#while buck himself showed up in a fucking couple's costume with another dude??

[fiona-fififi]

...

[soitmightgetweird]

Drenched (Halloween fic)

Bucky x reader

Summary: an accidental prank at a party flips your entire night upside down

Warnings: swearing, as per usual

Word Count: ~3300

A/N: Holy fucknuts. It’s been a year and a half since I posted a fic. Damn guys. I dunno who the heck is still paying attention to little ol’ me, but here it is anyway. ((I’m working off a very old taglist, so let me know if you want to be removed. Also let me know if you want to be tagged. I mostly write for Steve and Buck, so you could request all tag or just one dude. Side question.. do Steve fics still happen?? I’m so out of the loop guys.))

Popcorn ceilings are good for collecting dust and giving you something to stare at when you’re bored. They’re not so good at showing you how to handle a conversation you don’t really want to have. After another little whine from your friend, you finally pull your eyes away to look toward the person sitting on the arm at the far end of the couch. She’s decked out in a gorgeous 1940s-style dress and her hair is delicately styled to match.

“I’m really not feeling like going to a party this year, Nat.”

She frowns. “But you love Halloween.”

“You’re right. But I just feel like turning on my little pumpkin lights and watching scary movies in the dark. I’m not really in a go-out-and-drink-around-a-bunch-of-strangers mood.”

“Not everyone will be strangers.”

“Well, work has been kicking my butt—”

“Honey, I know. You’re busting your ass for that company. But your friends miss you. Steve and Sam both ask how you’re doing all the time. Apparently your texts aren’t very… wordy.”

If it was anyone else in your apartment giving you sad eyes and practically begging you to be social, you’d be irritated. Nat has been the friend who’s helped pull you out of your funks for years. She knows just when to test the waters and when to back off. She’s able to read you insanely well.

The fact that she didn’t drop the conversation immediately means she knows you haven’t reached the burnt out point yet. Once that thought crosses your mind, you know you’ll end up going with her.

“I don’t have a costume,” you say in a resigned tone.

She smiles softly. “Just put on jeans and a hoodie. I’ve got a mask from Mr. Robot. Boom, simple.”

“Nerd.”

“Guilty. But hey, the party isn’t supposed to be that big.”

You level your stare at your friend. “Isn’t it at Stark’s?”

“Oh. Good point. Well, you can always tell me when you’ve had enough. I just want you to spend time with friends to help you recharge. You know work gets more tolerable when you have fun memories to occupy your mind.”

It’s hard to argue with Nat when she hits the nail on the head. “Alright,” you say as you roll off the couch with a faux-dramatic groan.

A few minutes later, you leave your room in your standard attire and slip into your Converse. Nat smiles again as she watches you turn on little accent lights in your living room before grabbing your keys and following her out the door.

-----------------------------

The first thing you notice as you approach the building is the flashing lights, dancing through the sky and originating at the penthouse apartment, thirty stories above your head. You reach up and touch the mask that’s currently pushed up on top of your head.

“He really does go all out. Is this enough of a costume?” you ask.

Nat hooks her arm through yours as you close the distance between yourselves and your destination. “Of course. But honestly he doesn’t care; he just wants people to come and have fun.”

You fall into comfortable silence with your friend as you make your way through the lobby and into an elevator. As you climb, the cheesy elevator music is slowly drowned out by the sounds of the party.

The elevator doors open to a spacious modern penthouse that you’re sure looks a hundred times bigger when it’s not full of people. There’s fake spiderwebs with little plastic spiders on most surfaces—bookshelves, pictures on the walls, the stairwell to the second floor, the hanging lights in the entry. There’s a cauldron sitting on a high shelf, spilling fog from dry ice over the opening to the living room. Rubber bats are hanging from string, there’s a small witch with light-up eyes swinging around the room by the blades of a ceiling fan, a skeleton in sunglasses sprawled across the kitchen island and surrounded by snacks, and there’s a life-sized werewolf statue standing off to the side of the room.

You’re actually… not sure if it’s a statue or someone waiting for the opportune moment to scare everyone around them.

As you’re finishing your visual tour of the room, muscular arms drape over your and Nat’s shoulders. You turn your head to see another mask like the one that’s still on your head instead of pulled down over your face.

“Nice mask,” the person says, and even through the music and people you immediately recognize the voice as Steve.

You laugh. “Great minds I guess.”

“I just saw Wanda a little while ago, who knows where Tony is, Scott is desperately trying to Clint at beer pong, and Sam and Bucky are on the balcony.”

Your face scrunches a little before you’re able to stop it, an expression that Nat and Steve both notice.

“Haven’t warmed up to him yet?” Steve asks, and you’re sure there’s a small frown hidden behind his mask.

You sigh. You know Steve and Bucky have been friends since childhood. Nat has been friends with him since college. But you… no encounter with Bucky Barnes has ever been easy.

Nat was your first friend in the city—a chance meeting at a coffee shop near your apartment. A few months after you’d settled into your new home and job, she started inviting you to outings with her friends.

Steve became an immediately calming presence in your life. Sam offered charm and humor, Wanda was your go-to when you wanted music recommendations, Clint and Scott were the big brothers you never (secretly, always) wanted. Even Tony was fine. He was a little eccentric and sometimes flashy with money, but he had a good heart.

Bucky. You wanted to like Bucky. You did like him at first… for a few minutes.

He was charming too, all smiles and bright blue eyes when Nat introduced you. Over the course of the night though, you heard a lot of stories about his dating reputation and Bucky got way too drunk. Your night ended abruptly when you turned away from the bar and suddenly had beer all down your shirt and jeans.

And when Bucky said “watch it, asshole,” you marched back to the table and told the group you were going home. The night faded into the past, but that’s what started your dislike for Bucky Barnes.

It’s been five years and you still aren’t really “on board” with him. You’re civil enough when you’re around each other but you also won’t seek out conversation with him, even going so far as to direct most of your attention to your phone if you happen to end up seated near each other when you all go out to eat.

-----------------------------

It occurs to you a couple hours into the party that you’re enjoying yourself and you’re glad Nat was a little insistent.

You spent a little while in the dining room watching Scott (dressed in a full Jedi robe) do relatively well at beer pong, but not as well as Clint, who was wearing a more modern version of a Robin Hood costume.

"No way in hell I’m wearing tights," he’d said as he sunk another ping pong ball in an orange cup.

Wanda was the next friend you found, in a grungy outfit that resembled Furiosa from Mad Max. You stood with her and Nat for a while, sharing updates on work projects and movies you’d all seen recently. Tony passed by in a long, fitted coat that accented his steampunk look. He even had a little gadget on his lapel made of gears that actually moved. He made it himself and was very proud of it.

You’ve been on the balcony for the past two hours talking to Nat and Steve when you notice your drink is empty. After asking your friends if they want anything, you decide to pull your mask over your face and head through the large glass doors into the living room. As you weave your way through the crowd you spot a large amount of people on one side of the room, so you veer a little to the left to walk through the foggy opening into the hallway.

Before you make it to the other side of the hall, you spot Sam leaning against the wall in front of you, next to the bottom of the stairs that climb up the wall to your left. He has a lazy smirk on his face, like he’s never been more comfortable in his life, just leaning against that wall.

You raise your hand to wave as you call out his name, hoping he can hear since your voice is slightly muffled by your mask. You then notice the speed in which the smile shifts into an expression of full-on panic before you’re suddenly doused in water.

Through the sound of the shouts from the people who were splashed near you, you hear Sam speaking your name and a different voice swearing above you.

You rip your mask away to see that Sam has his hands out toward you, a sincere look of apology on his face. When you turn and look up, you see Bucky. There’s an equally petrified look on his face and he swears again as you bolt for the stairs, Sam’s voice and footsteps following behind you.

Bucky runs through the second door on the left and almost has the door shut before you push through, the door crashing into his shoulder.

“Ow, hey, what the shit! I’m trying to get you a towel!” He grabs a towel out of the closet behind the door and shoves it at you before backing further into the bathroom.

“What the actual fuck, Barnes?” you yell, unzipping your hoodie and throwing it on the counter. It doesn’t make much difference, your shirt is soaked too, but that’s staying on.

“I thought you were Steve!” He has his hands out now, mirroring Sam’s earlier stance, but you’re pissed and you want to get in his face.

You feel a hand gently grab onto your arm as Sam tries to pull you away from his friend. “That’s entirely my fault. I was only paying attention to the mask.”

“Steve has a foot in height on me! And who the fuck drops a bucket of water in someone’s house?”

“We put a tarp down—”

“I was having fun!” Bucky’s still getting the full force of your yelling. “I’ve been stressed the fuck out and Nat convinced me to come out and now I’m fucking drenched—”

Sam says your name again.

You turn around. “Go get Nat please, I want to go home now.”

“Wait,” Bucky protests and Sam stops in the doorway. “Sam just… go enjoy the party, I’ll take her home.”

“Like hell you will.” You finally let go of half the towel and dry off your arms before wrapping the thing around your body, trapping your wet hair against your back.

“I mean to your home, smartass. I’m sorry we pranked you; it was an honest mistake. Let me… I dunno, let me buy you a coffee or something. You’re cold, it’ll warm you up.”

-----------------------------

You keep three feet between you and Bucky as you walk back down the sidewalk toward your apartment. The silence is heavy and awkward, and you stare down at your shoes that squish quietly with every step. Your wet hoodie clings to your arms, sending a shiver down your spine. Unfortunately, the only two options are to wear a wet hoodie or leave your arms exposed to the chilly night air and you’re not sure which is worse.

Another chill hits you moments before a second hoodie is draped over your shoulders. You want to throw it back at him, but it’s already helping to shield you against the wind. At that thought, you glance sideways. Bucky’s arms are exposed now but he doesn’t seem to mind the chill.

Before you look away, he reaches up to rub his shoulder.

You huff out a breath. “Sorry I hit you with the door,” you mumble,

A couple beats of silence pass before he answers. “That doesn’t sound like a sincere apology, but I understand. Sorry again about the water.”

You respond with a grunt.

“Why do you hate me?”

You look at him again, your annoyed expression back on your face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just asking why you hate me? What did I do? Before the water.”

“First of all, you apparently have a habit of spilling things on me.”

“What?”

“Do you remember the night we met? You spilled an entire glass of beer on me.”

He stops walking. “Shit. That was you.”

You stopped a few paces in front of him and turned toward him. “Do you remember calling me an asshole right after?”

 Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“How should I know? But you did. You spilled beer on me then called me an asshole. And I left. Doesn’t really make a girl want to be your friend.” You turn around and start walking again only to realize after a few steps that he isn’t following you. “Are you coming or am I walking the rest of the way alone? Not that I care.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t call you an asshole?”

“You were also a little drunk that night, maybe you don’t remember.”

“No, I… yeah, I had a bit to drink. This girl I’d been seeing had broken things off and I was upset… we’d actually gotten kinda serious. But I didn’t talk about her much because... I dunno, maybe I didn't wanna jinx it. I was having fun distracting myself when they started making jokes about my dating life and I guess I tried to drown my sorrow instead of just talking about it.”

You just stare at him. That absolutely isn’t the response you expected.

“So I'd just got another beer and this dude bumped into me while trying to get some girl’s attention. I called the guy an asshole and was gonna apologize but you were gone. I guess that explains why you avoided even talking to me in passing after that night. Doesn’t really make a guy wanna be your friend.”

You just stare at him. Your dislike had been entirely based off a misunderstanding? “Great. I am an asshole." You turn away from him and continue walking toward your apartment.

"Hey wait, you're not--"

His footsteps sound as he catches up to you. He reaches out and touches your elbow to get you to look at him, pulling his hand away quickly. Physical contact is entirely foreign for you two.

"Can we just forget that night? I mean you can forget about this one too if you want, but I genuinely am sorry. It always kinda bummed me out that you didn't like me--you seemed pretty cool based on all the stories I heard from Steve and Sam."

You frown. "That almost makes me feel worse."

"Please don't. I could've tried to fix things too."

The silence that follows isn't quite as uncomfortable but you still break it shortly after you start walking again.

"I am actually sorry I hit your shoulder. Even when I thought you didn't like me, I would've never intentionally struck you."

He reaches up again to rub his shoulder. There's a smirk on his face as he drops his hand and lifts that shoulder in a small shrug. "I kinda deserved it."

"Maybe. About that coffee though. Just... your hoodie's wet now and I'm not going into a cafe in these clothes. I can just throw this in the dryer and make a pot of coffee. If you want."

Bucky laughs. "I want to make a joke about you inviting me over after dark, but I'll spare it since we're only just now becoming friends."

"Are we becoming friends?"

Bucky turns a worried expression toward you, as if he's scared he pushed too far. When you return a small laugh with a shake of your head, he smiles too.

"You basically said the joke by referencing the joke. But I'll give you a pass this time."

----------------------------- 

You're hyper aware of Bucky's presence as you ride the elevator to the fifth floor together and even more so as you're unlocking your front door and allowing a person into your apartment you never expected to invite over.

"I like your decorations," Bucky says from behind you.

You turn to see him looking at the mantle over your fireplace. There are fake webs and little cheese-cloth ghosts in jars on one side and sparkly black and purple pumpkins next to a little figure of a bird dressed as a witch on the other.

"Thanks. Um... I'm gonna go change and throw this in the dryer. Be right back."

The nerves that arise when you're changing are completely unwelcome. Do you need to put on actual clothes or is leggings and a sweatshirt alright? What do you talk about while you're waiting on his hoodie to dry? What if it's just awkward silence?

You stop mid-movement when you realize you've had those thoughts... before you went on dates.

Nope.

You pull a leggings and a blissfully dry sweatshirt on and walk out of your room, throwing all the wet clothes in the dryer together on the way back to the living room. When you walk in the room, Bucky's crouched in front of the tv, going through the stack of movies you set out a couple days ago. He stops shuffling the cases and holds up your copy of Tucker & Dale vs. Evil with a very serious expression on his face.

"You... have excellent taste in movies."

"Jeez, I thought you were about to lecture me. We can watch it while we wait on the dryer if you want. I'll go start coffee."

-----------------------------

The next morning, you wake up wondering why your neck hurts. Opening one eye, you squint through the sunlight and are met with the sight of your living room. Well, sleeping on the couch explains the neck pain. With a yawn, you stretch your legs and nudge a solid mass on the other end of the couch. Bucky is still there, his socked feet propped on your coffee table and his head resting against the back of the couch.

You nudge him again and he stirs. Then he starts and sits up straight.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I dozed off. Oh... it's morning."

"It is.”

"I um... I guess I'll take my hoodie and go?"

"More coffee."

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm. "Trying to keep me here?"

You put your head back down. "Trying to get you to make coffee."

After you’ve both had two cups of coffee—you’re choosing not to think too much about the fact that he apparently remembered exactly how you like your drink because the first cup he handed you was absolutely perfect—you walk back into the living room with Bucky’s hoodie, holding it out as he finishes slipping on his shoes.

“Oh, it’s warm,” she says with a grin, slipping the garment on and immediately zipping it up.

“It’s chilly outside and despite what you may think, I am actually nice to friends.”

“Oooo, we’re friends. You said it, no take-backsies.”

You laugh. “Well, you do make a decent cup of coffee.”

“You’re right, I do. I’ll get out of your hair now, though. And next time we all go to dinner, you have to actually talk to me. No more cold shoulder?”

He’s standing at the door, hand on the doorknob and ready to leave when he asks the question. There’s an easy smile on his face, but you still see a trace of that same worried expression.

“No more cold shoulder,” you agree. “You don’t have a long walk, do you?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. S’only two blocks. See you around.”

And with that, he opens the door and leaves your apartment, casting one more look over his shoulder to smile as he walks down the hallway.

The realization that you also have a goofy smirk on your face as you walk toward your bedroom stops you momentarily, along with the thought that his presence is already something you know you want more of.

Well shit.

Tags: @stanevansalways19​ @scarlettsoldier​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @shakzer00​ @pixierox101​ @chrevastan​ @aubzylynn​

Bucky only tag: @nerdyandproud9​

[kitwilsonsass]

Since I’ve been putting it off due to lingering sicky feels, etc.

Here’s the far too long and far too unedited and written at 4am vacation rundown NO ONE ASKED FOR! (huzzah!)

So, yeah. I arrived at the new Amtrak station in the city which is a major upgrade from the trailer park reject of station the old one was. Way roomier. Could use a coffee stand or something but yeah. Improvement. Had to go underground under the tracks and back up to get to the very cold surface, it must suck in the winter.

About an hour, hour and a half into the trip I quickly realized that a.) all I wanted to do was sleep, and b.) that my throat was burning. I assumed this was due to the absurdly cold, non-stop dry ass air conditioning, but no. This bitch got sick for her entire trip. On the plus side I had the seats to myself for the majority of the trip, but still. I barely watched any CR or anything because I was miserable the entire time. Ya don’t wanna be miserable for 10+ hours on a train.

Got to Boston, to @conniecorleone‘s frightening apartment stairs. My bag was way too heavy and she troopered through taking it up them for me without dying. So if you ever need a tank in battle, call Rachel.

Hung out a little. Ordered some Five Guys. Watched a couple episodes of the first season of American Horror Story. I get the appeal but also never needed to see Dermot Mulroney’s ass.

Rach was busy with work stuff a lot early in the week, not helped by some dumbass school shooting threat the week before and kept apologizing while still going above and beyond as a hostess while I just felt guilty for getting snot on her sheets.

Day two I colored a bit. I can do a wicked water gradient with erasable colored pencils, for the record. Hung out. Relaxed. Used a lot of Zicam and Advil. Then we were on way to The Middle East for her conehead space boyfriend.

We waited like, an hour? In the chilly mist outside? The show started like AN HOUR LATE after that. The venue was nice but man, the mood was getting close to dead at points, especially since, again, FUCKIN SICK. But Planet Booty came on and while, a little on the bordering too raunchy side, put on a fucking amazing live show. Dylan has an absurd amount of energy that should be bottled and sold, but if it were it might result in the orgypocalypse. I saw a youtube comment that said he’s ‘very touchy lol’ and truer words never spoken. That man will grind on you and sing directly in your earlobe with his tongue if you are front row and happily, I was not. Yet somehow I still ended up with his sweat on my sweater sleeve thanks to someone being a dumbass and high fiving him after their set and not being able to handle the consequences. Ahem.

THEN TWRP TOOK LIKE ANOTHER GODDAMN HALF HOUR???

But I FORGIVE THEM because they were GREAT and played Daft Punk’s Celebrate in honor of motherfuckin Canadian Thanksgiving so... fine... I guess. My only complaint is they didn’t do The Perfect Product even though I get that’s probably a weird thing to do live. Also minimal keytar and Sung almost decapitated himself but you know... it happens. They DID do Tactile Sensation though which is a fucking jam. And Atomic Karate, ofc. And Meouch broke his fucking bass string which is like? Fucking hardcore? He came down like a foot away from us at one point. It was dope. They’re amazing live and have no right to be for dudes in ridiculous robot costumes playing synth in the year 2018 and rolling around stage on a hoverboard. Sadly I brought minimal memory cardage this year and didn’t get a lot of good video of them.

Afterwards, despite *someone* almost passing out, we hung out in the merch lines and did NOT accidentally cut ahead this time. I got a free signed poster because it was my birthday vacation ayyyyy and bought a couple EPs and the Together Through Time album. Then hopped over the PB’s line and got two hugs from Dylan who hung out and talked to/hugged/got selfies with every single person who got into line there and just? Good dude. Pure dude. Awful stache but... thumbs up human being. I got their Naked album and we headed out back to the apartment and some delivered Dominos (which was the only good Dominos I’ve ever had in my life.)

Day three I accidentally slept until like 4pm. Literally what else did we do that day? I cannot remember for the life of me. We might have went to Dunkin at like 9pm and she showed me a weird omnipotent plastic ear hanging on an electric wire? Was that this day? I have no fucking idea. Her Netflix and supply of Puffs tissues were my best friends this trip okay.

Day four she went to class and I relaxed and intended to walk to the mall. Unfortunately, my sick bleh hit and I didn’t feel up to going until about ten minutes before she got back. So we ended up heading over there together. I made her try Baja Blast, as is customary in my nation, and got her to try some green matte lipstick. Success. I was highkey hoping they would have a Build-A-Bear in the joint but they didn’t. They did have a Newbury though, that had the six-inch Roadhog pop which I’ve had a hard time finding locally, so I said fuck it and bought it.

That night was MST3k live! The theater was old as dirt. The kind of old as dirt where the flooring is bowing in. They had real strict rules on cameras and shit, which I get for the sake of spoilers but c’mon.... c’mon. Their merch sucked unfortunately though, so I didn’t waste any money on anything (for some reason they had 2017 tour stuff? It’s... not 2017?). The show itself was good, though I was wondering before it started how sick they must get of doing the same movie in different towns almost every other night. Pretty quickly realized oh, yeah, a lot of this show was likely pre-riffed. They did pull a kid from the stage at one point so he could guest riff off a script from Joel, which I’m thinking was a clever little insert fraction of the riff they did live between segments. I could be wrong, but on that front, it felt a little cheap. But it was still fun to see the boys and the bots live and have jokes cracked about not being able to afford the villains for the tour. And The Brain itself was........ I don’t know what I was expecting but..... it sure was.... something. The novelty was worth it and I will still gladly marry Crow T. Robot.

We went across the street to a little pub stop that was I think called Rock Bottom after that and got some much needed late night food. For some reason my brain was like “man, I could go for chicken fried steak right now” and don’t you know IT WAS ON THE FUCKIN MENU? WITH GARLIC CHEDDER MASHED POTATOES? Boston, much like with wings, does not know what country gravy is, but it was still everything I fucking wanted and did not expect to find, so A+. Also I was wearing a dress with shorts underneath it and stuck to the goddamn stool. Such is life.

Day five was rainy and miserable. I tagged along to university with Rach and it sucked, honestly. Being on a campus makes me feel awkward and the whole still being sick thing didn’t help. I ended up taking a walk way around the block to a Starbucks and getting the worst fucking frap I’ve ever paid too much money for. Went back around. Sat in the library. Felt even shittier. Started googling food places. Yard House wasn’t far but I didn’t want to deal with crossing a lot of traffic, especially if the rain started back up (it did, with a vengeance). So I ended up back around the block at some Olive Garden-esque fake Italian place with not an Italian in sight called Bertucci’s for some bland chicken-less fettuchini alfredo (because, as I’d reasoned with myself, I had chicken three times the day before). It was dimly lit, I had a booth to myself, and the water had the sweet skullet and braided beard combo I had liveblogged. People kept complimenting my tattoo. It was nice and no one seemed overly bothered that I was clearly killing time until I spent probably way too long in the restroom after trying to look alive. I tipped the dude ten bucks and left in the pouring rain with my umbrella.

From her school we took the world’s longest Uber to Parts Fucking Unknown in awful traffic and rain to find a Double Tree where @freakishlytallaustralian‘s parents were staying for a hot minute during their brief little US tour on their way to Europe. I’ve never met Mandi in person, but I’ve now met her parents who say she’s gotten to know a good bloke. She looks exactly like her mom. They were sweet. Anxious but sweet. And I am a freak who doesn’t talk and was sick trying to seem presentable at the bare minimum capacity.

Back ~home~ we ordered some JP Licks ice cream (BROWNIE BROWNIE BATTER!!! BROWNIE. BROWNIE. BATTER.), I watched CR and some stupid videos on the internet with her. Got some sleep. Sort of. Barely.

Despite Matt Mercer nearly succeeding at lulling me to sleep and eating my dreams, it didn’t happen, and I could not get comfortable for the life of me. The “coughing every five seconds in bed” started this night and was not having mercy. So I opted out of another day of hanging around campus to try and get some more rest. It didn’t really work, but I did eventually get a solid three hours or so, so it was something.

As the day progressed it was onward to the Science Museum to meet Ron the T-Rex. There was a wedding happening. How appropriate, for Bravier funko pops to have come along on the day of a blessed union. Coincidence? I think not. A turtle kept falling off a branch when he was trying to nap. There was some space stuff. It wasn’t great. But I got a little stuffed dinosaur and that’s Important.

From there we hit up the same movie theater we went to the year before and saw Bad Times At The El Royale. Do recommend. Chris Hemsworth as a Charles Manson was not something I ever thought I’d see, and I still don’t understand it, but it rather predictably works for me, so we’ll leave it at that. Good movie, good performances, good pacing and editing that could have easily not been. See it, it’s fun. Not perfect, but fun.

It was COLD AS BALLS after the movie and neither of us brought jackets or sweaters, so the walk to the train station and back ~home~ was a chilly one. We stopped in, got some warmth, and headed down the road past her old place to a bar. If we didn’t appreciate TWRP and PB enough already, the band she had to pay cover for us to get in for just to pick up food were about 8 upper middle aged men playing every instrument in the book. Afropunk, they said. No, we said. Offkey, we said. This place was dark as shit and loud as shit but you know what? They KNEW WHAT REAL, HOT CHICKEN WINGS WERE and for that, I am appreciative dammit.

Went back, got some more Dominos, and was finally introduced to John Mulaney’s (or two of) comedy specials. He’s genius and I *understand* it now, tumblr. I get it. We ate way too much and did my laundry.

The week had come and gone way too soon and I felt robbed of my good time by how shitty I felt. Hopping on the train the next day (after a godawful uber ride) was just as depressing as the time before. And even though I didn’t feel as miserable as the trip there, and once again had a window seat to myself, I found myself curled up against my hoodie crying trying to fall asleep again knowing I was already headed back home.

Once the initial depression passed, the trip wasn’t bad. The iced latte was good. The Albany stop not as confusing the second time around. The WiFi kept me company. Eventually my aunt texted me asking if I wanted to hit up Stevie T’s on the way home because they were 24hr and neither of us had eaten all night. It was a plan. Get off, get food, come home, faceplant on my own big comfy bed, vow to deal with my dad’s drama in the morning and call it a night.

Then *that* happened. Yeah. Last year? Every stop, regardless of time of night, they made announcements. They came by, checked the marker above your seat, and if you were due off at the next stop told you it was coming up, would help with luggage if needed, and directed you to the correct door to exit the train. This year? Nothing. They decided to stop making announcements right before the Rochester stop, and no one came by in our car to tell us where to get off. Stopped, myself and the other person due off at that stop, a late-teens girl, went to the door at the front of our car where every other stop had gotten off before us. We assumed since no one said differently, and no attendants were around, that must be it. We were idiots. Because by the time we realized hey, they’re not going to open this door and we should go to the far other end of the train, it was already moving again en route to Buffalo.

We found ourselves in the dining booths by the cafe car while the staff made vague remarks and the conductor acted like it wasn’t his problem. My aunt on the phone talked to the Rochester station, we tried to claim I didn’t even have a reservation until about two other people looked up my ticket. They said it was up to the conductor to get us a cab home, he laughed at us, claimed to know nothing about any of that, and asked if were were going to buy the bus tickets the other girl was looking up. The bus for 3am, in downtown Buffalo, nowhere near the station. When we got off the staff at the Depew station was a lot more sympathetic, and said since nothing else was being offered he would put us on the next train back home, but since it was a Sunday morning there was no train to Rochester until roughly 7:45am. It was about 1:30 at this point. I felt awful for encouraging the other girl not to pay for two ubers and a bus ticket with the only alternative being offered to sit alone in an empty, unstaffed station in the middle of the night for hours. And between the situation, being tired and still sick, and dealing with my aunt calling hotels only to get put on hold and lose the room she was trying to reserve - I put my bags in a corner, found the restroom, and had a panic attack. I don’t know why, but those tend to be stupid like that. It’s not even like I was scared, or confused, or that worried myself. I started out very ‘whatever, I’ll just get a room or stay in the station, I’m pissed but whatever’. But something about the constant calls and texts and my battery nearing 0 had me stressed and I was crying like a bitch. I just wanted to fucking sleep, and I knew that wouldn’t happen in a train station with nothing but some benches, a restroom, and a vending machine.

Rach suggested an alternative I felt guilty about taking but ended up going for: Get to her parents house just outside Buffalo, get their spare key, and sleep on their couch while they’re out of town with their blessing. So I called an Uber, and the first one passed me by, with the gps fucking up and saying I should be picked up ON THE TRAIN TRACKS. The second guy was smart enough to come to the cab pickup out front and was really cool. He said he was just thankful I wasn’t a fucked up drunk college party kid and the first all night. He didn’t comment on how I probably definitely looked like I’d just been broken up with in the world’s worst romcom. It was over 20 bucks and I tipped him the max. Found my way inside, set up the couch, and continued my momentarily on hold panic until I eventually passed out. My Aunt came to pick me up in the morning, I got carsick, we had mediocre diner breakfast and what’s after that isn’t news worth talking about. Isn’t it bad enough the tail end of the trip took up like a third of this post?

All in all... it felt like a disaster. I’m not gonna lie. In weird ways the stars aligned that TWRP would end up on Conan the night of their show and have to reschedule to the day I came to town, but I paid for it with otherwise bad timing and my body deciding against me having a good time. Fun was had, don’t get me wrong. The good was good and any chance to get away from... this, is appreciated, but it just seemed like everything went awry. 

Mucho thanks to @conniecorleone again, for letting me crash on the futon and be my usual bland self, even blander while ill, and also buying me expensive cold syrup and a-many ubers.

We’ll see if Massachusetts and I ever cross paths again.