#Passive Noise Cancellation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dream0fschism · 1 year

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our little secret: johnny

another one from ao3 just transferring :') basically, you're price's daughter and you fuck soap.

It had been a long fucking day. You were exhausted, overstimulated from just about everything as a result of your schedule. You placed the key into the door only to find that it was already unlocked, resulting in a perplexed look on your face. Stepping into the hallway, you were on high alert as you closed the door behind you and dumped your gym bag onto the wooden floor, next to the array of coats hanging from the wall.

Upon entering your living room, you were greeted by four curious pairs of eyes.

“Dad,” you sighed, relieved that you had a familiar face to recognise. “You’re home.”

“Hello, darlin’,” he replied, standing up from his seat on the couch to walk towards you and engulf you in a bear hug. “Got finished a bit early. Brought some of the guys round for drinks. Don’t mind, do ya?”

You gave him a gentle squeeze in response, and replied as you pulled back from the embrace. “Not at all,” you smiled, glancing over the unfamiliar men once again. “Bit of warning next time, though. Thought someone had broken in.”

“Who’s this beauty then, Price?” One of the men questioned.

Your father swivelled around, shooting daggers at the mohawked man who had deliberately teased him. “My fuckin’ daughter. So paws off, prick, you listenin’?”

You watched as the man in question lifted both palms defensively and yielded. “‘Course, Captain.”

During their conversation, you’d taken the liberty of observing the other men in the room.

The first you noticed was an olive skinned man, the most youthful of the group, and the one who'd sat closest to your father. He seemed polite, and offered you a friendly smile and a backwards nod in greeting. Another man sat to the right of him, and you’d instantly recognised him as the notorious Ghost, from the skull-mask he donned and the dark stare he bored into you with. The last man, of course, was the one who’d previously spoken with your dad. Mohawk, thick brows, chin and mouth stubbled with facial hair.

“Well,” you began, running a slightly nervous hand over your head as you paced your way towards your bedroom. “I’ll leave you all to it.”

"Aw, c'mon lass," Mohawk replied, his words only accentuating his thick Scottish accent. "Not even gonna do some shots with us?"

Your father, who had situated himself back into his seat, whipped his head in the Scottish man's direction once again. "She doesn't drink, Johnny."

You did indeed drink. Your dad just liked to pretend sometimes.

"Sounds like you're on thin ice to me, Soap," chuckled the one who had previously smiled at you. "I'd shut up."

You witnessed Soap sigh defeatedly, before leaning back to kick his feet onto the coffee table. His eyes had never left yours the whole time. "You sound about right, Gaz," he chuckled. "I'll leave ya alone now pet."

Throughout the rest of the night you were forcibly subjected to the noisiness of the drunken men sitting in your living room, fantasising of ways you could make your dad pay for bringing a pack of hyenas into your home. Through the thin wall you heard every bark of laughter, every slam of overexcited palms on the coffee table – not even the noise cancelling headphones you wore were enough to suppress the racket.

When you waltzed out of your room with a touch of passive aggression, slightly stomped your way into the open kitchen, they didn't stifle themselves. In fact, they barely noticed your presence in their inebriated states.

You rifled through the fridge for something, but nothing you actually wanted was there. Truth be told, you weren't even hungry. You just wanted to make a statement.

And what a bust that was.

So you settled for some apple juice, setting it onto the breakfast bar that faced towards the men over on your sofas, the ones who were soiling your furniture with their careless, intoxicated messiness.

You swiped a glass from the cupboard behind with force, holding onto the object with a grip that threatened to shatter it then and there. When you'd turned to set it next to the juice carton, the pair of eyes that met your glare were unexpected.

The other three men were all too distracted by their heated conversation to notice that the man known as 'Soap' was eyeing you like a piece of meat, a look that sent a shockwave from the base of your spine to the top of your neck's nape.

The possibility of a certain situation twitched at the back of your mind as you held eye contact, opening your juice to pour it into the glass blindly. You jolted at the carton purposely, spilling the sweet, sticky liquid over the fingers that held the glass's rim.

Oops, your face said, as you brought the wet fingers to your mouth and sucked the apple juice off of each digit one by one, painfully slow.

You watched Soap's eyebrows twitch in response, eyes flicking down to watch the display you were putting on.

Rolling your eyes at his bewitched expression, you removed your fingers from your mouth and swivelled around to put the juice back into the fridge, already bored with your game of seduction.

Military men were so unbelievably predictable.

"Sweetheart!" Came the cackled cry from your father's mouth, remnants of his laughter still lingering among his words. He was significantly more piss-drunk than in your previous interaction. "Come 'an have a drink with us, will ya? Feel bad you bein' stuck in your room like a loner all night."

"What's with the celebration, anyway?" You asked, intrigued as you paced over with your juice and planted yourself into the empty space next to Ghost. You briefly made eye contact, sharing a similar indifferent gaze before you looked at your dad for your answer.

"We just… had a great turnout– I suppose… I mean, confidential stuff really, love," he chuckled, taking a swig of his whiskey.

"Course," you answered with a meek smile, noticing that a silence had fallen within the room. "Give us some of that whiskey, then."

And just like that, the room was bustling with the uproar of the wasted men, bar Ghost, yelling obscenities towards one another and exchanging banter, with inside jokes you'd only understand if you were part of their squad. You helped yourself to plenty of whiskey to help ease your patience with the noise, chasing it with your apple juice to avoid the disgusting taste and afterburn. Whiskey was the worst, but it was alcohol.

The buzz took a while to hit you, so you were forced to listen to the men around you whilst completely sober for a period of time. For a brief moment you'd wished you stayed in your bedroom, to avoid the torture of hearing suggestive jokes, countless innuendos and complaints to the other men about using certain language in front of you from your father.

By the time you felt the whiskey touch your senses, a playfight had ensued between your dad and who you'd learned was 'Gaz'. Your head felt a little lighter, making it all the more easier to witness the pathetic display of masculinity happening before your eyes.

As expected, the men started to take their fight a little too seriously, resulting in the mediation of the silent, six-four, giant of a man who'd sat next to you.

With the three of them busy, you glanced over at Soap, who'd already been distracted from the fight by your presence the whole time. And then you remembered the burn of his stare you'd felt for almost the entire time you'd been amongst the men. There was a certain darkness in his eyes that engulfed your stomach in somersaults, unsettled you in a way that was exciting you just a smidge too much.

Your legs were crossed, the long nightgown you wore had been pulled snugly over your knees to secure your modesty. But somehow you found yourself pulling at the hem and inching the material over the soft skin of your thighs, observing the man's eyes as they fluttered down to see.

A small, playful smile crept over your lips as you continued to inch the gown upwards, completely thrilled by the idea that the three distracted men could quickly become undistracted any moment; the idea that this man you barely knew was so easily reduced to putty in the hands of your seduction.

You uncrossed your legs, lifting one up to place a foot on the sofa cushion and tilting the elevated knee to the side slightly, exposing just a sliver of the red lace that covered your pussy.

The other men had snapped out of their complication almost as fast as your leg had thumped back to the ground, knees closed tightly together as you peered innocently towards them. The last person you looked at was Ghost, and your stomach dipped anxiously as you analysed the unreadable, yet somewhat knowing expression in his eyes.

Had he noticed?

No, you were too quick.

"Dunno about you, boys, but I need a smoke after that," your dad slurred through his panting breaths, shoving playfully into Gaz as he made his way towards the door. When he passed you, he ruffled your hair a little and fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes.

"After gettin' your arse kicked?" Joked Gaz, following along with a muted Ghost towards the kitchen. "Comin', Johnny?"

"I need a piss," Soap replied, waving them off as he got to his feet. "I'll be out in a sec."

"Don't drink all my whiskey, you," your dad warned with a point of his finger, eyebrows raised.

And you were alone in the living room, left to the peaceful silence that their absence had gifted to you.

Your mind wandered for a while, mulling over the thought of the face you'd made Soap pull whilst you'd teased him with his comrades – one of those being your fucking father – just a few feet across the room from him.

Yes, you'd admit it. Soap was extremely satisfying to look at. Stubbled chin, strong jaw, gorgeous eyes, godly accent – but you were playing with fire orchestrating mind games with your dad's friend. Although, he certainly seemed to have enjoyed the show.

And yes, it was a little disappointing that he was taking his sweet time to finish his business in the bathroom. You did kind of, sort of want to see what would happen if you were left alone with him, even if only for a few minutes.

When he eventually emerged from the toilet, you'd given up on waiting by the sofa, already by the sink and placing your empty glass into it.

As you glanced over your shoulder at the sound of the door, your eyes met. His expression was hard to decipher, one that seemed to tell of the wrestling thoughts running rampant through his head.

Feigning momentary disinterest, you turned your attention back to the sink. You heard no sound of movement from Soap, figuring he was anchored in place.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system. Maybe it was the thrill of the risk. You were unsure what it was that possessed you to edge yourself over the sink just a tiny bit and hitch the skirt of your nightgown up, revealing the cheeks that swallowed the lace of your thong between them.

The sound of the front door slamming shut caused you to drop the fabric down once again, expectant of the footsteps of your returning father and his associates. But the room was empty, you observed.

Soap had left.

Fair.

After your behaviour by the sink, you'd taken the opportunity to slink off into your bedroom and appreciate the welcoming sight of your bed. Of course, you couldn't quite sleep just yet with the party that continued on in the next room, so you'd aimlessly scrolled through your phone for an hour.

Not long after that, the noise had died down to the odd grumble of conversation here and there. You couldn't recognise your father's voice within said conversations, and you deduced that he'd pulled his usual pass-out-from-being-old-and-drunk move.

Your tipsiness had dissipated quite a bit over the course of the past hour, leaving you with just the perfect amount of drowsiness to cosy up and nod off with.

You hadn't even realised you'd fallen asleep until the sensation of a hot hand grazing its way over your side startled you awake. As you went to gasp, the same hand flew up to cover your mouth, somewhat gentle.

You were shushed. "Everyone's fast asleep," came the low hum of a familiar Scottish accent. "Don't wanna wake 'em up do ya, love?"

The voice had instantly lulled you into a sense of safety, and as you slowly came around from the haze of sleepiness you relaxed your rigid muscles.

You hummed in agreement.

"I figured this was my only chance of getting you on your own," he purred into your ear, hand still flush against your mouth. "But I'll go, if that's what you want."

You relaxed further back, moulding your body into the curve of his own as you brushed your ass against a hardness just behind it. That was your answer.

Soap moaned in the form of an exhale, directly into your ear, and with his closeness you breathed in the intoxicating scent of his musk. Your cunt involuntarily clenched around nothing, already stimulated by the compromising position you were in.

"Fuck, tell me to go," he begged, pressing his hips into the curve of your cheeks. "I'm fuckin' dead if we go any further…"

You whimpered at the increased pressure, nudging his hand away from your mouth. "But I want you to stay," you muttered, swaying to rub yourself against him.

"Why'd you do this to me?" He asked, trailing his hand to the strap of your nightie and sliding it along the edge of your shoulder. "You're fuckin' cruel, you know that?"

You whined under your breath when his hand caressed the swell of your bare breast, melting against the warmth of his body as he slowly rutted himself against you.

"Mm, I know," you sighed, squeezing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them. "Guess I'm a bit of a slut..."

Burying his face into your neck, the man relished in the sweet scent it held whilst he guided his fingers down and along your clothed stomach. "Fuckin perfect, is what you are," he grumbled, planting a sloppy kiss to your neck. It tickled you a little when his hand settled on one of your ass cheeks, but ached as he then squeezed at it with aggression. "And this. Had to leave the kitchen before I ruined you over that bastard sink."

"Wish you would've," you moaned out at the thought, which was a little too loud for the older man as he moved to cover your mouth once again with his free arm. It jerked your head further back, deeper into his hold to make way for the slightly awkward position. Soap humped himself against you nevertheless.

"See, didn't exactly want daddy dearest walking in on us, or else I would've," he replied, extra muted as if simply mentioning your father would make him more likely to be caught. "He finds out – I'm done for.."

Your cunt throbbed at the idea of being walked in on – the terrifying possibility of your dad seeing you fuck his close friend seemed to spur your horny brain into overdrive, thrilled by the fear. Or better yet, the idea of Ghost and Gaz walking in on you, locking the door behind them and waiting for their own turns to abuse your pussy.

You may have had just a slight thing for trains.

"It's gonna have to be our little secret," proposed Soap, using the hand on your cheek to slowly spread them both apart and expose your hole. "Think you can keep it?"

You nodded against his hand, a muffled moan escaping slightly through the gaps in his fingers. He lifted his hand to hear a vocal answer from you. "Mm… my lips are sealed," you whispered, voice hoarse as you tilted your head to lap at the skin of his hand, inviting him to stuff your mouth and stifle any sounds with his long fingers.

Soap gave you two of his digits, the middle and the ring as you eagerly sucked them in deeper and used your tongue to coat them in saliva.

"Christ," he grunted at the sight and sensation, unable to resist crashing his other hand down onto the sensitive flesh of your ass. The slapping sound that followed was too loud, despite the muffling the quilt provided, and his regret quickly showed in the form of a muttered curse of shit. Oops.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Soap whipped one side of your gown’s skirt up and over the bump of your hip — an action that proved to be difficult under the thick duvet that engulfed the two of you. Fingers toyed around with the lace of your underwear, with each brush along your upper thigh sending spikes of electricity through over the surface of your skin.

The force he used to rag your thong down to the middle of your thighs almost ripped them off completely, the material scratching you as it was pulled. The hand in your mouth was slowly retracted and Soap gently slapped the side of your cheek with it a few times, before shuffling in his position to fiddle with the zipper of his jeans — the sound of which excited you.

Remaining still, you waited as the absence of his clothed erection was soon replaced by the scorching heat of his bare cock fitting its way between your thighs, which you widened a little to accommodate the movement. And when you closed them once again, felt the hardness pressing against your slit, you hummed with enthusiasm,

“Oh, Jesus. Your thighs… fuckin’ heaven.”

With your ego successfully stroked, you thanked yourself for struggling so many times in the gym.

Snaking one hand down, you brushed the tips of your fingers over the head of his cock, appreciating its thickness whilst you applied pressure to it to satisfy your clit with slow, backwards rocks into him.

“Oh, you are fuckin’ nasty, you,” Soap commented, beginning to thrust himself forward to meet you in the middle. Each time your skin gripped at his cock in just the right way, he bit back any sound that threatened to escape from him. “You often let strange men into your bed?”

“That’s… ah, confidential,” you replied with a smirk, tilting your neck further to send an invitation towards his mouth.

Catching on, his lips found the spot just below your jaw and he began to nip at the flesh there. You gave only a whimper in response. Then Soap suddenly pulled back from your neck. “God, you’re wet,” he commented, seeming pleasantly shocked as he used his hand to nudge your thigh open and teased his cock in the wetness spilling out from your pussy. “Oh,” he exhaled through his nose harshly. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

That sounded a lot like hesitation to you.

“What’s stopping you?” You questioned, low, angling your upper body to peer at the face behind you for the first time. “I want it..”

“I want it too, believe me,” he heaved, eyebrows knitted in frustration as he battled with his doubts. “Just can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to stop myself from cumming in that perfect little cunt of yours.”

His words completely bewitched you. “It’s safe, promise,” you assured him. “I’m on the pill.”

Soap didn't look any less concerned. "We shouldn't… it's wrong. You're Price's fuckin' daughter…"

"But I want your cock so bad, Johnny…"

Using his name, one you'd learned only a few hours ago, was a tactical choice. You somehow knew it would shatter any chance of resisting you that he had; knew you'd unlocked something undeniably primal within him as he cupped his hand over your mouth once again and shoved himself inside of you.

The size of his cock and sudden intrusion stretched and burned at you, making you grateful towards yourself for already being soaked enough to bear it. And grateful to Soap's hand, which muffled the cry that had torn its way from your throat.

The force of which his hips slammed into you was relentless, unforgiving as he pounded deeper and deeper until your whines were a consistent string of stifled song. Your eyes rolled as far back as they could in their sockets, hands desperate to find purchase in his forearm with little success.

Your eyes, widened in a mix of pure disbelief and ecstasy, watched as Soap pressed the palm of his other hand to the wall, stabilising his balance in an attempt to reduce the creak of the bed frame. He hung his head as he fucked you with a strained face, lips squeezed tightly together to keep any sound of his pleasure at bay.

Soap slowed his pace after a while, mouth agape as he released a series of low pants with each forceful thrust into your heat.

"Gonna take my hand off your mouth, darlin'," he spoke, almost breathless. "Think you can keep quiet?"

You shook your head in reply. You'd always been an honest person.

Soap chuckled, releasing his grasp on your face and pulling his length out of you. "Think I know what'll help with that."

The bed beneath you dipped as the man fidgeted, kicked the trousers from his legs and lifted the quilt to situate himself between your legs. With you now on your back, you were able to fully appreciate the handsome face that hovered over yours, and the eyes that held a fierce hunger towards you.

The eye contact didn't break once as Soap pushed your nightgown up, just enough to reveal the entirety of your lower half, and guided his cock into your neglected pussy once again.

This time he silenced your blissful sounds by pressing his lips to yours, absorbing every whimper and cry with his mouth and eager tongue.

And with one hand on the wall, one hand slipping softly over your throat, your father's friend was fucking into you more intensely than before.

Your senses were overwhelmed, leaving you no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut and submit to the complete and utter rapture. Soap's warm, tender kiss; the remnant taste of whiskey in his mouth; the feeling of his hard, throbbing cock rubbing every sweet spot inside of you…

You wanted to scream, deafen every pair of ears in your apartment – no, in the whole block – to feel just a little control over the onslaught of emotion Soap's cock, hands, mouth was bringing you.

When your eyes snapped open, they instantly locked onto his own. His icy-blue orbs held a mutual fear with your own as the sound of shuffling just outside your door became horrifyingly more apparent. Your lips disconnected.

Soap was holding his breath.

And you were so undoubtedly, unfortunately aroused by the situation that your hips gyrated all by themselves. Soap's eyes only widened in disbelief, observed your mouth forming an 'o' and he panicked, pressing his palm over it with a power that could only be fueled by complete fear.

Despite said fear, he pressed your foreheads together and began to rock into you steadily, deep, eyes boring into your own as if to wordlessly say: I can play that fucking game too.

With heavy lids you fluttered your lashes at him, muted squeaks escaping from you and into the air every so often with the odd thrust of his pelvis. At one point the footsteps just outside your door increased in volume, as the unknown person clicked the door to the bathroom just centimetres from your own shut.

Soap gave a short, harsh pump into your cunt just to watch you squirm and struggle beneath him, only urging you to shush afterwards with the hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips.

So you clenched, walls clutching around his cock so impossibly tight that you caused his smug demeanour to crumble, smirking lips pursing as he shifted to focus on keeping his own mouth shut.

You arched your back to put a weight into your hips that sank you down deeper onto his throbbing girth, one hand smoothing over your chest whilst you toyed around with your folds with the fingers of the other. Widening your legs slightly, you kept the arch in your back to give you room between your bodies and rub circles into your aching clit.

Soap whimpered at the sight, momentarily dropping his guard as the hand you'd pressed against your chest swiped at the strap of your dress and pushed it down from your shoulder to match the other side.

At this, Soap disconnected your touching heads in favour of sitting up straight to tilt his head back in ecstasy, thick brows furrowed; bottom lip almost invisible behind the bite of his teeth.

He shifted his grip on your face for more comfort, thumb and fingers now grazing each of your cheeks thanks to the sheer magnitude of his rough hand, using it to hold you in place as he hooked a finger of his free hand under the material that barely covered your breasts and eased it down over them.

Your nipples were hard with arousal, tender and pretty alongside the silver of the metal bars that ran through the two of them. Soap must've somehow missed your piercings despite feeling at your breast earlier, as the look on his face was nothing short of animalistic.

"Jesus fuck, you're hot," he growled, as under his breath as he could manage, completely mesmerized by the way you looked underneath him. Fingertips played with your nipple, prodded at the metal between it and rubbed. Your eyebrows raised and twitched at the sensitivity, the knot in your stomach only intensified as, the entire time, Soap had not stopped fucking his cock into you mercilessly.

You only massaged at your clit faster, chasing your release as flames of pleasure licked at your abdomen and caused goosebumps along the line of your neck and arms. The man inside of you felt your increasing desperation, keeping his hand firmly cupped over your lips and sealing your sounds beneath it. His hand left your breasts, taking your wrist and interrupting your assault on your clit. You whined and bucked your hips, all but freezing in place as you watched the man shift your hand to the side and purse his lips to release a rope of his spit. You moaned heavily as the liquid dripped directly onto the spread slit of your pussy, dribbling its way down and over your clit as Soap placed your hand back where he found it and began snapping his hips once again.

His saliva was the perfect lubrication as you tortured your clit, sliding your fingers around feverishly until your muscles were tensing in the familiar signal of your imminent orgasm.

As you came, you convulsed violently around Soap's thick cock, squeezing his sides between either of your thighs and rubbing yourself through the waves of bliss. His thrusts were slow and forgiving, gently riding you through as you came down from the high.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he freed your mouth and smoothed both hands over your breasts. He kneaded at them, enjoying their feel as you gave quiet, breathy moans in response. “You’re gonna make me cum hard.”

“Mm, I want to feel it,” you purred, watching a bead of sweat trickle its way down the man’s temple. You rolled your hips along with his own, meeting him in the middle with a brutal slap each time you connected. “You want to cum inside too, don’t you?”

In reaction, he only choked out a mix between a whimper and a grunt.

“Don’t you, Johnny?” You reached up to grab him by the shirt he’d kept on, tugging him down until your faces were mere inches apart. “Don’t you want to fill your friend’s daughter with your cum?”

Lunging forward to connect your lips, his fingers locked around your throat with an aggression you hadn’t seen before as he tongued his way around your mouth. He’d wanted to shut you up, you assumed, to stop you from reminding him of just how wrong he was for sleeping with - no, defiling his captain’s daughter. But he couldn’t ignore his wrongdoings as his muscles flexed, as his body turned rigid against your own in the midst of the vicious orgasm that was abruptly devastating his entire frame.

Swallowing each other’s moans, the man spilled into you, searching for every ounce of pleasure with his steady pumps. With his mouth on yours, you couldn’t miss the way he’d whimpered desperately into your mouth over and over again. You continued to kiss him through it, helping him come down from his high with his stubbled face cupped between your softs hands. When you separated, he collapsed his face into the space between your shoulder and neck and took ragged breaths in an attempt to stabilise himself.

Just as you both began to settle, you were startled back to reality once again by the thump that swung open your door and the flash of light from the hallway.

“What, in the living fuck, is this shit?”

#soap mactavish oneshot #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish headcanons #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #mw2 smut #soap mactavish smut #mw2 fanfic #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap call of duty

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

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So I already know I’m the asshole here, I’m mostly wondering if it’s a YTA, JAH, or ESH situation. Or potentially I’m just treating this like a catholic confessional.

I (31, F) was on a 3 hour flight with my older sister; we had gotten aisle seats across from each other and 2 girls (I’m bad at ages, but both around 15, F?) sat next to her.

In the middle of the flight my sister tapped me to ask a question and as we were talking, I heard loud music/TikTok-esque noises. I asked my sister if she heard it and she replied that it was the kids next to her watching videos without headphones. They overheard us and one asked “Oh, sorry – is that loud?” to which my sister told them “Yeah, it’s really loud”.

At this point I put my earbuds back in, and my sister (thankfully) had noise cancelling headphones to put on. For important background, I am prone to headaches and migraines and am also neurodivergent and can get over stimulated, especially when I'm not anticipating a situation.

Flash forward to when we land – we pull up to the gate but another plane is still there so we have to wait. Normally on planes I’d keep my headphones in until it seems like people are moving, but I’d never sat this close to the front of the plane before and know I hate it when people waste time fiddling with their stuff when we’re all trying to leave. So, at this point I had already packed my thing away, as I didn’t want to hold anyone up.

However, when they announced we were landing someone near me applied A LOT body spray that was overwhelming to the point I had to cover my noise. Smells are a huge trigger for me with migraines, so I was staring to become nauseous with a headache, though thankfully with most of my usual auras. And on top of this while we were waiting, I was once again hearing music/TikTok noises, which was making me feel even worse. Normally I'm fine on planes and fly multiple times a year, but the unexpected, overwhelming, smells and noises combined to send me to a tipping point. Usually if I get overstimulated in public I just move or leave, but we were in an airplane so I was trapped in my seat.

I saw the guy diagonally from me in an aisle seat watching videos and thought it was him, and I tried to joke (you should never try to joke when you feel like shit – the tone is never going to be right) “Hey, if you’re going to watch videos that loud, you might as well let me watch too.”

Which was waaaaaay more bitchy then I meant it to be. The woman next to him commented “Oh my god, that is rude!” then seeing his face my brain caught up to the sounds I was mortified to realize it wasn’t actually him. I immediately, and profusely, apologized to him, and then my sister informed me that it was still the girls next to her. Considering we had, fairly recently, let them know they were too loud I was legitimately surprised and burst out without thinking “Oh my god, it’s still you?” They once again went “Oh sorry – we can turn it down?” and I again tried to joke, despite it not landing the first time, “Well, that or give me the phone so I can watch”

At this point the woman sitting behind them, who called me rude (rightfully) said “I’m their mother so talk to me, not the them.” I went, great, and told her they needed headphones. At this point she and her husband (next to her, window seat) started saying a lot of things that I don’t remember very well (see afore mentioned migraine and overstimulation) but I mostly remember it being passive aggressive comments about how they guess they’ll tell their kids to not watch TikTok loudly without headphones and me just trying to chipperly reply “awesome - thanks!”. I do remember the husband saying at one point “They do have headphones – it’s their choice if they use them or not.” Which thankfully, I had acquired enough situational awareness to not respond with my thoughts about that statement.

Once we got off the plane, and I felt less like vomiting, I realized I had snapped at these kids in a way that was way out of line. I truly don’t think they knew better, and even if they did I approached the situation in a bad way and really regret my outburst. Yeah, I had a migraine forming and was overstimulated, but that wasn’t their fault even if they were exasperating it. It especially wasn’t their fault considering their parents seemingly saw nothing wrong with their children watching videos without headphones on a plane while said children appeared oblivious.

So, while I know I as an asshole, I guess I’m asking - just how much of an asshole was I?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mmmfanfiction · 2 months

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Hi‼️‼️ If it’s not that much of a problem, Could you do flippy/fliqpy with a Bat reader?? (Romantic plss) ok have a nice day/night byeeee

hello!! I’m really sorry it took so long to start this, and I truly hope that you enjoy!! I had quite a bit of fun with this one! I might even add more later!

Flippy/Fliqpy x bat reader

Flippy

🧸he’s kind of bummed that he doesn’t get to spend much time with you, given how your nocturnal.

🧸sometimes he’ll try to stay up late, to have more time with you, but he always ends up falling asleep. Of course, you’d try to do the same too, I mean who wouldn’t want to spend more time with this precious baby?

🧸neither of you really like loud noises, so I imagine you two have a few pairs of noise canceling headphones around the place, just in case things get to be too much.

🧸Flippy definitely put padding around corners in the house.

🧸has watched you trip over a coffee table before

“Omg, [name], are you okay!?”

“Yeah- this is normal-“

🧸if you don’t have glasses, he’ll sometimes urge you to get glasses, but is never pushy about it.

Fliqpy

🔪I feel like before you two started to date he definitely blew an air horn in your ear-

🔪however now he tries to be quieter, at least around you.

🔪if it’s too loud he’ll tell the person being loud to stfu

🔪has probably asked you to fly him somewhere before

🔪I don’t think Fliqpy minds you being nocturnal. He can honestly swap from being a day person to a night person pretty easily.

🔪definitely tells you to get glasses if you don’t have any, but in like a passive aggressive way

🔪like if you trip over something he’ll be like “get yo blindass some glasses idiot.”

🔪you can always tell when he’s near due to echolocation, so before you two started dating you’d often just fly into the air so you wouldn’t die as often.

🔪I just think that last one was a cool fact,

But Fliq does get pissed off you know where he is at all times if he gets within a certain radius of you.

#htf flippy #happy tree friends #htf #htf fliqpy #flippy x reader #fliqpy x reader

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girderednerve · 3 months

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okay like many people on tumblr i work in a public library, & currently one project of mine is to put together "sensory kits" that any visitor to the library can use. the kits will include passive noise cancelling headphones, dark sunglasses, fidget toys, weighted lap pads, and desktop privacy screens (my library has very few study rooms, and we can't guarantee that we will be able to find a private space for someone who is overstimulated). the question is: would it also be helpful to have a printed communication board? i haven't seen sensory kits elsewhere that include them, but i know that many people who are overstimulated find it difficult to verbalize. does anyone have thoughts?

#i know very little about AAC and am neurotypical #public libraries #any insight appreciated! not sure how to tag #accessibility

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lucky-clover-gazette · 5 months

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(hi, this is a negative rant about the thirteenth doctor's era. it's not about jodie's acting, it's about the writing and overall production. just putting that here since i am tagging. your thoughts are appreciated bc honestly i'm shocked it's like this and want to hear others' takes)

okay not to be a hypocrite considering the amount of shit i've given moffat but oh my god 13's era so far is one of the least exciting bodies of media i've ever seen. like there's nothing here. it's so incredibly unfun and i have no idea who the fuck it's for. if you're pandering to straight people and 2014 tumblr teenagers you do a moffat, if you're pandering to fucked up gay people and overly philosophical emotional masochists you do a rtd. this is pandering to a 2017 cancel-happy twitter user who likes hamilton the musical at its prime and really really wants to be progressive but also is super repressed, uneducated, and shallow about it, and i don't even think that hypothetical person would ENJOY this?? we have a woman doctor, but she lacks any kind of maturity or sexual agency that every male doctor was given, because the male show runner clearly thought that was the only way she'd be taken seriously. and holy shit, the tokenism is absolutely insane. or at least, it feels that way to me. i'm curious to know how fans of color have felt about it. and besides the tokenism stuff, the companions have no personalities whatsoever, like it's mind-numbing how interchangeable and weak they are. the dialogue all-around is noticeably bad, and it's not even in a fun way. attempted Reveals feel cheap and make me roll my eyes. everything is so deeply unimaginative and boring and basic and it really is just so insane to me that we went from rtd having weird horny gay aliens dying to britney spears' toxic while simultaneously delivering absolutely gut wrenching and breathtaking story and character moments... to this. what a damn shame that the first woman doctor is associated with this mediocrity.

i'm at the end of spyfall part one (the master reveal was my final straw, hence making this post) so maybe my mind will change from here on. but holy fuck, dude. i thought people exaggerated about chib's era but it really is just like white noise, that only gets more unpleasant the more you actually think about it. passively unobtrusive at absolute best, infuriating for its emptiness one step down from that. i would take moffat's worst doctor who over anything of this era i've seen so far, with the exception of instances of unambiguous misogyny and sexual assault in a few of his episodes.

i am conflicted whether i should tag this as chibnall and 13 because it's negative. i want to hear other thoughts so i think i will, but i apologize if this is something you've connected with. you do not need to engage in a conversation defending it unless you want to share your thoughts, which are more than welcome.

#doctor who #dw #13th doctor #chris chibnall

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thesalemwitchtries · 3 months

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Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter Five

Word Count: 3,534

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Child medical experimentation and cruelty (heavy on this one), sensory deprivation as a means of harm and control, child death (vague-ish but there's a lot of them), forced isolation, feelings of isolation and hopelessness, mentions of injury and healthcare bias, and canon show events

Taglist: @reblog-reblog666

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

Crate Six was a horrific, but not altogether lonely place to grow up. How could she be lonely? Her small hands could fit through the wire of the cage and cling to Four’s beside her. On the other side was Eight, who spit and thrashed and snarled at everyone who passed by. She spent most of her time there, watching people pass with apathetic eyes, staring down at whichever specimen they had come to collect, she was never alone, and so: never lonely.

Mostly it was just waiting, for the people to come and prod at her, for them to leave, for the day when they’d roll the crate away, through the double doors at the opposite end of the hall, like they had for the previous Fours and Eights, like they probably had for the Six that came before her.

The Workshop had several security and protocol measures in place to prevent riot or escape. To limit any chance of mutiny or allowing them to out-number the research staff, specimens were kept in the long central hall, each team studying only one live specimen at a time. This inspired a quick turnover in those who weren’t progressing as hoped, and allowed for very limited interaction beyond those on either side of their crate.

If they were to escape, they would have to do it alone, and lab protocol ensured that subjects would have very little means of surviving on their own.

Specimens were fed only through an IV and with bland, uniform nutrient bars, unable to identify viable food sources of their own. They had geotags implanted in the base of their neck, and were allowed to move on their own only for the purpose of an experiment, keeping them monitored and weak. They wore thin hospital gowns and no shoes, adequate for the temp-controlled lab, but fatal in the scrub woods beyond the Workshop’s walls.

Still, there was always the worry of exposure, that one specimen clever enough to escape may also be lucky enough to run into someone beyond their ironclad NDAs and explain what had happened to them. Best case, the specimen disappears, worst case, they return with a news crew or god forbid, law enforcement.

Researchers began looking for ways to stop potential leaks at the source, but almost every specimen they received was old enough to know the word help, and tongue extraction could hinder the ability to get necessary feedback from experiment subjects. Any solution that completely eradicated speech was out of the question.

Team Six was inspired to develop their solution when they received a young subject that had an extremely limited vocabulary upon arrival. After the typical entry rounds of behavior modification, she was fitted with Earmuffs.

They worked in two parts, one was a standard inner ear plug that branched out and connected to a larger disc that covered the shell of her ears, passively muffling the outer world, but not eliminating the sense of sound. The second part, was an internal transmitter and speakers, active noise canceling that could deafen someone to a jet launching beside them, all connected to a remote that allowed the silencing to be toggled on and off.

Earmuffs were then fitted with a bio-grade adhesive that lasted weeks before needing to be replaced, and upon installation, they had complete control over an entire human sense.

Six was an ideal specimen: one who could not complain or whine, one who could not ask for help. Without speech she could build little identity, only a shallow understanding of the world around her and her place in it. Isolated in static, contained within an approved lexicon: no, yes, bad, good, stop, start, up, down, left, right, more, less, is, was, then, now.

The system wasn’t without flaw, unable to tamp down the specimen’s instinctual desire to communicate.

So eager to learn was she that every new sound Six heard received a warped echo, a tentative attempt to understand. Automatic doors made a whoosh and so did she, someone clicked their pen and she’d do the same, the following huffs of frustration mimicked as well.

Perhaps the largest threat to Six’s verbal isolation was Four.

He’d been the most successful specimen created by the Four team, and lived in the crate neighboring hers for much longer than any of the others. They’d developed a method during years of late nights and long days in-between labs, practiced only in the most secret of moments.

When all the orderlies were gone and the others slept, Four would press the tips of her fingers to his throat and speak. Watching his mouth move, memorizing the vibrations of his voice, and then pressing fingers to her own throat and trying it for herself. Their soft whispers repeating into the night, the subtle back and forth of a pick inside a locked door.

Her first unsanctioned word took the longest, less trial and more error before Four’s efforts began to make any steady progress. Until finally, Six was able to croak out the word he’d been so desperate to teach her: ‘Lee-yawn.’

Years later, it would be that bright grin, round cheeks squishing into deep creases around his eyes, that she would think of when she missed Leon most. One untouchable moment.

Other words came next, her progress made slow by the constant stream of visitors in the hall; orderlies making rounds, researchers checking on their specimen, administration monitoring progress.

Sister, want, outside, see, sky, free, safe, away, each time she learned a new word he would shake their entwined fingers and give her that same smile.

Four’s secret lessons could only do so much with their limited learning time and a small vocabulary of his own.

If the orderlies saw, one or both of them would be taken through the No-Back doors, a threat that Six didn’t need words to understand. Every specimen taken through those doors was wheeled down the hall, orderlies banging on cages to get everyone’s attention. If you were Bad, you got a Lesson so that you’d be Good again.

The doors are for when you become Useless, a word that an intern had taught Six as both encouragement and threat.

Six had seen many Useless specimens roll by her, from the far side of the hall past Eight. Most of them she’d never seen before, beyond that first and last time.

When she was smaller there’d been an endless cycle of crates beside her, the Five project had discontinued before she arrived, and in their place were many short-lived Fours. On her other side there were Sevens, until a few weeks before Leon arrived, when the limp and blistered form of Last-Seven was rolled past her crate.

Six was taught the word Trash that day, and there were no more Sevens after him, the space to her left was filled with an Eight that bit at their own arms. Without verbal definition, Six understood that a Useless specimen went through those doors and somehow stopped being anything at all.

Ever present was the idea that she was about to be made Trash, so much that she slept with one hand pressed to the wall and another to the floor, so she’d be awake when they came for her. An endless fear that she was deliberately unable to name. Her life was limited, structured to rob her of control, of even the very concept of it.

Crate Six was a fixed point that the world operated around; she didn’t come or go so much as she was brought, she didn’t do so much as she was instructed. All she had was long periods of waiting: for someone to fetch her from the crate, for the testing to begin, for it to end, for her next Meal, next Bath, next Lesson.

Chaos interspersed with the relative bliss of staring out through wire bars.

It never once occurred to Six to wish for anything, all she knew was the way things were Now, and waiting for whatever was Next. Once they took Leon away, in the horrible way that they did, she understood wishing.

She wished that she could have him back, that she could have a name, that this waiting could finally end; even if that meant being Useless.

After Leon, there was nothing but the static that wrapped around her head. On her left Eight stopped clawing and thrashing, but kept spitting. Team Four had completed their work, and the comfort of Leon’s hand was replaced with Three, big enough that his spine and limbs pressed against the cage no matter how he laid.

She’d tried, once, to ease him as he cried by running her fingers over the skin of his arm, but he writhed in what seemed like agony and there was no more trying.

Instead, she rested in a cocoon of apathy, letting things be the way that they were, not resisting when they made her sync or gave her the Bad medicine. Knees tucked to her chest, she buried her head down, keeping one hand on the floor by her feet and the other on the wall.

She grew bigger and more isolated, but never alone, and so at least not lonely.

There were years in that hallway, spent in a crate that she now understood had been made to hold dogs. Years spent outside after, scared and free, until the day she read her first road sign and decided to stay somewhere for more than one restless night.

“Welcome to Charlotte, North Carolina”

That was when the loneliness came, when she had finally learned to read, write, and speak. There were so many things balancing on her tongue, and no one that she could share them with. She could make friends, but there was a trench between her and all the people walking on city streets.

If she looked hard enough, Charlie imagined the trench might look like a long laboratory hallway. Cold, sterile, and existing in only her memory.

Loneliness was in giving herself a name, and introducing herself to people that nodded politely, and didn’t understand how important having a name was.

Charlotte wanted to get a toothy smile, eyes squinted shut in happiness, wanted to introduce herself to one person more than anyone. But he was gone, and she wasn’t sure how to move on from the wanting.

After Karen’s visit, Charlotte felt crowded in her apartment, in her mind, so she dug out the Earmuffs that she’d reinvented, and sank into the relief of turning off the world when she wanted to.

A cup of tea and spending the night bent over some circuit boards was what she needed— to hell with the inevitable crick in her neck.

Igor had been the first thing that she made at her beloved workbench; the welded monstrosity of scrap metal that balanced across drawer units and wooden trestles. At first he’d been solely a digital companion, a program she’d built so that she’d feel less lonely as she traveled, someone that would listen to what she confided, the things she could never tell others. Then she moved into this place, her own perfect corner of Hell’s Kitchen, with just a few boxes of things and a mattress.

Her refurbished laptop and meager spread of components soon built into a wishlist and plans. Late nights were spent hunched over the floor, schematics taped up across almost every flat surface in the place. Drawing, re-starting, scrapping that and re-starting again, all while she gathered the tools and parts that she’d need.

The last few days before he was completed were a sleepless blur in her memory, barely managing to hold on until the first blink of his OLED eyes. Even five years later her heart nearly burst with pride at the memory.

She made Igor so that she wouldn’t be lonely, to help her take care of herself when she’d never been taught how. Triage was what she built when her life was too constricting, when the world felt too cramped and evil to manage. When she missed Leon.

His mutation had been special, a gift to more than just himself. Charlotte could hoard all the money in the world in a blink, could destroy entire power grids on a whim, could do things irredeemably worse if she wanted. A career in villainy wasn’t on her horizon though, and not just because she’d be caught and exposed in a heartbeat. She tried not to even think of SHIELD, too afraid that they had some secret mind-scanning device looking for freaks to recruit. The Avengers were something to gawk at, to admire or fear. That wasn’t the life for her.

Charlotte wanted to run errands and invite friends over for drinks and know that she could help people somehow, even if it was just one at a time.

Leon could do that. Had done that, even in his short life. With just one touch he could take your pains away. Scrapes, cuts, and aches all dissolved at his urging. With all the bad in their childhood, there was at least the joy of their extraordinary natural talents.

If he’d lived to escape, to build a life outside of the Workshop, she had no doubt that Leon would be brave enough to do what she couldn’t. He would’ve stood in front of the world and offered out his hand to help.

It was a thought that Charlie tortured herself with on long nights of cowering away from notice. Tonight it blared through her mind stronger than ever, with the gravity of just how badly her fears had led her astray.

Four people, dead, because you thought that you could help without leaving your little hiding spot.

Charlie’s life was one of finding broken pieces and cobbling them into something new, but Leon could fix people, make it like they had never been broken at all.

So she built Triage. To make her mind stop repeating that one horrible thought and to bring a piece of Leon back into the world.

Triage was a labor of love, forcing her to grow and work more than she ever thought that she could. He needed advanced sensors, to be able to scan and diagnose various ailments. Then he needed the medical knowledge to be able to come up with solutions, which Charlie had to find. And he needed to be taught: how to speak, how to stand, how to help people. There was always some new problem that she had to solve, and she loved the feeling of overcoming each one.

So, how do you build a robot that’s a first-aid kit, doctor, and compassionate caregiver, all in one self-sustaining and self-learning package?

Well, you work for years, spend all your free time learning what it needs, maybe using a unique skill of your own to gather the best resources available, making prototype after prototype, update after software update, and you never give up. Even if you get super close a few times. You drag yourself back to the drawing board and start again, because this is important.

Maybe the most important thing that you could ever do. If not for others, then for yourself.

It’s possible that you never finish, never succeed, but you love the work. You need it, something that you’ll only admit to yourself in the most honest of moments, staring into the mirror’s eyes while you brush your teeth. Soul open to your own scrutiny, you concede that this work is what keeps you from falling apart some days.

Triage, if finally completed, could save millions of lives, could change the landscape of healthcare forever. And if not, if you work on it every day until you die, it will have at least kept you alive and hopeful.

You’ll have had something to love and devote yourself to creating, so you don’t stop. It’s not the finishing that truly matters in a labor of love anyways, it’s the doing.

So, Charlotte labored. Bent over her workbench most nights, read medical journals like they were the morning paper, studied health field biases and machine learning while waiting for the subway. Every day was decorated by scrap-paper notes crumpled and dotted with dried raindrops, the cap of a highlighter held between her teeth, pen smudged across the back of her hand.

Triage would be strong enough to enter warzones, compassionate to those who’d been mistreated by the system, gentle enough to press a bandaid over a scraped knee.

And if he wasn’t, then she would start again.

Tonight, she worked in her blanket of silence to upgrade some of Triage's personality and accessibility features. Since his 'hands' weren’t quite graceful enough to manage legible sign, she was working on a way to create a signing caption system for his visual display. So far she was almost done with ASL, and making progress into research on foreign signs.

Personality-wise, Triage was still a bit… blunt.

Her first priority when preparing Triage for field-testing had been patient confidentiality, ensuring he wouldn’t repeat or disclose anyone’s scan information without their express consent. This left him suitable for minor healthcare scenarios, but not yet able to work without supervision.

Down the hall the Hernandezes had allowed her and Triage to examine them, field testing in exchange for not having to shell out money at the clinic for small sprains and stomach bugs. They were patient with the learning process, but Triage almost blew the whole arrangement with an uncomfortably honest assessment of the survivability of their infant’s high fever.

Essentially he was a toddler with a medical degree, liable to say just about anything. This trait was adorable to Charlie, but not an ideal quality for a healthcare professional.

Built to lift and carry a 350 lb. human with ease, Triage needed a strong bedside manner to counter the impact of his intimidating frame, and unhelpful fatality statistics were not the way to go. Therefore, he was being taught some ideas of social convention, little things first, so as to not overwhelm him.

The sun had long set by the time she finished her last line of soldering. Barely patient enough to let it cool properly, Charlie dusted the chip with compressed air and started to prepare Triage for his update. Igor rolled across the workbench, vacuuming dust and odd bits, collecting tools to be put back in their place.

Like always when her earmuffs were on, Igor’s screen ran a jumbotron-like scroll of what he wanted to say: Clean Up, Late For Dinner.

Charlotte turned away and towards the windows, where Triage was slumped against the couch cushions. Not one to be ignored, Igor scooted a foot to his right, placing himself in view of one of the security mirrors that allowed Charlie to see behind her without turning.

“I can’t read that, it’s backwards.”

The text was promptly mirrored, and she laughed a little, feeling the rumble of it in her chest.

“Okay, half an hour, let me just run diagnostics real quick.”

Igor’s eyes reappeared, flattened into two disapproving half-circles. Knowing that he’d start ramming into her ankles in exactly 31 minutes, Charlie leaned down over Triage to get started.

It was a bit morbid feeling, something usually so full of life now cold dead-weight, and worse was the fact that processing was all kept in his head.

Cracking open the shell in order to tinker around inside always made her a little squeamish, like she was disrespecting her friend somehow. Still, there was no better alternative, he needed malleable sides for functionality, and a mostly hollow core to ensure that he wasn’t ridiculously heavy. She already struggled enough with him being almost a half-ton.

Soldering in the right connections, she successfully replaced the former attempts at a personality chip and attached the diagnostics cable between Triage and her laptop.

The process would go faster if she synced, but after the news that she’d gotten this morning, she was a little hesitant. Instead of slipping out of her body and giving the systems a good look, she opted for the long way— allowing a program to run through it for her.

Ten painful and boring minutes later she was given a clear scan, he most likely wouldn’t suffer any malfunctions from the upgrade.

“See, Igor, I even finished early.”

The bot didn’t respond, instead climbing up to the side table and staring down at Triage with impassive glowing eyes, haloed by the lamp behind him. She honestly couldn’t tell if Igor was experiencing sibling rivalry or just couldn’t recognize that Triage was a robot just like him. Hopefully he’d grow out of it on his own, where do you even begin to program jealousy out of a robot?

Charlie initiated Triage’s boot-up sequence, then shut his casing and sat back on her heels to wait. His internal lighting warmed and began to glow through his reinforced vinyl ‘skin’, limbs rotating experimentally as he sat upright.

Digital eyes had just blinked to life when the ground began to shake, growing from a tremor to a rumble. There were only a few seconds for Charlie to wonder what was causing it before the wall beside her exploded.

Hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, and feel free to shares any thoughts, it helps me to keep up motivation to work on this :)

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock #matt murdock x enhanced!reader #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x female reader #daredevil fic #slim ficc #doag #dreaming of a grave

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c0nji · 2 months

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Finally canceled my doctor's appointment because seeing him for my ADHD+depression+trauma wasn't doing anything at all, even after almost three years.

Not that I was expecting a full consultation since he's a psychiatrist and not a therapist, but I expected a bit more from someone with his educational background and experience.

Told mom about my decision to quit meds, and her reaction to my explanation that I have passive suicidal ideations either way was nothing but a vague noise that sounded something like, 'Why are you telling me this out of nowhere?'

#So glad that she cares🙄#No I wasn't actually expecting recognition from her or dad I've given up on that they don't do anything #Or willing to let me do anything they don't like even if it might help me #c0nji talks #cw suicide mentioned #passive suicidal ideation

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echodrops · 4 months

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The Promises I’m Making (2024)

Sheesh, this year it was even harder than last year to make promises. In particular, I really wanted to focus on promises that wouldn't cost as much money as in prior years, so I tried to steer clear of too many promises that would cost above the basic spending amounts... But it turns out it is really hard to make resolutions if you're broke. 😂

So here's what I'm going with:

2024 Promises

1) Step down from my administrative position and return to being a full-time faculty member. I literally cannot take the clown show that is admin at my work anymore. It is actually killing me.

2) Related to this, redecorate my new office as soon as they decide where they are going to move me.

3) Apply for new jobs!! APPLY FOR NEW JOBS!!!

4) Train my replacement in the chair position well so they are super prepared to take over in fall.

5) Put a new sink/vanity in the downstairs bathroom of the Utah house.

6) Get both bedroom floors sanded in the Utah house upstairs.

7) Finally get rid of the dirt pile in front of the Utah house.

8) Take down the remains of the wooden fence posts at the Utah house.

9) Fully clean out and prepare the Utah house to be rented out to new renters. Hopefully the next people won’t sneak in a parrot that poops all over the floor… RIP…

10) Clean off my back patio/car port area so I can park my car there again.

11) Call the plumber and replace the faucets. Even if I end up having to do it myself.

12) Get the dead tree removed from the Texas house yard and call the internet company to see about the cable around the tree root.

13) Plant roses where the old ones died in front of the Texas house.

14) Replace my CPU fan; the bearings are going out and it’s making an annoying noise.

15) Organize my documents (especially student papers)—my desktop and documents folders give me nightmares just looking at them.

16) Related to that, lose at least 20 pounds. 2020-2023 was not kind to me and the stress eating was real.

17) Do at least one artwork to actually use that paint program I bought.

18) Pay my credit debt down by at least $2000. I’m still paying off the hell year, but I hope I can make progress on this.

19) Buy all the Noragami volumes I am missing and do a complete re-read of Noragami now that the series is finishing up.

20) This is super nerdy, but my bro got me the FFXIV cookbook and made me promise to actually use it, so I guess I’d better at least try to make something from it.

21) Finish at least five books this year.

22) Update HaaH at least once. Please, Echo???

23) Reach the new level cap with all jobs in FFXIV!

24) Go to the graduation ceremony for my family friend.

25) Catch up with hanging up all the charms/pins I’ve gotten recently on my corkboards; these are just sitting in boxes/bags around the house. D;

26) Fully deep clean and vacuum/detail my own car at home. No more of the “It doesn’t make sense to clean it out now; the dog is just going to go back in it.” The dog is always going to go back in it. Clean it, Echo.

27) Help my parents tear out the carpet in my old childhood bedroom.

28) See at least three new species of birds. Doesn’t matter where, just three new ones!

29) Reach 3500 followers. Can I do it? You should follow me if you’re not already; I’m pretty cool. Just sayin’!

30) Cancel all the subscriptions I don’t need. There’s literally no reason to sit around letting companies passively profit off me when I don’t even really use the services/the services keep getting worse while the costs keep going up.

31) Go out on at least a day trip to take pictures with my friend. We haven’t done this in quite some time. I need to touch grass.

32) Repair the lovely one-of-kind ceramic plate that my dog broke with kintsugi. I want to try it at least once!

33) Really look hard for my passport in my house. It’s been missing for like a year and a half now, and I don’t want to have to pay for a new one.

34) Put all the small prints, postcards, and stickers I have collected in my new mini-print books. I can even use up washi tape to decorate too. (Finally, a purpose for the washi tape…)

35) Shred the million pieces of old mail I have lying around the house. I finally got the shredder so it just makes sense to use it.

36) Have more follow-through with chores. It’s not enough to wash the clothes or do the dishes if I then procrastinate on folding the clean laundry and putting the dried dishes back in the cabinets…

37) Put reminders for birthdays and major events in my phone as well as set a monthly reminder to check these promises. Maybe I’ll be able to keep more promises if I look at the list more often throughout the year!

38) Since I can’t afford to go to the salon, spa, etc. too much this year, I should at least do some self-care days at home. Will this be the year I finally manage to use all the fancy scrubs and face masks and bath salts I keep getting from people?

39) Use up one whole notebook. It doesn’t matter what goes in the notebook, but I gotta use the whole thing from cover to cover. I have so many pretty notebooks that never get used just because they’re pretty.

40) Change the burned-out lightbulbs in the recessed lighting in the Texas house ceiling. It’s like twelve feet high and the lightbulb charger stick I bought didn’t work, so I’m going to have to find someone with a ladder. Save me, handyman. Save me.

41) Build the pretty koi paper lantern my brother got me, or the Korean temple model my coworker gave me after his trip to Korea.

42) Actually use the yoga mat I bought forever ago. At least a few times, please???

43) Finish watching the Fruits Basket remake with Kacchan. I think we stopped in the second season, RIP.

44) Spend more time with coworkers—go out to lunch more often.

45) See about removing the PMI from at least one of my house loans to try to save money. I’ve been paying on these loans long enough I shouldn’t need PMI anymore.

46) Practice my German skills (or I guess other language skills?) by translating something at least once a month.

47) Get a new bookshelf. The current ones in both my office and foyer are already overflowing. @_@

48) Make more time to call people and talk on the phone. Texting is not the same. D;

49) Get the new COVID vaccine to stay healthy.

50) I will keep my promises!

Good luck, 2024’s me!

#50 promises #new year's resolutions #irl stuff #Echo is on the struggle bus #literally starting off Day One of the year with a cold #love this for me

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