a live wire - a bad muse, maybe - is there a word for that? ("Is there a word for 'bad miracle'" -Fall Out Boy)

I was with PJ when I found out about Asexuality, about AVEN. I was 24 years old and for the first time I wanted to want to have sex. Read that again. I (cerebrally) wanted to experience want (physically). Instead, I had a panic attack in the bathroom of a Motel 6 in Ventura. He was very kind about it, which was weird, because he was, in general, unkind about plenty of other things.

The first time I wanted to want to is actually significantly more crucial to my personal timeline than the time I actually DID IT.

Since he was a compulsive liar (the only personality disorder I can confirm by my own account), I'm sure he rewrote that story in his head. Now we'll never know.

Did he become a better person? I know he got married, and divorced. The obit didn't mention a bio kid, even though I know he has one out there.

How do we grieve for the unsavory sort?

One time he told me he had abdominal cancer. He did not.

He is the first person I exchanged "I love you"s with, even if I was super skeptical about it. We actually had a few fights about how he believed I loved him, but did not believe I was IN LOVE with him. I think I said something to the effect of, "This is as good as it gets with me, man." That tracks, right?

Also, is it worth mentioning that he was 19? I mean, I know guys who've just NOT been shitty their whole lives, sure. He had time to grow out of it.

Did he?

Would it be less sad if we knew he was still lying for sport?

In 2004, I flew him out to OC for a few days to hang out. It was a total disaster, of course and after I got home from dropping him off at LAX, I burst into tears. My mom said, "Oh, do you love him?" I said No, I was sad because I didn't have my computer to write about it, about him. Which was the truth.

My bad muse.

One time I told him I was writing and book and he was in it. "You can't do that" he texted. "It's illegal." I laughed.

There has never been much info about him online. Our fling was pre-social media, thus his thriving un-network of girlfriends all over the US of A.

So, is the pain less permanent for the undeserving?

Listen, no one liked him. He was a liar, a cheater, and just really bad with people. All of his girlfriends in the aughts were of the secret variety, including me. I didn't, at any point, try to defend his character. Of the few people I texted to see if they'd heard (it happened nearly 3 years ago, after all) I half expected an "I know, because I murdered him" reply.

How do we mourn the bad guy?

Rest in peace, PJ Oxenfeldt.

You were my first love, even if you didn't deserve it.

[angelaofwhite800]

Supernatural x sister!reader (Bring it) Chapter 11: Fevers and dreams

word count: 1,464

Toledo Ohio

Songs: "Hotline Bling Edit" -Bilie Eilish

"Homage" -Mild High Club

"Hey Kids" -Molina, Late Verlane

"green to blue - slowed + reverbed" -daniel.mp3

It was unlike Y/n to get so sick so easily. But she hadn't been taking as good of care of herself as usual. Not sleeping, eating, drinking enough water. Most of the time she spent either thinking about the fire, or trying to research what might be going on with her. But, never the less, it happened. Y/n got sick. She was laid up in the bed of a crusty motel in the town that Sam and Dean were going to be working a job in. They would often leave her in motels or other places while working in order to keep her safe, and so as to not blow their covers. This time however, Y/n was particularly salty about being left behind. After Sam left she stepped up and started helping on hunts more and more, but now that he was back and Dean could help it, he's been keeping Y/n out of the line of fire more and more and it was starting to bug her

This time though, there was a bit more of an excuse. Y/n had been up all night the previous night puking her guts out and was currently in no shape to be hunting rabbits, let alone supernatural monsters. The closest she was going to get at this point was watching Scooby Doo reruns on the crappy motel tv. She wasn't really watching though. It was nearing 5pm and Y/n had been asleep since roughly 6am that morning, trying to sleep off whatever god awful sickness she had caught. While Y/n was sleeping she had a dream that was... odd. Not that the contents of the dream were anything strange, or really remarkable for any reason honestly, but it felt weird. As if she was actually living it. Dreams tended to have a sort of film over them, they just feel a certain way that lets you know you're dreaming. This one didn't. It was entirely  mundane, everything was normal, which might have been what made it feel so weird. Usually in dreams, even one that are mostly normal, there is something wacky or weird, something that lets you know you're dreaming. But not this dream

In Y/n's dream, Sam and Dean entered the room, talking about the case that they had spent the day working, and that they were about to head back out to the library to do some research, but that they were just stopping in so they could grab their dad's journal which Dean had left in the motel with Y/n. They took the journal and left, Y/n got up and walked to the bathroom and upon closing the bathroom door, the dream resets and plays again. It played over and over again. Dean and Sam's conversation being etched into the side of Y/n head at this point

Door opens, in walks Dean followed by Sam

"I still don't get why you left it here" Sam lectures Dean. Dean walks to his bedside table and picks up the leather journal

"In case Y/n needed it. Besides, don't you think it would have seemed weird if two strange men carrying a strange book showed up at some random girl's dad's open house?" Dean replied to Sam. Sam was simply standing in the doorway while his conversation with Dean continued. Y/n was sat up in bed watching the two of them 

"Yea, well we could have just left it in the car. Plus, if you hadn't left it here we could already be at the library figuring this thing out" Sam retorted. Dean rolled his eyes and went to walk past Sam out of the motel room

"Yea, well we got it, so let's go" Dean says, passing Sam in the doorway and heading to the impala. Sam looks at Y/n with a questioning look on his face while holding up a thumbs up to her, silently asking if she was okay. Y/n got up from bed while saying

"Never better." Sarcastically. Sam nodded and left, following Dean and closing the door behind him. Y/n went to the bathroom, closed the door, and then the whole thing repeats. This goes on more times than Y/n could count. It seemed it would be a never ending loop, that is until she was woken up by the sound of the motel room door being opened. Y/n eyes opened and she sat up in bed, mentally preparing to have to fight off an intruder, but relaxing when she saw it was only Sam and Dean. Thats when it happened

Door opens, Dean walks in followed by Sam

"I still don't get why you left it here" Sam lectures Dean. Y/n, who had been looking at the wall blankly while she woke up, quickly turned her attention to her brother, a shocked expression on her face

"In case Y/n needed it. Besides, don't you think it would have seemed weird if two strange men carrying and strange book showed up at some random girl's dad's open house?" Dean replied to Sam. Y/n pinched herself on her for arm, hard, trying to figure out wether she was still dreaming or not. The sharp pain she felt being indication enough that this very much was real and she very much was not dreaming. 

"Yea, well we could have just left it in the car. Plus, if you hadn't left it here we could already be at the library figuring this thing out" Sam replied. Y/n had swung her legs over the side of the bed, still just watching the scene unfold in front of her. Everything played out exactly as it had in her dream, and before she knew it the boys were gone and she found herself there in front of the bathroom mirror, staring down into the skin. Y/n turned on the water and started splashing water in her face, trying to see if she was still dreaming. That had to be the only logical explanation of things. Because if that wasn't what was happening then that would mean that that was the second time she had a dream revealing the future to her, which was 1, not possible, and 2, not ideal

But alas, Y/n was very much awake in this moment. Sure, it wasn't crazy in the sense that she saw someone die again, or something big, but it was crazy in the sense that she saw it happen before it did. Y/ was gripping the sides of the bathroom counter, looking down at the sink while the water was running. She looked up at herself in the mirror, her mind rushing a million miles a minute. As she started at her reflection, panicking, her mind couldn't stop envisioning what could happen, what her brothers would do if they ever found out about her. They could abandon her, kick her to the curb. or worse...

She was suddenly yanked from her thought when the bathroom door was pulled open. She jumped back, startled, and screamed. Her thoughts calmed as she realized it was just Dean. He looked just as shocked as she was

"Woah! Sorry" He quickly shut the door. Turning back and looking at Sam, who looked at him shocked and confused

"Knock next time Ass hat!" Y/n yelled out from inside the bathroom. Sam stood by the door laughing at Dean slightly, before Y/n came out, trying to play it cool in front of her brothers. Dean went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, and Y/n got back into bed and under the covers. She purposefully laid facing away from Sam in hopes that he would leave her alone and she wouldn't have to talk about what was bothering her. But alas, Sam made small talk

"How are you feeling? Is that fever getting any better?" He asked. Y/n sighed internally, but just sat up and looked at Sam, putting on a fake sarcastic smile, and said

"Never better" Her words laced with sarcasm. She coughed loudly to emphasize her point that she wasn't feeling well. Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes at her

"Well, try getting fresh air, and make sure you drink plenty of water, ok?" He said. Y/n nodded her head. Dean came out of the bathroom not long after and he and Sam left again. And then It was once again, Y/n, left alone, with only her thoughts

To Be Continued...

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapter. This weeks has been kinda hell and I haven't had much time to write. I'm trying to not force myself to write when I don't have any ideas, the problem now is more so that I have too many ideas and no time to get them down on the page XD. Thanks for being patient with me loveys <3

[oculiaperticlausi]

— INTRODUCTING SAWYER MARSHALL

welcome to marina, SAWYER MARSHALL ( cis woman, she/her ) ! they are a TWENTY-EIGHT year old who has lived on the island for IN AND OUT HER WHOLE LIFE. word on the street is they’re currently living in MARINA HEIGHTS and works as a RECEPTIONIST AT KIDD'S RECORDS. everyone also says they look a lot like GRACE VAN PATTEN. what do you think? — ALYSSA, 29, SHE/HER, PST.

b a c k g r o u n d ;

sawyer was born in the lively city of new york, her mother and father had only been together for a few weeks when her mother got pregnant and they seemed to make it work... at least until sawyer was two.

her mother decided she couldn't be a mom anymore and packed her things, leaving them behind... at least that's the story her father has always told her.

it didn't start seeping out right away, her father's addiction to alcohol and how mean he could get when he had a few too many... at first he was a dedicated father. dressing her the best he could for school and dropping her off at the door but as she got older and more self sufficient, his addiction worsened.

she never told anyone that she was basically the adult in her house, her father lost his job and was doing shady things to make sure his addiction was covered. she was picking him up at bars when she was twelve.

her saving grace through all of it was myles, myles and his family always made her forget what was going on at home.

the two of them were inseparable even going far enough to go on summer vacations together to marina.

as soon as she graduated, her father gradually allowed his drunken anger to get worse.

but the best thing to happen was when she was twenty-three, when her and myles decided to give dating a shot. she thought maybe if she had him she could handle anything.

at least until two years into their relationship when somehow her father found out she wasn't actually his kids and attacked her.

an attack that lead her to telling myles over the phone she had a business opportunity in chicago and she was hoping he would support her last minute decision... which he did.

in chicago was supposed to be her mom, she tracked her down. when she got to chicago and showed up on the front porch, her mother lost it. she told her to get lost and not to come back because she didn't want her kids and husband to find out she had another kid.

it's when her and myles became distant and when she met (tbd) who sold her the drugs that would lead her down a path she couldn't come back from.

myles thought the distance was a lot and she agreed, the two of them agreed to remain friends and the only times the pain and reality of losing him to this degree was only felt when she was sober she never let herself be.

she spent a looooot of time in a drug haze, barely making it by. she was in and out of being sober, her relationship with her drug dealer slowly changing.

the two of them ended up partying together one night which started the romance that took a chokehold over her.

they spent most of their time in a drug haze, partying, having sex, doing drugs, it was a consistent routine.

at least until a few months ago, she overdosed in their motel room. all he did was call the ambulance and hit the road.

she woke up in the hospital alone, refusing to answer any question and packed her bags, telling dante she was coming to marina.... little did she know what she was truly going to end up facing.

c o n n e c t i o n s ;

ex/first love — myles trevisani

drug dealer she left in chicago — tba

best friend — dante kidd

hookups —

[lovemesomesurveys]

What was the year/make/model of the last car you drove? I don't drive.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celcius)? Gah, noooo thankfully I have not.

What was the last thing you used your phone for, besides calling/texting? Ha, it's rare that I'm using my phone for actual phone things lol. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it was TikTok.

Do you have more male or female coworkers? I don't have a job.

Did you enjoy high school? I liked some parts of it. Like, I actually enjoyed the pep rallies and assemblies. Honestly, while a lot of it truly was tough and I'll still stand by that, I think as I've gotten older and looked back some of the stuff maybe wasn't so bad after all.

What's an unusual food combination you like? I haven't had it in so long, but I actually think adding mayo to ramen is good.

What's the longest stretch of time you've spent completely alone? Just like half a day.

Have you ever lived in a studio apartment? No.

Did your parents allow you to drink soda when you were a kid? Yeah.

Do you always check the prices of things when you buy groceries? Of course. I don't have money coming out my ass. However, I do sometimes randomly throw stuff in, but it's a snack or drink and I know it doesn't cost much.

Do you like gyoza? I've never had it.

Have you ever been in a situation where you needed a lawyer? No.

Do you use Instagram? If so, what's your current profile pic? Very, very, very rarely. I don't even spend much time on it scrolling through my feed or watching people's insta stories. I just posted something for the first time in a few years for my birthday.

Did you ever go through an emo or goth phase? I had my emo phase when I was 16, but let's be real it was never just a phase.

What are your thoughts on kids being given iPads to keep them entertained? I don't see an issue with it. However, I personally wouldn't use a screen as a babysitter and I'd set limits to screen time. Otherwise, I definitely see the educational benefits. It's just wild how kids literally come out the womb nowadays knowing how to use a tablet or phone like wtf.

Do you get regular check-ups with your doctor? With one of my specialists, but not my primary doctor.

What was the last thing you felt apprehensive about? I'm apprehensive about everything.

How many nights per week do you cook dinner at home vs. going out to eat? I personally don't cook, so in that regard zero. As for how many nights I eat at home vs in my case how many nights I get takeout, it's something like takeout 4-5 times a week.

What's a trend you've seen recently that you thought was really dumb? I will never understand the whole Crocs trend or the little charm things you put on them. I just can't.

Do you know anyone who has been evicted? Not to my knowledge.

When did you last wash your sheets and pillowcases? A couple weeks ago.

Have you kissed more than 10 people in the past 10 years? I've only kissed 3 people total.

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Gah, yes. I was at an outdoor festival and it just randomly started POURING. It was crazy.

Did you leave the house before 10 AM yesterday? I didn't go anywhere yesterday.

What's your favorite macaron flavor? The Fruity Pebbles one.

How often do you have friends over to your house? --

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally?

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? I last stayed at a motel in March of 2022.

What kind of technological advancements do you expect there to be 100 years from now? >> I can't fathom this

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? No, I can't go on a trampoline.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I can't do that either.

What was the last hot beverage you had? Coffee.