#And they were apartmentmates!

[marblemoovt]

Bake A Wish - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of angst

Summary:

You bump into a man and his daughter at the grocery store. The kid is really insistent you join them for dinner.

------

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military. 

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand. 

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.” Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL.

Note:

This has been sitting in my wips for over a month but it's finally done!! I apologize if the quality feels sporadic throughout the fic. Writing consistently is just something I can't seem to do and my motivation/inspiration has been in a slump lately. The amount of fluff fics I've written that involve baking is ridiculous, I didn't realize that's the activity I default to lol.

I've never written for John before, so I'm still trying to get a feel for his character.

Anyways, thank you @yeyinde for introducing John Price to me. I was debating on not tagging you but I can't be a coward forever.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John holds the hand of his six-year-old daughter, Rose. The little munchkin is a ball of energy, and he fears the consequences if he were to let her run wild. “Don’t let go of my hand, ok Rosy?” Rose grins with more mischief than a little child should have. She attempts to run away, and John scoops her in his arms.

“I’m too big to be carried, Daddy!” she squeals, arms flinging around his neck to stabilize herself. The scent of her strawberry shampoo tickles his nose.

“You have to promise me you’re not going to do that again,” he says. Rose holds out her pinky, and he accepts her promise. Her finger looks tiny and frail compared to his. He sets her down and ruffles her hair despite her whinging. “Do you remember what we came here to buy?” he asks.

She claps her hands with glee and exclaims, “Cookies for Santa!!! Because Daddy can’t bake, so we have to buy cookies from the store!” John smiles, but he can’t help but feel the sting of her bluntness. Kids are way too honest.

“What kind of cookies do you want to get?” he asks.

“Not chocolate chip. Everyone uses chocolate chip.” She strokes her chin, imitating the gesture she’s seen her father do whenever he has to think hard about something. “Candy cane cookies!” She ponders over it for another minute before nodding her head. “I bet Santa’s never gotten candy cane cookies before.”

“I don’t think they sell those, rosebud,” he says, and she frowns.

“I guess they’re too special to sell in a store,” she laments, her enthusiasm wilting a little.

John crouches down to Rose’s eye level. “Why don’t we look at all the cookies they have and pick one afterwards?” he suggests.

“Ok,” she sighs, holding her hand out for him to grab. Large, calloused fingers swallow her hand whole, and John wonders how much longer it will stay like this. Her brown locks are a few inches longer than last time, but the beaming smile on her face when she sees him remains constant. He blinks the heat away from his eyes and leads Rose to the snack aisle. 

There’s an entire shelf dedicated to cookies, some of them themed for the holidays. But the snowflake shortbread cookies further deflate Rose. She droops when they come across sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas trees. John silently curses the corporate companies for manufacturing every winter holiday cookie except for a candy cane. He squeezes her hand, and his heart aches when he catches Rose biting her lip. Tears are on the verge of spilling, but she will not cry. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s seen her cry. The thought bothers him more than he wants.

John spots a box of rainbow cookies on the top shelf. He releases her hand to grab them, “What about these?” When he turns around, Rose is gone. The box tumbles to the ground. “Rose?” His eyes sweep the shelves. Rows of cookies and other snacks, but no sign of her. “Rosy?!” He begins jogging through the store, checking every aisle before moving on to the next. Icy claws grip his chest, and all of his senses are on high alert. He fidgets with the dog tags around his neck and has to remind himself that he’s not on duty.

Sharp laughter slices through the pounding in his eardrums; a high-pitched fit dissolves into familiar giggles. Rose. He flexes his clenched fists to relieve the stinging in his palms. He pinpoints the sound to the baking section and sprints like a madman. Sliding to a stop, he spots her at the other end of the aisle. His body sags against a shelf, and the air enters his lungs with ease once more.

“My Daddy’s amazing! He can shoot bad guys from reeeeally far away,” Rose brags to a stranger crouched in front of her. That stranger is you.

A faint giggle grabbed your attention. Twinkling lights accompanied by the pounding of tiled flooring. A little girl beelined straight toward you, veering to the side to hide behind a display of chocolate bars. She covered her shoes with her hands to dull the blinking, peering around for someone. She spotted you holding a bag of flour and asked if you bake. Her eyes lit up when you confirmed that you do. 

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military. 

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand. 

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.”

Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL. You don’t have the heart to correct her. Correction: You’re too busy trying not to collapse on the floor in a fit of laughter. The misunderstanding is best left alone, but your curiosity is piqued. What does this man look like?

“Rose!” A voice booms from the other end of the aisle, and the child hides behind you. You stand up and shield her with your body, eying the stranger with a frown. Brown hair with silver streaks, and his eyes—fuck, you wish the sky would be that blue instead of grey. He approaches you two, and when Rose makes no further movements, you stick your arm out to block him.

“Who are you?” you ask. He must be at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and built like he could beat you into a bloody pulp if he wanted. 

He mirrors your frown, eyes flickering to the brown hair peeking behind your figure. “I should be asking you that. Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?”

You narrow your eyes. “How do I know you’re not some pervert who kidnaps children?”

He chuckles; the low rumble sends the butterflies rampaging against your stomach walls. “Sweetheart, I could say the same about you,” and he crosses his arms—his thick and muscular arms. The way his biceps bulge underneath his sweater…. You bite your lip. The metallic tang in your mouth grounds you. You swipe a tongue across the fresh wound, and the sting helps you regain a few brain cells. 

Turning to Rose, you ask, “Is this your dad?” and squeeze her hands. “You can tell me if it isn’t, and we’ll find a nice employee to help you.” You talk slowly, enunciating each word with care. Rose glances at the man behind you before settling on your face. 

She cups her hands around her mouth, and you lean in, her warm breath tickling your ear. “Yeah, that’s my dad. What do you think? Super handsome, right?” she whispers. You glance at him and huff. A fucking dill, indeed. 

“Rosy, stop bothering the nice stranger,” her father says, gesturing for her to come to him. She skips over and fails to dodge his hand. Rose groans and buries her face into her father’s stomach as he ruffles her hair. You avert your eyes and ignore the heat that prickles the back of your neck. Wringing your hands, you stare at the floor as their laughter echoes in the aisle. You hardly know these people. Plus his wife must be somewhere in the store, ready to pop out at any second. 

“The ‘stranger’ has a name,” you speak up, introducing yourself. You keep your eyes trained on the shelf of sprinkles above his right shoulder as if the plastic bottles of sugar will stop you from falling.

He holds out a hand for you to shake. “John, John Price.” Firm warmth envelopes your skin and dissipates far too quickly for your liking. Sparks of electricity fizzle before they get a chance to light your nerves on fire—and you want to burn.

“Heh, P as in Pickle,” you snicker, making the mistake of meeting his gaze. Your arm drops to your side, and your bones turn to lead. The sky must be grey because all the blue was stolen and contained in his eyes. There’s no coldness, no ice, only calm ripples of water. The gentle drag of the ocean as the waves lap against the shore, inviting you into its depths.

John raises a brow. “An odd observation, but yes.” He smooths Rose’s hair to no avail. Baby hairs and cowlicks in all different directions are a continuous reminder that he’s been meaning to learn how to style hair. 

Rose beams at him with her toothy grin. “Cause Daddy’s a dill!” she adds.

John’s confused expression quickly morphs into one of horror. “Where did you hear that?!” He narrows his eyes at you. 

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me. This is the first time we’ve met.”

Rose tugs on his shirt and says, “That lady who used to babysit me. She also called you a fox, but I told her you’re a man.” Your eyes widen, and your shoulders tremble. John runs a hand through his graying hair, and you rip your gaze away because witnessing that felt illegal. Every time you look at him you notice another thing that attracts you.

John sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about her. I love Rose, but she can be a handful at times,” he says, whispering the second half. His head tilts forward, and now all you can focus on is how his moustache frames his mouth. Plump and pink.

Your lips crook upwards in a slant. “It’s not a problem. She’s an entertaining conversationalist.” You find yourself drawing nearer to his face, wandering from the shore and deeper into the ocean—oblivious to the current that will pull you under.

Rose tugs on your shirt and asks, “Why don’t you join us for dinner?” You pull away with a sharp inhale, processing how John’s eyes flicker to your lips. The little girl gazes at you with a hopeful smile, but you look to her father for confirmation. 

“Rose, you can’t invite people you barely know to your home,” he reprimands, and her smile flatlines. It’s probably for the best. At the current pace, it’s like you’re in a sappy romance novel! John shoots you an apologetic smile, but you wave your hand and shake your head in understanding. 

Rose pouts and stares at her shoes. She shuffles her feet, and the lights twinkle with each tap. “But then there’ll be someone who can bake cookies,” she says, looking up at him with puppy eyes. John winces.

You notice him wracking his brain for a response and decide to help him. “They sell rolls of sugar cookie dough; next to the puff pastry,” and you jerk a thumb behind you. Sometimes you buy a roll or two when you feel particularly lazy but crave cookies. 

John mouths a “Thank you” and holds Rose’s hand. “C’mon, rosebud. Let’s buy some, and you can make your candy cane cookies.” 

Rose perks up at the mention of cookies, her shoes now fighting to match the brightness of her eyes. “Wow! They sell everything here!” She drags him to the pre-made dough section. Well, she tries to drag him. Rose is less than half her father’s size. It reminds you of those cartoon characters that try to move a comically large boulder. Blue eyes meet your gaze one last time and wink at you. 

Did. Did he just?

You stand there, unblinking, staring at the corner they disappeared behind. 

Holy fucking shit. He did. 

You don’t register going through the checkout and packing your things in the car. With a blink, you’re in front of the steering wheel, key in hand. Where were you...? Home. You were on your way home. Slotting the key in the ignition, you start the engine and begin the drive home. For once, the clouds have gone, and the world mocks you with its clear skies. You don’t think you can stand to look at the colour blue for a while. It’s a good thing you’re sitting right now. 

The drive itself is unremarkable. You go through the same streets, pass the same buildings, pull into the same parking lot, and park in your usual spot next to a truck. You admire the muscular arm resting on said truck window. Funny. Guess that sweater is popular around here. Large hands run through brown hair flecked with grey—John.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You creep out of your car and circle around to the apartment building, abandoning your groceries.

Just a few feet. Just a few feet, and you’ll make it to the door. Conscious of your steps, you slink across the pavement and concrete. You wrap your hand around the handle, and the tension bleeds from your shoulders. 

“Are you playing hide and seek, too?” a voice from below asks. You jerk and pull the door instead of pushing. A loud rattle echoes in the vicinity. Who decided it was a good idea to make doors out of glass? A sadist who likes to watch people open doors incorrectly, that’s who. You glance down. Long lashes frame blue eyes that stare into your soul. Your fingers itch to adjust the cowlick in the disarray of her hair. You spot a few leaves clinging to her locks. Was she hiding by that bush beside you?

“Are you hiding from your dad?” you ask Rose, scooting behind the potted plant when she beckons you closer.

Rose shrugs and peeks around you. “Daddy was taking too long. I’m waiting to see when he’ll notice I left.” 

Your brows pinch together. “That’s not safe, Rose. You should stick close to him. What if something bad happens to you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of uncles, and they taught me how to beat up baddies!” She punches the air a few times. Her face pulls tight in concentration before loosening into a grin. She shrinks behind the bush and brings a finger to her lips.“Now shhh, we have to be quiet.”

Boots thud against the pavement, the strides between each step growing shorter. “Rosy! Where did you run off to this time?” There’s a divet to his tone beneath the loudness, like the warning tremors of an avalanche. “I need to put that girl on a leash.” There’s a smile in his tone, but it stretches taut like a rubber band, ready to snap and whiplash you with his increasing agitation. He runs a hand down his face and sighs, eyes darting across the rows of cars. 

You can’t watch this any longer. You move to reveal yourself, but Rose beats you to it. She tiptoes behind her father, giving up halfway and slamming herself into him. 

“Boo!” Rose screams, voice muffled by his shirt. 

John stares at Rose and shouts half a second later. “Ah!” Half a second too late.

Rose pulls away with a sullen frown. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

John crouches down and pets her hair. “No, no, rosebud. Was so afraid I forgot how to talk,” he insists. 

Rose gives him a scrutinizing look. “Liar,” she pouts. John leans in and whispers something into her ear, scratching her smooth cheek with his beard. She giggles and squirms, pushing his face away with both her hands. He deliberately rubs their cheeks together, and it causes her to laugh harder. 

Once again, you’re watching the two of them from afar. Heat pricks your skin, and your gaze steers toward the door. You should be able to slip unnoticed if you’re quiet. Standing up, you wince as your joints pop. You might as well hang a giant neon sign to denote your presence. 

John’s voice glues your feet to the ground. “Let’s bring everything inside, then you can bake your cookies,” he says. You press your back against the wall and exhale through your nose. No big deal. You just need to wait until they head inside first. Your palms dig into the stony material of the building. As if with enough force, you’ll be able to reorganize your atoms and disappear into the walls to escape dying from embarrassment. 

“I have a surprise for you, Daddy!” Rose’s voice draws nearer.

You are a wall. A silent, still, and formidable wall.

“Did you find another pretty stone?” John asks, tone laced with amusement. 

You close your eyes, but the ocean will not leave you alone. The waves lap at your feet on the shore, and you shrink away. Stone presses hard into your back.

They won’t find you. They’ll walk past you and go inside. Your erratic heartbeat fragments your thoughts into mismatched puzzle pieces. You can’t think with all this drumming and adrenaline.

“It’s pretty, but it’s not a stone.” Rose runs up to you and tugs you from your hiding spot. “A special guest for dinner!” she presents you like a prized animal. You stumble, and your eyes snap open in fear of hitting the ground. Strong arms rush forward to steady you. You lift your head, and your mouth dries.

Cerulean eyes pull you into their depths, crinkles forming at their edges. John’s accent caresses your ears, and you tamp down the unintelligible noise that threatens to destroy your last shred of dignity. “I didn’t know you lived here too,” and the corners of his lips twitch.

You force your tongue to articulate, the words scraping like sandpaper up your throat. “Neither did I—that you also lived here! Cause I know that I live here because I live here!” A shaky laugh warbles out of you. “I wasn’t following you because that would be creepy—and I’m going to shut up now.” You seal your lips together before you can dig a deeper hole for yourself. His hands are still on you, fingers wrapped around your arms. Your blood sings at the contact. 

“Do you think Daddy’s handsome?” Rose blurts out. Flames lick your skin, and your mouth becomes reminiscent of a goldfish. 

John’s fingers dig into your arms, and it’s not until you flinch that his hands drop to his sides. “That’s not a polite question, Rose,” he rumbles. It’s low, a warning. But when you’re a kid, you’re not afraid of anything.

Rose places her hands on her hips. “But you were like this in the car on the way home too! And when I asked you what was wrong, you told me I was too young to understand. I’m not stupid, Daddy. I’m six.” She stomps on ‘six.’ And you watch as this little girl brings this burly man to his knees. 

John sighs, “Not here, Rose. Please.” 

But Rose refuses to yield. “Why not? You both like each other, so why can’t we have dinner together?” she asks.

John rubs the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Would you like to join us tonight?” he asks, eyes flickering between your face and the parking lot behind you. 

“I’m afraid Rose will kidnap me if I don’t say yes,” you joke. 

Rose grumbles, “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud.” She grabs your hand and tugs you to the entrance. “Daddy can bring the groceries inside. I want to show you my toys!”

You dig your heels into the ground and say, “I need to bring my things inside as well. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Rose’s smile falters, and she reluctantly lets you go.

“Don’t worry, Love. I can take care of that for ya,” John offers

You fidget with the keys in your pocket. “Are you sure?” You’re not worried about him stealing your car. He can’t exactly hide if you two live in the same building. Besides, you want to believe that the kindness in his eyes is genuine. 

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he reaffirms. 

“Ok,” and you hand him your car keys. His fingertips graze your palm, and you shiver. God, you’re pathetic. Rose tugs on your arm, and you trail after her. She leads you up a few flights of stairs before stopping on the third floor, where you also live. Except she walks to the opposite end of the hallway, away from your apartment. She pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks the door.

Rose drops your hand and runs inside, returning with a stuffed animal in her arms. “This is Mr. Bear. Daddy got him for me!” Mr. Bear is wearing tactical gear and a bucket hat. Frayed threads stick out of his body along the seams, and small patches of fur have fallen out. She cradles the stuffed animal close to her chest and rests her chin atop his head. 

You nearly melt on the spot. “That’s very sweet of him,” you say.

“Sometimes, when I miss him, I just need to squeeze Mr. Bear tight.” She gives you a demonstration.

A familiar warm timbre greets your ears.“I love you, rosebud.” 

You grin and say, “Your dad reminds me of a bear.”

“Yeah! He’s big and cuddly. But his face turned red when I told him,” Rose mumbles the last part. She straightens up and tugs on your arm. “Oh! And these are my action figures!” 

You walk into what you assume is her bedroom. It’s not as chaotic as you thought it would be. Her bed is in one corner of the room, with a collection of stuffies sitting along one side. There’s a shelf with knickknacks and picture frames. Your eyes land on a photo of John holding a small bundle in his arms. It looks like the picture was taken without him knowing. His eyes are wide, staring at the tiny hand wrapped around his thumb. 

There’s something that’s been bothering you, but you don’t think it’s your place to ask. Rose startles you when she starts barking out, “Hold your fire! We can’t alert the enemy of our whereabouts!” You whip around to see her sitting on the ground with a mini soldier in each hand. The large tub behind her is open, the lid propped neatly against its side. You sit next to her and watch the ‘mission’ play out. She hands you a soldier and assigns you the special position of super spy. Now a successful job rests on your shoulders.

Thanks to Captain Rose, your team retrieves the files, returning without a single casualty. Although you had a close encounter with the enemy’s Captain Pickles, which began some sort of enemies-to-lovers arc. You don’t know. She’s six. She reasoned that the power of love triumphs over all. Rose begins cleaning up, setting the toys neatly in the bin before snapping the lid shut.

“Did you learn all that from your dad?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and picks up Mr. Bear. “Daddy never tells me anything about work. It’s classified. Sometimes I watch TV. There’s a show where one of the characters looks just like him, but Nana doesn’t let me watch much 'cause it’s not for kids.” Dear lord. Could you imagine being sandwiched between two Johns?? 

“Rosy? Want to bake your cookies now?” John shouts from the corridor, snapping you out of your fantasy.

“Yes, please!” Rose replies. She grabs your hand and gives you a toothy grin. “You can be my assistant. Daddy’s hopeless at baking.” She leads you to the kitchen, where some bowls and a tray are on the table. Rose lets go and skips to a seat, plopping herself down. Mr. Bear is seated on the chair next to her.

You sit at her other side and ask, “What kind of cookies are we making?” There are no cookie cutters in sight to give you a clue. 

Rose clasps her hands together. Her feet swing beneath the table. “Candy Canes! Santa will be so impressed that he’ll grant my wish for sure,” she answers.

You don’t know what a six-year-old would ask from Santa, but you sincerely hope it’s fulfilled. Perusing the items on the table, you notice a vital ingredient missing. “Do you have food dye?” you ask. 

Rose strokes her chin. She hops off her chair and walks up to John. “Daddy, do we have any food dye?”

John’s head peeks out from behind the fridge door. “Sorry, Rosy. I don’t remember,” and there’s a sheepish grin on his face. 

Rose hums and grabs a stool, tottering to the drawers. “I forgot. You went away for a while. I think Nana left some the last time we baked.” Your eyes snap to the fridge when you hear a thud. An apple rolls across the floor and stops near your feet. You pick up the fruit, thumb brushing over the bruise blooming underneath its skin. “I found red!” Rose waves a small bottle in her hand and dashes to show you. 

You set the apple on the table and praise Rose. Her chest puffs up, and the smile she gives you is dazzling. She hops onto her seat, clutching the bottle to her chest. 

John walks up to you two. “Here’s the dough,” and he holds out the cylindrical tube but changes his mind and leaves it on the table. The only seats left are the ones across. He picks the spot in front of you. 

“Thanks.” You snap the tube open and remove the packaging. “Alright, Rose. We split the dough in half, and you’ll colour one part red.”

Rose cocks her head to the side. “We don’t paint the cookies?”

You shake your head and say, “There’s an easier way to make them look like candy canes.” You hand Rose a wooden spoon and tell her to mix the dough while you add the dye. Once half the dough is red, you take equal parts from both bowls and roll them into noodles. Putting them together, you twist them to form a cane. You curve one end, and the result is a near-perfect replica of a candy cane. Rose marvels at the sight, face inches from the table’s surface. 

There’s a streak of food colouring on her face, and you grab a tissue for her. She’s engrossed in the cookie, picking it up and turning it over. Out of impulse, you wipe the stain on her cheek and her laughter tinkles throughout the room. She complains about being ticklish between her giggles. A low sigh draws your attention. You look over to John, who’s watching you with his head propped up with his hand. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

There’s a softness to John’s features. He looks at you like you’re holding his heart in your hands, squeezing the pulsating organ with every cookie you form. “Do good looks count?” It’s barely audible, but you hear it. His elbow slips from the table, and he clears his throat. “Just been a while since I’ve seen her so happy.” He folds his arms across the table, a wall of muscle to create a false sense of distance. 

You gesture your head at Rose. “Make a cookie with her; have fun together.”

John stares at the table, stroking his chin in a familiar fashion, but remains silent otherwise. You chew on the inside of your cheek and resume forming the cookies. The squeal of wood scraping against wood pricks your ears. John squeezes himself into the space between you and Rose. His shoulders brush against you, and he is radiating heat. “What have you got there, Rosy?” he asks.

Rose looks at him with furrowed brows. “A candy cane, silly. Here, I’ll show you how to make it,” she answers. Rose does a quick demonstration, but John still struggles. Somehow he’s managed to mix the parts to create pink. Rose shakes her head, lips tugging into a frown. “My hands are too small; can you help him?” She turns to you. Long lashes frame her doe eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to say no.

You glance at John to find he’s staring at you. Shifting in your seat, you say, “If you don’t mind…?”

John maintains eye contact. “I’m all yours,” and the smile he gives you is bashful. You fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks, but it’s like trying to douse a flame with gasoline. The heat intensifies, and you grab a tissue to wipe your clammy hands, muttering an excuse about the dye staining your skin. 

You focus on the table, resisting the temptation to turn your head and meet the gaze burning into your face. “You take equal parts of each dough and roll them into logs.” You pause to make sure he’s following along. “Once they’re the same size, you can twist them together to form a cane.” John is about to mush his cookie as children tend to do with playdough; always mixing the colours. You grab his hands to stop him. His fingers twitch against your palms, but he doesn’t recoil. “Like this,” and you twist your cookie, rolling it some more to flatten the cane.  

“You make it sound so easy,” John huffs.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s not too bad once you get the hang of it.”

John shakes his head. “Give me a pistol, and I can field strip and reassemble in a few minutes.” He holds up a warped cookie. “This, this I can’t do.”

You bump your shoulders together. “I’ll have you baking like a pro.”

John grins; it’s boyish and charming—it pulls you in like a flower reaching for a ray of sunlight. “Is that a promise?” he asks, lashes framing an expanse of blue. And once again, you are hopelessly lost at sea. 

“Only if you’ll invite me over again,” you quip.

“Is this flirting?” Rose asks. Her head pops up behind John’s shoulder. “If Daddy won’t invite you, I will.”

You smile as John buries his face in his hands. “Thank you, Rose,” you say.

She returns the gesture with a wide grin. “You’re very welcome.”

You continue making the cookies in silence, gaslighting yourself into thinking that the numerous brushes against your hand are accidental. 7/10 times you’re grabbing something, John also happens to be reaching for the same item. The cookie under your palm flattens into a pancake when his body leans ever-so-slightly into yours. Thankfully this is the last cookie, and you place it on the baking tray with the rest.

Rose insists on putting the tray into the oven herself, and John watches her like a hawk, hovering behind her in case he needs to step in.

Once John’s certain the apartment won’t burst into flames, he rolls up his sleeves. You eye the veins along his arms as subtly as you can, wincing like a child caught in the act of misbehaving when John speaks. “Can you please help Rose clean up? I need to get started on dinner,” he asks.

“Yes, Chef,” and you give a mock salute. “Alright, Rose. I’ll wash all the dishes in the sink. Can you wipe the counter?” you ask her.

Rose straightens her back and nods. “Affirmative,” she replies, marching to grab a towel. 

You begin collecting the bowls and utensils, plugging the drain afterwards to fill up the sink. A few drops of soap and a mountain of suds form. With a sponge, you begin scrubbing away at bits of dried-up dough and red dye. In the corner of your eye, Rose is reprimanding Mr. Bear on how he needs to pull his weight too and that it doesn’t matter if he’s not heavy because he’s full of stuffing. 

“You’ve got an adorable soldier,” you say, turning your head to John, who’s heating a pan on the stove.

John watches Rose with deep affection. Those are the eyes of a man staring at the purpose of his existence. “She’s a trooper, alright,” and the smile on his face is lax.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” you ask, adding more soap to your sponge. The remaining traces of dye are giving you grief.

“Fish and chips; one of Rosy’s favourites,” John answers.

“Daddy makes the best!” Rose pipes up.

John shakes his head, and the base of his neck flushes. “She’s exaggerating,” he says.

You smirk, “I’ll be the judge of that.” The chuckle your words elicit from John fills you with a pleasant buzz.

“I have to warn you. I aim to please,” and the lilt in John’s voice encourages you further.

“Yes, you certainly look the type,” you say, eyes trailing up and down his figure. John’s body trembles under your gaze. “Is it just you and Rose here?” You don’t know if he’s divorced, but you don’t recall seeing a ring on his finger.

“She’s dead,” John says. Concise and well-practiced. The plate in your hand slips and splashes into the sink with a thud, shattering the silence. You look over at John, but his back is to you. Shoulders hunched and head low. “Died during childbirth,” he adds, and the slight wobble churns your stomach. You should have known. Should have guessed from how the pictures on the walls only contain two subjects. Rose only ever talks about her father and grandparents. How could you be so fucking blind?

You crush the sponge in your hands, and bubbles seep out between your fingers. An apology is on the tip of your tongue, straining under the weight of your rapid thoughts. Day one, and you’ve already stepped on a mine. A phantom pain aches in your chest, grieving the loss of a love you never had in the first place. John says nothing. Continues to fry the fish in silence. Pops of oil like the rounds of a machine gun, but not loud enough to drown out the hammering of your heart.

Rose breaks the silent war. “I cleaned the counter. Can I check on the cookies?” she asks.

The apology dies on your tongue, and you tear your eyes away from John’s back, missing how the tension bleeds from his body. “Of course,” you say, placing the last dish on the drying rack. “Do you know how?”

“Nana showed me the buttons because I accidentally turned off the oven before,” Rose replies. She hands you her towel, and you lump it in the sink with yours. Rose walks up to the oven, and John moves to the side. You hang back, grappling with the temptation to steal a glance. You’re not sure what’s worse: John catching you staring or the disappointment of him not staring back. In the end, you decide to focus on Rose. She awes at the cookies and beckons you closer. You shuffle towards her, sticking close to the opposite side.“We should leave extra for the reindeer and elves who want some too!” 

You smile and pat her head. “Next time you can buy peppermint extract so they’ll taste like candy canes too!” you suggest. Rose’s eyes widen. She looks at you like you have the biggest brain in the world. Your confidence skyrockets, but a quick peek at John sends you plummeting back to Earth. You can’t read the expression on his face, and it worries you.

“They look so good! Santa will definitely grant my wish!” Rose’s comment piques your interest.

“What’s your wish?” you ask, crouching down to her level.

Rose glances at her father before lowering her voice. “I can’t tell you with Daddy around; it might make him sad.” Your jaw slackens. What could a child wish for that would make their parents unhappy?

Dinner is served, and the seating arrangement remains unchanged. True to John’s words, Rose devours her dinner. She even asks for seconds. “I’m a growing girl,” is all she responds with when she notices your amused expression.

The conversation consists of small talk. You learn they moved into the complex two years after you did. It’s honestly amazing how you didn’t run into them earlier. John doesn’t talk about his job, but he asks you plenty of questions about yours. You’re happy to answer. Glad to have something to talk about that won’t prod old wounds. Before you know it, you’re cracking jokes, and John is struggling to breathe. His laughter is intoxicating, and like an addict, you crave another dose. Rose watches the entire interaction with a broad smile, nibbling on her food as her eyes ping pong across the table.

John leans forward and hangs off your every word. Every ounce of his attention focused solely on you. You pause mid-story, caught up in the softness of his features. Before he can ask you what’s wrong, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull out the device to see it’s a text notification. The time on the screen reads 9:30 pm. It’s getting late, and from the way Rose slumps in her chair, she should be in bed soon.

“I should go. Rose looks like she’s about to pass out,” you say.

“M’not sleepy,” Rose argues, rubbing her eyes.

John rises from his seat. “I’ll clean up. Rosy, why don’t you say goodbye to our guest?”

Rose gets out of her chair with Mr. Bear and holds your hand, leading you to the entrance. John steps forward but stops himself. He turns to collect the dishes, and you walk away, feeling the heat of his gaze lingering on your back. 

As you’re slipping on your shoes, you ask Rose, “Now that it’s just us, do you want to tell me your wish?” She glances behind her. The faint sounds of porcelain clattering against metal travel along the corridor. 

“You can’t tell Daddy, but I don’t want him to be lonely. He doesn’t cry at night anymore when he thinks I’m sleeping, but he still looks like a raccoon in the morning,” Rose says, pinching an invisible zipper between her fingers and dragging it across her lips. You copy the gesture and even go as far as to mime turning a key and tossing it over your shoulder. You have a sneaking suspicion, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. 

Unlocking the door, you reach for the doorknob. “Wait,” John shouts, stopping you in your tracks. He jogs up to you and holds out a reusable takeout container and your bag of groceries. “I made too much. Take some leftovers with you.” You peer inside, and there’s a generous portion. How much did he cook?

“I’m tired. I’m getting ready for bed,” Rose suddenly announces.

John chuckles, “I thought you weren’t tired earlier?”

“That was earlier. I’m tired now.” Rose walks off to her room, mumbling to Mr. Bear. The only snippet you catch is something about ‘having a moment.’ You take the container and bag from John, fingertips touching. He doesn’t let go, and you’re left standing there awkwardly.

“Don’t feel bad about what happened earlier,” John says, withdrawing his hands and shoving them into his pockets. 

Earli—oh. Your cheeks tingle with warmth. You clear your throat and bring the container close to your chest. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just wanted….” You pause.

“Wanted what?” John asks, and his eyes are wide and pleading. He waits and doesn’t push. Watches as you chew on the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze.

When you finally gather the courage to look at his face, tender eyes observe you. Does he feel the same? A wave of confidence washes over you, and you decide to take the risk. “To know if I have a fighting chance,” you say.

The corners of John’s lips boomerang up and then back down. His eyebrows draw together, and he almost looks… scared. “Love, I work in the military. I’m a single father. I don’t have much to offer,” John rasps, the words constricting his chest like a vine of thorns. His throat bobs, and he closes his eyes, steeling his body. Because bracing for impact is a natural human response in an attempt to lessen the damage of an imminent crash.

You smile softly. “And if I said I didn’t mind? That I’ll wait for you to come back and become Rose’s favourite while you’re gone?” John’s eyes snap open wide. He stares at you like you’re some sort of mythical creature; a being that can’t possibly exist in this world. Here is a man with his own baggage, who carries a burden on his shoulders that you will never comprehend. And you want to learn how to love him anyway. His expression softens, and he gravitates toward you.

“When I saw how you handle Rose, I didn’t think I could like you more than I already do,” John says.

Your ears perk. “You like me?” you ask. You didn’t think the attraction went both ways.

John rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks flush. “Might have seen you use the elevator a few times… regularly,” he confesses. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

“And you never tried to say hello?” you tease him, placing a hand on your hip. The pain that flashes across his face is brief, but it stops you from continuing. You decide to change the topic. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” Your face engulfs in flames. “On the cheek, I mean!”

The pink dusting John’s face darkens. “Only if I get to kiss you—on the forehead,” he clarifies.

“Deal.” You place a quick peck on John’s cheek, his skin an inferno against your lips. He cups your face and leans in. It’s soft and leaves you tingling from head to toe. A laugh bubbles in your chest. You slap a hand to cover the dopey grin spreading across your face. “Sorry. I'm just really happy.”

John’s thumb caresses your cheeks. His blue eyes are sparkling. “So am I, Darling. Goodnight,” he says, leaning forward to plant another kiss. You close your eyes and make a content hum, basking in his warmth. 

John opens the door for you and leans against the doorframe after you step out. The hallway is relatively dark, and the lights from the apartment bathe him in an ethereal glow. A smile graces his features, and the current that threatened to pull you under has settled into gentle ripples. “Night, John,” you reply, waving goodbye. 

A smug grin stretches his smile, and he winks at you. “See ya later, Love.” 

You skip to your apartment. The door behind you doesn’t click shut until you disappear from sight. You head to the fridge first to store the leftovers. You find a note when you put away your groceries. Fishing out the paper, it reads: ‘Rose’s bedtime is 10 pm.’

The clock on your stovetop tells you it’s 9:50. 

Where did you put that expensive bottle of whiskey you bought years ago?

Bonus Scene:

John tucks his daughter into bed, pulling the blanket to her chin. “What else did you wish for, Rosy?” he asks. It’s become a tradition to figure out her Christmas present. He makes sure to ask her right before bed when he’s certain she won’t remember the conversation in the morning.

Rose snuggles into her pillow, hugging the stuffed bear close to her chest. Her voice is muffled and thick with sleepiness, but he hears it crystal clear. “A little sister.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

Happy early Valentine's Day! I can't wait to consume the Valentine-themed content for all the fandoms I'm in. Not related, but I saw a cowboy ghost render on IG and I think I'm going to have to go back to writing something for him ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

Time to drop off the face of the Earth for a month or two again.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain john price #cod x reader #cod mwii #single dad price #gender neutral reader #no y/n #And they were apartmentmates! #I will update the tags with something funnier once my brain isn't mush

[kuiinncedes]

njvfnjfhgfd

#the way i have been putting off finishing my good pIace rewatch right #and i finally just watched the second to last ep lmao and it made me so much more emotional than i remember ;-; #the fucking #'guess the good pIace is just having time w the ppl u love' or whatever SHUT THE FUCK UP CHIDI TT #i hate this show /s #bruhhhh that makes me want to cry so fucking much and u want me to watch the FINALE AGAIN?????? #when they were talking about ending ur existence w the door or whatever that also made me want to cry #and i dont remember this episode making me cry the first time sdjgfhdngbkdh #rip my plan is to watch the finale at some point this weekend probably #well so either tonight or tomorrow lmfao #like late at night when everyone else in my family is asleep/upstairs #so i can sit here and fucking cry by myself :D lol bc when i go back to apartment i can't rly like reliably have time by myself #to sit and rewatch the finale and sob lolll #i hate this show why did i watch it again ;-; u know whats funny i rly want to rewatch Again w my friend/one of my apartmentmates lol #bc we wanna do like casual art sessions together and we did One and i was in the middle of my rewatch and i was playing it #for myself bc sometimes like listening to music while donig art doesnt do it for me it needs to be a show or something lol Anyway #but ya we've talked about doing it again and i think it'd be fun to rewatch it w her fully :D #anyway ya this show fucking sucks #(sarcasm sarcasm sarcasm fuck i love this show what the fuck)(i love it so much all i wanna say is i fucking hate it i hate it kjdhfgakdfn) #i fucking hate this show (lovingly) #i hate what this show does to me ;-; im FEELING TOO MUCH THINGS #anyway that was distracting me from my ongoing distraction rn of i/wbft brainrot and nto being able to focus on doing work #bc i just want iw/bft content and stuff but theres not much of that LMAO anywaydgfuhdbflgjbsfd #jeanne talks #lets try to get some work done :T also it's fucking close to my class registration date which i hate lmao #hate class registration season :D #also i lowkey have a lot going on for glowstick club rn (a lot of it is in my head lmfao) #so i am looking forward to the sobbing that the finale will bring #the release yk lmfao #i am eating a packet of strawberry pocky........ i should not eat this whole packet but

[slimthicksonnett]

59 with Ashley Sanchez

“H-How long have you been standing there?” // Ashley Sanchez (740 words)

“I don’t get it! She could have picked anyone.” You whined into the phone, flopping down onto the stiff hotel bed. 

“You don’t get it? Or you don’t want to get it?” Tara answered back. Even a couple of thousand miles away back in Washington, you could hear the smugness in your best friend's voice. 

“She doesn’t like me like that, Tar.” You reprimanded; voice muffled from where you were face down in the duvet.

“But you like her like that.” It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t have to answer it. 

“I mean, maybe? We’re also just best friends.” It was a last ditch effort to defend your pride but a simple snort from Tara crushed any last bit that was remaining.

“Just best friends? So everyone turns down a trade to go back to play in their hometown at a top expansion team just because they don’t want to leave their best friend?” Tara countered, earning a long groan from you.

“I love the Spirit, I’d never want to leave any of you.” Your argument was weak and Tara just hummed in response.

“Right. You love the Spirit so much that you sold the house you’d bought just because Ash asked if you could maybe be apartmentmates?” The question made you blush, thinking about the beautiful two-story home outside of D.C that you’d spent all preseason gushing over to anyone that would listen.

“It made more sense financially and logistically to stay in the city.” You huffed.

“With her, you forgot to add stay in the city with her.” Tara giggled, clearly amused by your frustration.

“Okay fine, yes. Maybe I like her like that!” You conceded, a loud cheer coming from over the phone. 

“There you go! The first step to healing is admitting.” Your teammate sounded less smug now, more soft. But your interpretation of her emotions was interrupted by the sound of something hitting the ground behind you.

Immediately, you jolted upright in the bed. 

Turning around, you were greeted by the sight of a wide eyed Ashley Sanchez.

“H-How long have you been standing there?” You questioned, voice shaky and face flushed a deep crimson in embarrassment.

“You turned down San Diego for me?” Ashley asked, staring at you in some mixture of awe and disbelief.

A brief "oop-" could be heard from the phone before the line went dead from Tara assumedly making the decision to hang up.

“Oh, so that long…” You muttered, staring at the floor as you watched the younger girl cross the room towards where you sat at the edge of the bed. 

“Was Tara telling the truth?” She questioned you again, you didn’t even have to look up to know she was staring down at you with those commanding eyes.

“About which part.” Your voice was distant as you traced patterns on the hotel carpet with your feet.

You were pulled away from your musings though when a delicate hand was placed under your chin, fingers curling strongly to tip your head up so that your eyes were locked on hers.

“San Diego wanted you.” It was a statement, you could only manage a tiny nod as you gulped nervously in response.

“San Diego wanted you, but you stayed at the Spirit. You could’ve gone home!” Ashleys voice was louder now, the disbelief in her tone almost tinged with anger at you for turning down the offer.

“I am home.” Was all you managed in response, watching the way Ashley softened at the sound of your words.

“You are home?” She whispered, tilting her head to the side just slightly in question.

“I’m home with you.” Your voice was gentle. You weren’t sure how you managed to make the statement without breaking eye contact with Ashley but you were glad you didn’t. Because watching her closely revealed the moment that her eyes slipped from yours and down to your lips, lingering there for a moment.

“Y/N…”  Ashley sighed, her thumb brushing feather light against your jaw.

“I’m sorry that was-”

Ashley cut off your ramblings with her lips, soft and full, against yours. Thankfully you recovered quickly from the shock, pressing up into her kiss. It was good as far as first kisses go. And that’s to say that it was a mess. Too much pressure, a clashing of teeth, an odd angle.

But everything about it was so distinctly Ashley that that too felt like home.

Pulling back, breathless, Ashley let her eyes lock with yours again as a smile spread across her face.

“Thank god I picked you to room with.”

#ashley sanchez imagine #uswnt imagine #woso imagines #slimthickficlets

[reinedescauchemars]

my apartment is killing me slowly. i hate it here. the respect i have for my apartmentmates is dwindling away to nothing

why, you ask?

- our kitchen was making me depressed because it was a mess and people weren’t cleaning up their shit. a friend of mine came over to cook and ended up cleaning the entire place while i shut down from depression

- someone left pizza out for almost a week on the counter. someone else left a half-full coffee can out for days. the dishes were building up again

- in short, a dorm of 6 second-year* girls has a worse and dirtier kitchen than a dorm or 6 second-year boys

- one of them broke a plate of mine. she wasn’t supposed to be using it because it’s mine. she left the mess for me to clean up

- same person spent the first few weeks of the year bitching about her previous roommate, who broke a glass jar of coffee on the floor of their room, and outlined a plan she would use if she ever broke something and couldn’t clean it up in the moment. it was not followed

- i am up at an ungodly hour of the morning because my roommate decided it’s okay and fine to play music loud enough to wake me up during the âprement quiet hours

- my roommate’s not-boyfriend is treated with more respect by my apartment than i am. he doesn’t even live here

[jenma2ca]

My Dream-

Granger

A TV Series about Hermione Granger at

Clifden Institute of Magic

Because Witches & Wizards who want to specialize need to study for an additional 3-4 years of study, preferably at an Institute of Magic. Duh!

Background-

IMs (Institutes of Magic) came into formation around the year 800. There had always been specialized organizations/program/academies for high levels of Magic. They usually took less than a handful of students each year. Around 800AD the area now know as Nairobi, Kenya had more than 20 of these academies. They joined together and the first IM was founded. IMs were few and small for many years. In the 1800s they continued to grown in enrollment and prestige. This was continued into the 1900s when these IMs became funded by magical governments offering exceptional witches and Wizards the chance to study advanced magics for free. Although specialized academies still exist throughout the world, there are only 25 Official IMs Globally. Although there have been rumors for years about secret IMs for high level dangerous or experimental Magic, none have been confirmed.

Clifden IM , in County Leitrim Ireland, was founded in the year 1050 by Merlin and Morgana High Wizard and Witch of Camelot. The IM itself is invisible to muggles. Only once in the early 1800s did a muggle once view Clifden. He believed it to be the gateway to another universe or perhaps Heaven. He went insane looking for it and eventually recreated the castle from what he remembered . The real Clifden Institute is 1000 times larger and more grand than the muggle replica castle. It is said to be one of the most expansive and beautiful Magical institutes on earth. While it is far from being the oldest, it is considered an elite school competing with Bayou IM in New Orleans, Louisiana USA, Nairobi IM, and Scholomance IM in Transylvania, Romania. (Rumored to be run by the devil to ward off Muggle, but actually run by Magical Creatures -Vampires-Werewolves-Giants-etc who were originally not allowed in traditional IMs, and still face discrimination in employment, the school's speciality is The Dark Arts)

The Show-

Hermione is awarded a special entry into a top level DADA program due to her fighting Voldemort. It’s her secondary field. Her Primary study is Comparative Magical Politics & Wizarding Relations . Hermione is beginning to think about a career in government. Normally student decide these things their final year of Hogwarts, but Hermione missed that year due to her Horcrux search. After graduating in 1999, she continued onto Clifden Institute of Magic.

Ron mises her. He supports her though. Time are hard with the distance. He’s undergoing intense training with Harry and of focused on work, but misses her a lot. Jealousy may occurs and they may go their separate ways for a while, but they always come back to each other. (It’s a TV series, we need the Drama!!)

Hermione & friends dealing with their PTSD of being children of war.

Hermione & her BFFs Ginny, Kellah, Angie, Ali, and Chelsea (aka Chelsea Cho-Chang, because “Cho” liked Quidditch but didn’t loved it and wants to leave her jock friends attitude, and childhood nickname in the past) hanging out, practicing magic on levels they didn’t know existed, dating. It’s PG-13 so nothing to out there, we want teens to see a beautiful intelligent Black leader in Hermione as she growns up, so it will be darker with more adult themes, but still PG-13.

Hermione Roomies/Friends/Classmates/Emenies

Apartmentmates- Parvarti & Padma Patil, Kellah Williams. Ginny Weasley (first woman in the family to go to a IM, her mom is very proud)

Next door student apartments

-Percy Weasley & Penelope Clearwater. Percy worked the ministry taking corospondance classes in Comparative Magical Politics & Wizarding (Hermione's same field) at the ministry’s Intern program, as they were funded by his intern job. After the battle at Hogwarts Percy needed a change, and after a breakdown he decided to quit his job and become a full time student. He is now a third year student and Hermiones’s SA (Sorcerers Apprentice/ AKA TA). He currently lives with his girlfriend Penny.

- Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan. Neville Longbottom. Ibrahim “Ibi” Bem. Emmanuel “Manny”Bem (who BTW- parents were Voldy supporters even though their mom’s big bro, AKA Uncle Kingsley fought him at Hogwarts. Their parents were killed a few weeks after the battle of Hogwarts and now the boys are being raised by their Uncle the new Minister of magic. They aren’t handeling all their new found “fame” too well.

- Angelina “Angie” Johnson. Alicia “Ali” Spinnet. Two of Hermiones closest friends.

- Hannah Abbot. Susan “Susie” Bones. Marietta “Mari” Edgecombe. Chelsea Cho Chang.

-Justin Finch Fletchley. Ernie Macmillan. Zachariah “Zach” Smith. Michael Corner

-Off Campus Student Mansion. Cuz you know these girls pulled some strings, pooled their money and bought the nicest place in Clifden.

-Pansy Parkinson. Mafalda “Mal” Weasley. Flora Carrie. Hesita “Hess” Carrow. Daphnee & Astoria “Tori” Greengrass.

-Draco Malloy. Blaise Zambini. Joshua “Pike”.

Off campus apartments ( non students)

Lee Jordan. With occasional long visits from his BFF George Weasley who really wants to hang out with Angie.

“Friends/Frenemies” who drop by for a few episodes throughout the series

(these people don’t go to Clifden as Students but still can come by

“ Katie”Bell. Leanne. Oliver Wood. Cormac McLaggen. “Romi” Vane. Dennis Creavy. Luna Lovegood. “Greg” Goyle. “Millie” Bullstrode. Adrian Pucey. Chase Vasiey. Marcus Flint. “Theo” Nott. Miles Bletchley. Graham Montague. Graham Pritchard. Malcom Braddock. Gemma Farley. Cassius “Cass” Warrington. Harry Potter. “Ron”/“Charlie”/“Bill” & Flure Weasley/ . (Some deep cuts here- if you know you know)

Also let’s be honest, HP was pretty white. Black Hermione being roommates with The Patil sisters, & Kellah, and BFFs with Angie, Ali, Dean, Lee, the Bem Bros, & Chelsea would be pretty cool. They have to kick Blaise’s Anti-muggle ass though.

Ps 19 years ago, Snape one got stupid potion drunk after he ran into a Lily-Lookalike visiting London from Canada. He saw her again that night, and being that she had just had a bad breakup and he looked like her goth musician boyfriend, well... lets just say, Draco is going to have surprise roommate who just graduated from Ilvermorny and reminds him very very much of an old teacher, with Lilly’s eyes of course 😋

#harry potter #hermione granger #black hermione granger

[mrystudy]

okay so my apartmentmates and I started watching miraculous ladybug as a way of destressing during finals week (along with kim possible etc bc cartoons with strong female protags make the serotonin go zoom) and I just,,,cannot get the “Hi My Name Is Marinette—I’m So Tired Of This Bullshit That I Literally Do Not Give Two Shits As To Who Finds Out My Identity—Dupain-Cheng” au out of my head,,,like indulge me for a second:

— older!marinette aka i’m the baddest bitch alive dupain-cheng riding her motorcycle (don’t fight me on this) to school while wearing a full ladybug print leather gear jacket with a matching ladybug helmet and everyone’s like “lmao that’s super cute you almost look like ladybug herself aha!” and she just...looks into the distance like she’s staring into the office cameras — marinette in her pajamas, tired and sleepless asf, single-handedly punching the akuma square in the jaw for Justice™ and everyone staring in awe at her jacked as shit biceps because wtf when did she get so ridiculously fit??? — chat noir being like “um marinette ily and all but we need to wait for ladybug you should get to safety...” and marinette just straight walking behind a trash can, transforming, and then coming out and chat STILL being the dumbass he is like “holy shit my lady hello did you see marinette she disappeared behind that EXACT trashcan before you arrived we have to make sure she is safe she just went to look for you I think—” and marinette just Sighs Heavily™ — alya gushing about ladybug to the Dupont Quartet and nino and adrien being all love eyes and marinette’s like “lmao that’s not what fully happened but go off I guess” and alya’s just...“wait what” and marinette just winks — ladybug going into marinette’s balcony not at all inconspicuously and chat follows because dumb cat-son forgot to tell her something and by the time he gets to the bakery marinette’s already transformed back and chat’s like “oh hi marinette didn’t know you were such good friends with ladybug!! <3 love you both but have to tell her something could you call her back real quick” and marinette almost pushes him off the balcony in frustration (alternatively adrien facetimes marinette for something and she answers as ladybug before being like “oop one sec” and pointing the camera away, theres this big pink light that’s a little too recognizable for adrien, and marinette resurfaces like “sup, you rang?”) — ladybug saving adrien for some reason or the other and accidentally being like “lmao could you help me with our physics homework later I’m having trouble on question ten” and adrien’s like ??? HUH??

#100 #mine #miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #animation #cartoon #film #thomas astruc #ladynoir #adrienette #marichat #ladrien #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #ladybug #cat noir #adrien agreste #my dumb children #stupid lil kiddos #so dumb #they could've fixed all of this if they just revealed their identity

[isobel-thorm]

About Me Game

tagged by: @deputymaxwell

1. how tall are you? 5′ 7″’

2. what color and style is your hair? Blondish brown, shoulder length, forever-fried looking waves on the bottom. I need to get a haircut and highlights soon 

3. what color are your eyes? Blue-Grey

4. do you wear glasses? Used to as a kid, but not anymore.

5. do you wear braces? Suffered through them for three years. Now I just have the permanent retainer from Hell. 

6. what’s your fashion sense? Jeans and a tank top with either an open button-up shirt or a hoodie over it. 

7. full name? Sarah Christine.

8. when were you born? February 25th

9. where are you from and where do you live now? Long Island, NY.  Still live in the same house and town I grew up in. I hate it. 

10. what school do you go to? Last place I physically attended was SUNY Oswego.  “Physically’ sounds weird in hindsight so I also took an online class at Pace before I realized I couldn’t afford any more. 

11. what kind of student are you? The student that people who wait until the last minute to do papers hate. I was always the one who turned in assignments on time compared to all my friends. One year my apartmentmates hated me because they were scrambling to finish up stuff for finals week and I had been done for 5+ days and was just hanging out all day.  That said, I did slack off plenty. Barely ever studied. A- student in my field, C+ for most of the other gen ed stuff. 

12. do you like school? Mixed feelings. Mostly liked, but that was really only because I had the college experience where my friends/classmates were like a family to me, and as I kind of mentioned, my college friends are really the only ones who pay attention to my life anymore and I no longer have easy access to them in person, which is awful. So I loved it for that. 

13. favorite subject? English and Psychology

14. favorite tv shows? Lucifer, Sleepy Hollow seasons 1-3 before it got Bad, White Collar, Lost, Longmire, The Sniffer

15. favorite movie? (deep breath) The Mummy, The Mummy Returns, Dear Frankie, Man from UNCLE, The Avengers, Thor, 3:10 to Yuma, Miss Congeniality, Austenland and many, many more. 

16. favorite book? Good Omens

18. favorite past time? Writing, binging videogames.

19. do you have regrets? Many. 

20. dream job? Forever changing. Art teacher, interior designer, doggie day care owner, editor 

21. would you ever like to be married? Yes, but considering I’m three years away from being 30 and haven’t had a relationship I’ve basically accepted it ain’t gonna happen and I’m gonna die alone. 

22. would you like kids? Maybe. 

23. how many? 1 or 2 maximum. 

24. do you like shopping? Yes, unless it’s for clothing. Fuck clothes shopping. 

25. what countries have you visited? Haven’t left the U.S. Closest thing is the time I went to the U.S Virgin Islands. 

26. scariest nightmare you have ever had? Too many to list. My imagination was very unkind to my younger self in that regard. 

27. any enemies? My childhood best friend. 

28. any significant other? Nooope. 

29. do you believe in miracles? Kinda sorta??

30. how are you? Awful and barely holding it together, thanks for asking. 

I tag: ALL Y’ALL

[liz-and-the-blue-bird]

39, 40

Hi Claudine, how are things?

39: Talk about things you wish you’d known earlier.

I wish I’d known how important it was to attempt to get some summer work as an intern for engineers. 

I wish I’d thought to consider how annoying and frustrating it would be to prepare for copyright claims for anime youtube videos. 

I wish I’d realized earlier how hard it is to maintain friendships after high school and even college. 

I wish I’d known some more patience for my 2nd girlfriend. And even to this day. Not patient with her, but made myself more patient for her. 

If that makes any sense. 

40: Talk about the end of something in your life.

When college ended, I was tasked with packing up by myself. My apartmentmate and the person who was going to sublease my room offered to help, but they were going to be out all saturday, so they’d help on Sunday. I was leaving on Sunday evening, and I didn’t really want to bother them. I’ve always been the type (and still am) to overwork myself in an attempt to minimize work for others. 

So that saturday I packed all my stuff, literally everything I owned from my 3 years of college into my Honda CRV, except my futon. It took around 10 hours of work, but most of it was already boxed in some way, and I don’t really own too much stuff. I went up and down the stairs and elevator like 20 times, but it all got in there. This wasn’t even the first time I did it.

It was only 6 pm when I was done. I walked out and locked my room (you can lock each room individually in my apartment). I got dinner. Then I toured around my university aimlessly for 6 hours, just walking to classrooms I’d been in and libraries I’d studied in. I went to the main library (PCL) and listened to my study music of choice one more time. This wasn’t 2017, we didn’t have “chill lo-fi beats to study/relax to.” I went to the UT Tower and sat by the steps again. 

I walked to the architecture building, next to the post office, to a little clearing that I made mine when my ex broke up with me. I read the inscriptions on the benches again. And then I thought long and hard about my three years there. I had a lot of regrets, but I think it’s fine. I think regrets are fine to have. I remember thinking that. I wonder if I still agree. 

I went back home and my roommate and his friend were dead on his bed/the couch, respectively. I went to my room and slept on the futon. I woke up before they did, I think they were hungover. I brought my futon downstairs and I got breakfast. When I got back, I told them I was packed already. They were surprised. 

Then I left. 

#silenthikari #asks #thanks for the ask

[krestinshe]

we need to be joel and we need more joels

God recently used a brother in Christ, Joel, to stir, encourage, and inspire my heart.

We were serving together in the Middle East this summer on a Cru mission trip, and even over 5 short weeks God gave me a brother who has lasted even until now. He sent me a letter this month (5 months after the mission trip) expressing gratitude for the trip and for me; sharing about his heart for the Middle East and hope that our work there was not done; recounting the things the Lord has been doing in his life, in the lives of his brothers and sisters in Christ, and in his town/on his campus; and encouraging me in the Lord.

In my letters, I tend to focus on what experiences me and the addressee have shared, and my gratitude for the addressee. But Joel spent a large part of his letter sharing his own heart and the Lord's work in his community, which was all the more encouraging to me after a semester that left me discouraged and hopeless at the end.

This semester, I went through many ups and downs when it came to evangelism. I started off so zealous for it that I willfully neglected Christian community and experienced guilt about time not spent with at least one nonbeliever. In the middle of the semester, one of my roommates had a conversation with me about how my words about same-sex attraction had hurt and angered her. One of the hardest things to hear was that she would have been more hurt if we were closer; but as it was, she didn't see me that often. And she would like to get to know me more, but every time we talked it would be about Jesus. I was flooded with shame that even though all I wanted was to show Christ's love to my nonbelieving roommates, I had not only been neglecting my relationships with them but I had actively hurt this dear roommate. I felt a strong conviction to actually shift my schedule and invest more time in my relationships with my roommates, a mandate which weighed heavily on my soul. People close to me have heard "sorry, I should go home and spend more time with my apartmentmates" many days. The words of my friend also took a huge toll on my enthusiasm to initiate spiritual conversations with them. I told myself that rather than always explicitly trying to talk about Jesus, building trust and relationship by spending time with them and showing them the love of Christ would be the best way to witness to them. Pouring more time into my roommates definitely deepened our relationships, and God did give me plenty of opportunities to love, listen to, and care for them. At the same time, I grew more and more discouraged as their need for Jesus and their resistance to him simultaneously grew clearer.

Shortly after the incident with my roommate, another ugly beast reared its head--recruitment for summer internships. I thought the Lord might be calling me to honor and obey my parents and seek a conventional summer internship to explore the secular work world and economics-related careers. This involved a lot of hours in the day and late nights researching opportunities, networking, writing cover letters, preparing for interviews. It made me feel small and anxious, such that I would eat up time from other things (primarily sleep) to do more. Most of the time, it felt like a burdensome obligation without purpose or passion. Worst of all, it was hard to think of or see God while doing it. I tried to bear this burden of recruitment along with the burden of my roommates, even as lack of sleep and hope made me feel like I could be toppled over with a slight breeze and wonder each day if I could--or should--keep going.

By the end of a long semester under this harsh and unrelenting yoke, I was burnt out. I'm realizing it's still with me, causing me to remember the past semester with pain, present opportunities for ministry with reluctance, and the upcoming semester with dread. I recently put it like this to a friend: I feel like I've finally collapsed at the end of a long journey carrying more than I could bear, and am lying with my limbs askew and my various loads and burdens on the ground beside me, too weary to even think of how I'm going to get up.

Joel's letter met me where I was, and stirred my heart to remember where I am and reignite a desire to get up. It encouraged me that even though I have been long discouraged in my ministry to my roommates, God is working in and through him and his team, just as Paul and Barnabas "brought great joy to all the brothers" (Acts 15:3, ESV) as they "declared all that God had done with them" (Acts 14:27, 15:4) among the churches in Antioch, Phoenicia, Samaria, and Jerusalem. I was also encouraged by him asking about my heart, life, and ministry, and praying for me. He was doing for me what Paul did through his epistles and what Paul and Barnabas did when they visited the churches in Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch: "strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God. And when they had appointed elders for them in every church, with prayer and fasting they committed them to the Lord in whom they had believed" (Acts 14:22-23). Joel's letter recalled memories of our co-laboring in the Middle East: always going out to do evangelism in twos or threes, sharing stories about opportunities God gave us, all of us knowing and praying for the people that we were each ministering to. It inspired me to strive for this kind of co-laboring community with the brothers and sisters in my life. It gave me hope that, when you put together a bunch of people who get discouraged fast but earnestly love Jesus and desire others to get to know him, we can spur each other on, bear each other's weary hands up in prayer, and point each other's eyes to Jesus, and bear much fruit.

I want to be Joel: I want to share my heart for the lost among my friends and family with friends in Christ and Christ himself, to pray for and ask for prayer for these, so that there is no burden that is held by my hands alone. I want to ask about others' hearts, lives, and ministries, encourage them in the hope of Jesus and remind them of the goodness of proclaiming him who gives himself for us, and really pray for them (oh, what a poor intercessor I am!). In being Joel, I hope that we, brothers and sisters, can be abundantly fed as we labor, grow in earnestness and zeal for the gospel, and leave nothing unattempted for his Kingdom.

"Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen" (Jude 1:25).

[rye-views]

Fight My Way. 쌈, 마이웨이. 6.3/10

About the love lives and dreams of four friends. Announcer, MMA fighter, promoted from deputy chief, and a mom.

I feel for Ae Ra’s heart when she said she will stay loyal and take care of Moo ki forever. I hate how the apartmentmates all helped him cheat on her. I love that Ae Ra respects herself. You go girl.

I hate these arrogant, shitty people who think they are better because they have more money. Fuck you.

I love the landowner because she has money/power and is nice.

I just feel for Ae Ra trying to get her dream job. The world throws shit at you because you were just trying to get by. The world looks down on you when you’re doing your best. Yet, you still support others. Friends are good during these trying times. Bless friends that are there for you and stick up for you. I want all this support from my friends.

I hate how manipulated the media is.

I love the coach so much. esp him and his soondae truck.

I love Dong Man’s old fashioned speaking.

I laugh at how you change once you start seeing your friend in a romantic way.

Being poor is a bitch.

Love their rooftop.

Tak Su is such an entitled little bitch.

#쌈 #마이웨이 #쌈 마이웨이 #fight my way #fight #my way #6.3 #television #show #series #review #commentary #korean #drama #kdrama #rye-views

[syncollector]

For the trans ask game: 4, 5, 27, 42!

4. What do you do to perform self-care when you’re feeling dysphoric?

Take a long shower, make tea, light a scented candle, and nap / lie down / watch nature docs if I’m feeling introverted; go thrift shopping with a friend if I’m feeling extroverted and have some spare cash

5. What was the first time you suspected you were transgender?

As an adult, it started dawning on me when I was 20, in the middle of my first major depressive episode in the winter of my third year of college. But apparently when I was 6 or so, my then-best friend told me about SRS (in six year old terms). When my mom picked me up, I told her I wanted to marry him, and she said “silly, boys can’t marry boys” and I said no it’s okay I can be a girl! That ended up getting buried pretty deep and not coming out again til adulthood, but it’s the first memory I have of expressing transness.

27. What do you do to validate yourself?

- Post selfies here and bask in compliments bc y’all are great and make me feel great

- Get cute new clothes as mentioned above. I have a rule that when I go thrifting, I should try on and preferably get at least one thing that’s out of my fashion comfort zone. That’s how I ended up falling in love with tanks, crop tops, florals, and this incredible set of pleather overall shorts.

- Remind myself of good things I’ve done for other people recently

42. Do you interact with other trans people IRL?

My roommate, one of my apartmentmates, my best friend, and my girlfriend are all trans, as are several of my former and current partners. Honestly, if I don’t count work, most of the people I interact with are trans (and it’s frickin fantastic).

#sunsetfields #ask game #text #ask natalie

[starship-squidlet]

[Story time--feel free to ignore]

So I need to get something off my chest, and I can’t do it anywhere else because people who know the people I’m going to talk about will see it and I don’t want to harm these people’s reputations. However, the only one of them who has a tumblr has already blocked me, as far as I can tell, so I’m not too worried about them seeing it here.

So my senior year of college sucked. I hate to admit it, but it did--basically the whole year, but especially the end.

It started off well enough. I spent two weeks in London and Edinburgh for a class, moved into an apartment with all of my best friends, had (mostly) great classes, and quickly started forming/strengthening friendships with people I had met in the theatre department the year before. For the first time in my life, I was starting to feel like a normal person, socially. I wasn’t having trouble with anxiety or depression. I was getting along really well with just about everyone in my life. I had finally cut out my toxic father for good (or so I thought). My relationships were just so healthy, and so was I. I felt happier than I ever had in my life, surrounded by amazing people, and doing what I loved in the theatre department.

But it very quickly started to go downhill. The closer I grew to people in the theatre department (the only people I still talk to from school), the further I felt from my apartmentmates. Then, my great-aunt died. After a few panic attacks, I threw myself into my work in the theatre, painting our production of Translations. I did my best to juggle painting, work, classes, homework, and life in my apartment, and I felt like I was doing pretty well--passing all my classes, handing homework in on time, wowing the director with my work, getting really close with the TD and carpenters, and still managing to take my roommates on weekly trips to the grocery store--but I soon realized that things were getting worse in my apartment. My roommates stopped including me in apartment life. It felt like they were criticizing my every move: I spent too much time in the theatre and not enough on homework, my growing love for technical theatre was wrong, I didn’t sleep enough, I wasn’t focusing enough on my classes. When I announced my intentions to pursue a career in technical theatre, they all mocked me, even my theatre MAJOR (I was only a minor) roommates; they said I’d never make it, that I should stick with my majors (English and Linguistics), theatre was too hard of an industry to get into so I shouldn’t even try.

The growing stress from my worsening home life, a really bad professor who I could never get anything right for, the impending deadline of the fall show, and the fact that I didn’t have enough chapel credits to meet the quota for the semester got me to the point where I started cutting for the first time in my life. I felt less healthy than I ever had, including when I was a child and being beaten by my narcissistic asshole of a father. I realize that there were many factors contributing to this, but at the time, I didn’t know what to do. I coped by focusing as little as possible on the class I was having trouble with and abandoned everything else to throw myself into my work in the theatre.

In the theatre, I was happy. In the theatre, I was safe. Even my interactions with my roommates there were fine. We were still friends. It was when I got home that things would get bad again. First, they stopped asking me to take them to the store. Then, they started ignoring me. After that, they started getting quiet when I walked into the apartment; conversations would stop or clearly abruptly change topic to something harmless, and anything I attempted to contribute to discussions was either brushed off or ignored.

Finally, opening weekend of Translations, I was done. After opening night, I spent the night in a friend’s apartment, and sent my roommates an email outlining the issues I had with them and informing them that I was planning to search for different housing. They responded with another email begging me not to move out and promising to respect me more and not exclude me. I wanted to believe them so badly that I fell for it and decided to stay. This lasted for about a week before things got even worse than they had been before.

The cycle of disrespect, outright rudeness, and stress continued. Every time I would protest the way I was treated, my roommates would promise to stop, before getting worse. I was told that the way I felt was wrong, that I was exaggerating or misunderstanding or just plain wrong.

I completely recognize that I was also a part of this cycle. I let my stress get the best of me and reacted poorly to situations that arose. Instead of confronting my roommates when things happen, I let them fester because I didn’t want to cause conflict. Sometimes, I did things knowing full well that they would bother my roommates and not caring.

Finally, the week before opening of the spring production, things blew up. I had gotten into a fight with my roommate the week before, but we had talked, I had apologized, and we had made amends. Some of the other girls responded to this with a poorly-disguised “wellness check”: they came to the theatre to “see the pieces I had made for the show”, but spent the entire time asking me how I was doing, if anything was wrong, and other, incredibly patronizing, questions. Then, opening week, I reacted to a form of disrespect that had been going on all year: during our start-of-year apartment contract meeting (mandatory in all dorms on our campus), I had asked that we not use bleach-based cleaner, because I believe that bleach is a harmful chemical and don’t want it anywhere near my body. They agreed to use vinegar-based cleaners instead once we used up the other cleaners their mothers had bought for us, and I agreed--I also offered to buy the more natural/vinegar-based cleaners, as I was aware that they can be more expensive. However, all four of them continued to buy bleach-based cleaners, despite this agreement, and I let it slide. Finally, over spring break, I bought a new natural cleaner and, when everyone returned, asked that they use it multiple times (admittedly, not necessarily in the kindest manner), and was repeatedly ignored--to the extent that they discussed in front of me the purchasing of new bleach-based cleaner. I finally got fed up with it, left the apartment for my work in the theatre (I was backstage supervisor for hair and makeup on this show), and used a few minutes of spare time that I had to write a facebook post in our private group about my frustration (again, I realize that this wasn’t the best way to respond, but between the theatre, classes, homework, and work, I was spending literally no time in the apartment during waking hours and had no opportunities to talk to my roommates). 

Within half an hour, two of the girls showed up backstage at the theatre. This was an hour and a half (or less) before opening; my team and I had an hour to get 20 people ready for the show, and we were running very late. Also, anyone who has any association with theatre (as these girls did, although they weren’t my theatre major roommates) knows not to just walk backstage. They asked one of the ASMs to find me, tracked me down in a dressing room, and demanded to see me. When I explained that I was busy, they reluctantly agreed to wait until after the show opened. However, within 15 minutes, they tracked me down again and once again demanded that I stop what I was doing and talk to them. Despite me, my assistant, and the stage manager all repeatedly explaining that I had literally no time to talk to them, they continued to insist, growing more and more belligerent, before finally storming away and leaving me to explain to half the cast and crew why my roommates were so rude. I found out that they had left the theatre entirely, apparently giving up on talking to me, and spent the show relieved that I hadn’t had to deal with them after all, but wondering what they wanted.

After the show, I was still angry about the disrespect and rudeness they had shown, and my anger and frustration only grew as I walked home. I finally burst into the apartment and demanded what they had been thinking in doing and acting the way that they had (which I fully 100% acknowledge was totally not the right way to handle things), but got no answer. I received blank stares, as they had clearly justified themselves in their minds, and finally accusations that I hadn’t taken the time to talk to them. After a lot of skirting the issue, they finally explained that they had come because my roommate was sick. This stopped me in my tracks; why did my roommate being sick entitle the others to invade my sanctuary (because this was how I had come to think of the theatre by this point) and disrespect me in front of everyone I worked and spent time with? Then they dropped the bomb: not only was my roommate sick, it was her anxiety flaring up, and it was all my fault.

Through the discussion, their circumventing of my questions had only made me angrier, and at this point, I left, mostly to avoid doing or saying anything else harmful to our relationships--at this point, I still wanted to salvage our friendship. I spent the night at a friend’s, texted my roommate asking why she was blaming me for her anxiety and apologizing for whatever I had done to cause it, and went back to the apartment early in the morning when I knew none of them would be awake to shower and get ready for the day, and packed the things I would need for the day. I found a note on my pillow and grabbed it to read later; I ran into a few of the other girls on my way out, and got dirty glares from all of them. On my way down the stairs, I read the note. It continued to blame me for my roommate’s anxiety, but also forbid me from speaking to her, and claimed that I was the cause of the conflict and strife in the apartment. Before I got to the ground floor, I was in tears. Instead of going to class, I went straight to the theatre, to my TD’s office, and spent the next hour sobbing and explaining what was wrong and what had happened. He calmed me down, gave me some advice, and I spent the rest of the day curled up in a chair downstairs; I was in no state for class. 

Halfway through the day, I saw my roommates enter the theatre. Assuming they had tracked me down there again, I rushed upstairs to hide in the little-used bathroom there, not mentally ready to deal with them, only to see them going into the head of department’s office. I didn’t pay it much mind, just went downstairs and hid from them, then went on with my day. Instead of going home after work that night, I planned to wait in the costume shop until very late, when everyone would be in bed, and sneaking in to sleep for a few hours then. At this point, I was terrified of my roommates and being in my apartment; I had no idea what they might do or say, and didn’t think I could handle any of it without breaking down completely. I called my mom and told her what was going on, sobbing again, and she convinced me to tell my RD what was happening and ask to be moved to a new room. I pulled up my email only to find one waiting from my RD. My roommates had gone to her and told lies about me--that I was unstable, that I was causing conflict, that I was an issue.

I spent that night on another friend’s couch, after going back to my room and taking everything I would need for the next few days. The next day, I found out from a friend in the theatre department that my roommates had told the same lies to the head of the department that they had told to me RD (later, they would also tell them to people in student life and the housing department), and he was furious, claiming that I needed counseling and couldn’t resolve conflict, all without actually knowing me as a person beyond a little interaction during the aforementioned trip to London and Edinburgh. My RD informed me that they would try to find me a new room, although she couldn’t make any promises with only a month left in the school year, and that someone from housing would contact me to hear my side of the story (spoiler alert: they never did).

I spent the rest of the weekend on friends’ couches and floors until Sunday, when I was told that I had been found a room. A few amazing friends kindly helped me move (a process of throwing things randomly in boxes and bags and haphazardly jamming as much as possible into my car), and I settled into my new single room, confident that I would be okay now.

But I wasn’t. I felt more alone than I had during my entire college career; I didn’t have the best friends that I had grown to love over the past four years, or any of our other friends, all of whom took my roommates’ side. I had my new friends, sure, and they were beyond amazing--far better than I could have asked for--but it wasn’t the same. I would find myself scrolling through my feeds on social media and thinking “Sarah would love this!” and starting to send it to her in a message before remembering that I couldn’t. Or I’d hear a funny joke or story and think “Wow, Karli would find this hilarious!” and go to text it to her, only to remember that I had been forbidden by the others to speak to her.

What was almost worse was that I still had class with Molly, the one who had been most demanding and belligerent to me during that “surprise visit” to the theatre, and who had written me the note I found on my pillow the next morning, and had to sit next to her for an hour and a half two days a week. I tried to act normal, but felt myself breaking inside every time we talked.

As for the theatre, I lost my second home and sanctuary. I thought I would be fine spending time there, instead of painfully alone in my room, but the first time I heard Annika’s voice around a corner, I froze. In a moment of panic, I started hyperventilating and dove for the nearest door, the bathroom, where I hid until I was sure she was long gone. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t, and when I heard her again, I bolted for the door, only starting to relax when I was free, halfway back to my new dorm.

I began failing my classes. I could no longer focus on homework, much less lectures, and did poorly everywhere. I spent all of my time not in class in my room, to scared of running into my ex-roommates if I left. I spiraled further and further downwards, until one weekend, I gave up. Laying on my floor and sobbing, unable to do anything else, I sent a paragraphs-long text to the only person I still trusted, my TD. I don’t know how to describe it besides a suicide note, except that I couldn’t even kill myself at this point--I didn’t even have the ability to function to that extent. He promised that we would talk the next day, Monday, and I reluctantly made my way to the theatre then, unwilling to talk but knowing that I had to. Most of the time, I think that he was the only person who got me through that last month; I couldn’t talk to my mom, and didn’t trust any of my newer friends enough to burden them with this. I don’t even know how I was able to trust him this much, but I’m so grateful that he was there for me when no-one else was. I don’t know if I’d be here today if he hadn’t responded to that text.

One of the things he kept encouraging me to do was reach out to my roommates and see if it would be possible to patch things up. I finally did this the week before finals; I asked Molly to talk with me after class, and we sat down in an empty classroom to do so. During the course of that conversation, I came to the realization that there would be no “making up”, because none of them had any desire to do so. Not only that, Molly continued to insist that everything was my fault, even the fact that they didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I left that meeting knowing that I would never speak to my closest friends again. I would never send Sarah stupid memes or fangirl with Karli over Markiplier. I would never talk theatre with Annika or literature with Molly. I would never reminisce about our London/Edinburgh trip with Mariah or talk shop about writing with Michaela. I would never see any of my closest friends after we graduated. Sarah wouldn’t be my maid of honor, and Karli and Molly and Annika wouldn’t be my bridesmaids. I would never see them walk down the aisle, and my children wouldn’t call them “aunt”.

I feel robbed of my senior year. I was so scared of my former friends that I couldn’t leave my room, or spend time in the only place I had been happy all year, the theatre. I couldn’t go on the senior trip to the Red Sox game at Fenway because not only might I run into them, I had no-one to go with. I didn’t go to the senior breakfast because my only remaining senior friend was planning to sit at the theatre table, and there was a chance that Karli and Annika would sit there too. I didn’t go to baccalaureate, and almost didn’t go to graduation, because I didn’t care anymore (the only reason I did was because my mom had a hotel reservation)

Now, I should be okay, but I’m not. I have been for most of the summer, but that’s gone now. I’m looking back on posts from the last four years that all of my friends are tagged in, and realizing that I’ll never speak to them again. If I even start to think about the past years, I can feel my heart breaking again. I’m crying even now. All I want is to freak out to Sarah about the Game of Thrones finale even though she doesn’t watch the show, or tell Molly about the last book I read. I want to be able to listen to Africa by Toto (Karli’s favorite song) or the Undertale soundtrack (a game that me and Karli and Sarah played together) without having to turn it off after a few seconds because it hurts too much. I want to be able to watch Sarah and Duck (an adorable British cartoon about a girl named Sarah and her friend/pet Duck that Sarah and I watched together) or any cartoon about Robin or Nightwing (my and Karli’s favorite cartoon/comic character) without my heart breaking as soon as I see it.

I just want my friends back.

Is that really so much to ask?

#personal #misc #rant #story #true story #story time #life of me

[jubiliciousjim]

04/17/2017

On Coachella:

Wow. 

On a fateful Wednesday about 10 months ago, I sat in a meeting watching the seconds tick by. Right as the clock struck 10:00am, I refreshed the webpage, and there I was: in line to buy tickets. I remember it being a pretty hectic few hours, as each of my friends anxiously watched as we moved up through the ticket queue. 

37%...61%...99%...success! We got our tickets.

I went through the next 10 months in anticipating. Each month, I’d receive an email confirming my monthly payment, but it was really just a monthly countdown until festival time. The anticipation became full blown when the lineup was announced.

“I get to see Porter x Madeon again.” “I finally get to see Garrix live.” “The xx has a new album?” “Hans Zimmer at Coachella? That’s...interesting.” “QUEEN BEY!” (we all know how that one turned out)

Well, this past weekend, I did see Porteon again, and I did see Garrix live for the first time, and the xx did play their new album, and Zimmer did bring out the orchestra. The anticipating was not unwarranted - everything was as I hoped it would be. The sweltering heat and crowds full of !@#$boys were just minor deterrents what was otherwise an awesome time spent with awesome people. The music, the food, the environment, the crowd...it all lived up to the hype and I hope that I can muster up the energy to do it all over again.

Oh, what a beautiful weekend it was.

On Sunday night blues

On another note, it’s pretty ridiculous how, as soon as I hop into the car to begin the drive home, my mind wanders to work and how much crap I had to do in the week ahead. These days, I feel like it’s so difficult to get some true peace and quiet time just because there’s always some work stressor hanging over my head. And then, as soon as one problem goes away, another four come up and I’m back to worrying once again. On one hand, I do feel fortunate that I’m a point in which I have the ability to put the time and energy into work and to feel valued as an employee. On the other hand, I also can’t wait until that day years down the line when everything just...settles down a bit. If that ever happens.

I made the comment to a friend recently that it’s extremely difficult to ever imagine a Sunday night in which the thought, “crap I have work tomorrow,” does not cross my mind. It’s a freaking sickness. 

On "lasts"

For the most part, life has stabilized a bit in the past few years, but every now and then, something happens and life ends up taking you for a ride. If you’re reading this, there’s probably a good chance you know that I lost two roommates over the past few weeks, which means that there were a lot of “lasts” recently. Let’s see...there was a last dinner, a last time a church, a last episode of friends, and a whole bunch else. 

Why am I saying this? Uhh....not sure, to be perfectly honest.

Maybe it’ll just be a reminder to myself that, in spite every complaint I’ve had about this place, there really were some precious moments.

On the unknown

Damn I’m in for quite the roller coaster ride in the immediate future. If the past couple months were about maximizing fun and time spend with friends, the next couple months are going to be about transitions and uncertainty. It’ll be an enormous blessing to see so many friends move on into married life. Many others have or will be finding amazing opportunities as they start at new schools, new jobs, or new cities. 

And myself? Well, moving out, for one. Getting a place to live on my own. Committing to a church. Trying to find a balance between investing in my local network out and having enough time to visit family at home. Maybe mapping out my 5- or 10-year plan. In many ways, I feel as if life is starting to pass me by, and that’s a thought that really frightens me. There’s a lot to be done, and I hope that the next few months will be a step out of my comfort zone. Cause I sure as hell have been way too content being comfortable. 

Anyways...I think I have more to say but I’m having trouble verbalizing my thoughts. So, until next time...

-JT

#04212017

[adreamingsongbird]

my grandfather died last week and when my apartmentmate found me on the verge of tears about it she didn’t know what to do so she just gave me some tangerines that she got for free because they were ugly and if thats not true friendship i dont know what is

#this happened several days ago im just still laughing at #oh my gOd im so sorry um would you like some ugly tangerines???'' #''there's nothing wrong with them they're just ugly apparently. i dont think they are though? they look like normal tangerines. IM SO SORRY #irrelevant post

[enterpriselock]

just walked into my apartment and my apartmentmates were watching asib.... having johnlock thrust upon you is somehow worse than self-inflicted johnlock

#it's about to be the i'm not actually gay oh but i am scene #how am i supposed to sit on the couch and do my homework when my soul is in TURMOIL

[mrystudy]

things that my lovely dumbass apartmentmates have said that make me go BatShit Bonkers™ Pt. 3, because due to quarantine I’m not with them and I miss them sm :((

— “what can I say darling, I’m just something of a legal masochist” — “[in regards to a man harassing one of us] sir, you need a minimum of ten teeth to catcall me” — “I haven’t hurt any of you physically...yet.” — “so then when I woke up, I was awake—” — “[coughing noises from the kitchen] well to be honest I was not expecting to be deep-throated by my mint this early in the morning but alright I guess” — “think about it, if you try hard enough, you’ll never have to use your mouth again” — “hey gorgeous, come here often?” [other housemate looks up, faux blushing] “not you” — “I need to find the page numbers for the quotes I’m going to reference in my research paper and it’s going to take so long...” [me, not looking up from my own paper] “command F search?” [long sigh] “they’re physical books, mery” — “you have the hand-eye coordination of a goddamn snake—” — [us, after our housemate’s rigorous day of training for her rowing nationals] “hey buddy, do you want a massage?” [deadpanned] “no, I want to die” — “whOA what happened to you???” [me, looking like a homicide victim] “oh, I took a nap :)” — “see, on the white spectrum, you’re a solid yeehonk white” — “to be quite honest, I don’t know what leprechauns...lust for...” — [housemate one, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter] “basically, [housemate two] is like the Oprah that nobody wants” [me, curious] “how so??” housemate one, pointing to housemate two who’s screaming: “YOU’RE A FURRY, YOU’RE A FURRY, EVERYONE’S A FURRY—” — “I woke up and...I don’t know I just craved a big juicy apple so much” “so you’re basically a horse girl except just the horse” — [placing one of those big chunky stickers on forehead] “ah yes, my chakras are sensing things...they’re...aligning...mmm...my third eye is cranking WIDE open right now...” [housemate, tears in her eyes] “please, I beg you, stfu” — “and I was like, ‘come on, we were all rooting for [housemate’s shit ex]” “who’s ‘everyone’ literally not a single person in this house was rooting for him” “me and all my personalities, that’s who”

#mine #meme #funny #university shenanigans #college students #college aesthetic #university aesthetic #study #studyblr #study inspiration #literature student #living together #school memes #university memes #college memes #university humor #zoom university #gen z #gen z humor #gen z memes