#and at the end of the convo they were like ''youre so pleasant. youre really smart young lady'' and i was like ''ty? i just. read a lot' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadlittledogs · 1 month

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Okay sorry giant rant about my coworker and the horrible day of work I had yesterday due to her lol.

My coworker, who I originally loved working with, is fucking destroying me now. I don’t know what happened…. I really got along with her initially because she’s autistic and I appreciated that our convos were very straight forward. If she says something- she means it, and I enjoyed being able to talk to someone without ‘jumping through hoops’ so to speak. A lot of our younger coworkers really despise her for that very reason and take her blunt directness as being bossy and over controlling though, which to me just showed a lack of understanding towards tone implication and body language. Nothing about her ever came off as condescending or demanding, even when she was prattling off a whole list of chores for me.

BUT SINCE FOSTERING THESE CATS…. AUGHHH…. SHE’S BEEN ON MY DICK DUDE. It’s her special interest so I’ve been attempting to humor her the best I can but I like my space and I already have a bit of an evasive personality when it comes to these things. I don’t see us as being close enough that she needs to come over every week and….. hangout…….

I feel especially soured about this demanding "I Have To Come Over I Have To Come Over Right Now" vibe because the last time she came over she made a comment about my friend who had stayed over the week prior, saying we both….. hurt her feelings…. for some reason..... which. KIND OF PISSED ME OFF? It was such a nothing interaction we all had, such surface level pleasantries, but yet somehow my buddy was ‘confrontational’ and I had referred to her as ‘coworker’ instead of ‘friend’ which made her upset. OKAY….. I GUESS……….?

It really made me grit my teeth because, I don’t know, man, who the fuck are you? Just be pissed off I wasn't texting you back like a normal person and use that to stir the pot, don’t mix in all this other weird shit involving my friend who you spoke 5 fucking words to like it's supposed to mean something.

And then yesterday.... UGHHHH.... She comes into work while I was having a pleasant enough time making mild eye contact with the tiny skater boy at my job and instantly she fucking has this GIANT meltdown because the candies in storage aren’t alphabetized anymore. The managers try to convince her it’s fine, the person who organized them that way is trying to tell her it’s fine, I’M trying to tell her it’s fine, but she starts throwing the candy everywhere and fucking yelling at people anyways. She's losing her shit. She's three seconds from going postal. She's about to kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out. It gets to the point where the younger manager finally snaps and tells her she’s not the one whos running the place and things are allowed to change and she starts bawling her eyes out and completely runs off.

I'm flabbergasted.

She vanishes for about 30 minute before texting me to see if she can go home alongside me after my shift ends in a couple hours. She's one of the only closers for the night so without her everyone else would be totally porked in the ass. I WAS LIKE….. NO????? YOU HAVE TO….. WORK???????? THIS WOMAN IS ALMOST 50. I JUST IGNORED IT AND TOLD THE MANAGER SHE WAS GONNA TRY AND RUN OFF LOL.

The tension in the air after that was palpable. I'm standing there in the corner with all my muscles wounded and tight because I can taste the pungent malcontent in the space around us like mold on the walls. All of this over fucking candy. I tried my best to mind my own business but she ends up getting pissed off at me an hour down the line because I didn’t run after her and try to comfort her while she was crying. She asked me how I perceived the whole situation and I tried to explain to her, in my best guidance counselor sort of tone, that, well, you might've had a little bit of an overreaction there, buddy. Obviously this stems from your autism but there needs to be a healthier way to manage that where it doesn't involve getting everyone upset.

She basically tells me I have low empathy.

OOF..... I guess it hurt a little because it feels a bit true at times, even if I know it's not. I have a great deal of empathy but I'll admit, it gets buried down below, and there's a hurt in me bad enough that it's sort of blocked everything out. On one hand it's nice, because I'm not sitting around crying all day anymore but it can suck when I'm having a good time with a friend or having a fun experience and all I can focus on is the mawing black hole inside of me eating all of it up. I used to get a great deal of comfort from being able to be that shoulder to cry on, to give someone advice I really thought would help them, being useful to others in one of the only ways I felt I could; but now I feel like a walking wasteland. I keep losing my shit with my dad because the amount of emotional regulation and faux therapy he needs from me is enough to have me sitting in my room all day prodding my tongue against the steel barrel of a six shooter just so I'll be left alone.

I think the problem with this coworker is she wants to be friends, like friends-friends, but she doesn't even fucking know me. I don't want this little gnat of responsibility buzzing around me all the time, one more person I have to worry about fucking it up with, one more lie I have to spit out because I'm putting on a face for her. It's exhausting. Can't we just shoot the shit and do stock orders together? Why does it have to be this whole fucking thing every single time now? You were supposed to be drama-free but now you're either banging on my door during my precious goon hours or you're crying that I won't take care of you and I'm a bad friend. LIKE DUDE JUST CUT YOURSELF IN THE BATHROOM LIKE A NORMAL PERSON IDK.

It did sort of make me feel like an asshole. Sure, I thought the whole situation was retarded but she was a person in a need and I deliberately avoided her. I knew in that moment when she ran off that she was probably expecting me to follow, but instead I chose to stay due to my own feelings on the manner (-mainly, "this is a dumb"). I dunno, I guess it's something to reflect on further.... but I'll also say my history of needing to emotionally regulate people all the time, mainly with my father and my ex-bestie, isn't healthy and I should be allowed to have boundaries when it comes to that stuff.

Overall I just want to avoid this coworker now lol. I placated the situation by inviting her over next week and telling her she could come play with the cats again, though it's not something I feel particularly enthused about. I JUST WANT TO QUIT THIS JOB......... One of the only other decent workers is leaving and I'm going to be left with all the high school dumb dumbs who stand around on their phones all day and have no idea how to do fucking anything without constant instruction. Like I've mentioned before, MAYBE I CAN MAKE MONEY OFFA MY ART and only need to work there like twice a week. It's a nice job in the sense that I can fuck around, it's insanely easy and they don't really care when I call out or take long vacations. It'd be nice if I could make the brunt of my earnings at home in muh pj's and just use the butthole job as supplemental income to make sure I'm not eating shit every month lol. We will see though.... LE SIGH.......

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friaronthemoon · 1 year

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The Mane 6 and weed.

Sorry in advance.

Fluttershy:

She smokes. Big time. Didn’t start until she moved to Ponyville, though. I don’t really remember what her parents were like (sorry) but I’m gonna say they were pretty conservative about it (more protective of her than judgemental of others) and so was she by default. Butttt her anxiety spiked for awhile after leaving Cloudsdale because of the lack of familiarity and Tree Hugger (one of the first friends she makes in Ponyville) puts her onto it. She mainly only used it for MAJOR anxiety spikes and medicinal shit but has become a lot more recreational with it since. Is the best roller of anybody anywhere but prefers a pipe or w33d tea. She’s already pretty lax with the mane 6 since they’re her best friends but smoking makes her a bit more perky in convo and likes cracking jokes. Becomes more receptive to touch and she realizes she actually really likes physical touch and cuddling. In a convo with her she’d probably end up petting your hair or something. Has the cleanest setup ever. Grows some of her own personal favorite strains in her garden and likes to smoke with other herbs too. Is always offering to give away to friends, and loved to talk about the different herbs she likes to mix when she smokes.

Applejack:

Okay let’s be fucking serious. Was incredibly conservative about smoking way up until the mane 6 came together. Probably only smoked once in high school and did it wrong and assumed that shit was useless. Rainbow Dash basically peer pressures her into trying it again (because you know she would) when the mane 6 consider trying it together and she likes it! She doesn’t smoke that often— maybe every other week or so with the mane 6, and wouldn’t really want to smoke alone bc of paranoia. She’s not used to letting her mind kind of just fly free and it alarms her, but its refreshing and pleasant for her. It helps with sores and body aches from working at Sweet Apple Acres too. Would probably die on the spot if Apple Bloom found out. Can roll a half-decent j if she had to but there isn’t much of a need. Makes her more giddy and playful but also more relaxed?? Becomes very giggly and starts fidgeting with anything she can find. Her munchies aren’t INSANE in the way that she’s never full but she almost cries at everything she eats because it feels like eating it for the first time every time she smokes. Is insistent on bringing fresh made desserts because of this. Likes to flirt with Rainbow Dash because she knows RD can’t handle it. Buys pre rolls from Fluttershy and smokes with Big Mac bc she thought it might be a good way for them to bond (and she knows that he deals with a lot of aches and pains too). Butttt she tries to avoid smoking too often when not with the mane 6 because she still lowkey believes that it’s a gateway drug.

Pinkie Pie:

She’s no necessarily new to smoking but has never had a real opportunity since she doesn’t wanna smoke solo. Everything is funner with the friends!! Would never ever smoke with any of her sisters besides Maude. Starts smoking more often after meeting/becoming friends with Fluttershy. She mellows out in the way that she’ll still talk your ear off but she stays hyper focused on a single topic at a time, and will have you caught up in an hour long conversation about the littlest thing. Everything is funny to her. Even more than usual. Constant giggling. The munchies take over and she eats everything like she’s got a bottomless pit in her stomach (me). Her intense baking/decorating skills and the focus required for them definitely transfers to how she rolls. She can roll a mean ass jumbo but it might take her awhile. Enjoys bongs and finds the sound to be very satisfying. Loves working with Applejack and competing against each other in dessert-making competitions.

Rainbow Dash:

Not new to smoking either. Definitely hung around with some assholes smoking boof back at Cloudsdale, and probably got caught trying to smoke in the house once or twice. Bragged allll about how much she smoked and how her tolerance is higher than anybodys just for both Pinkie and Fluttershy to out smoke and her leave her highest she’s ever been. She’ll keep trying to pull pranks on everyone but will be too high to do it right. Ngl she’d be a bit obnoxious and try to start arguments and competitions but she’ll also become very sappy and start telling everyone how much she loves them and that she’s sorry for always trying to pull pranks—and then pulls more pranks. Likes to look at the pictures in her Daring Do comic books and not read a single word. Very intimidated by Applejack. Cannot roll for shit and trust me she’s tried. Has a mini bong, dab pen/cart, and definitely takes advantage of Fluttershy’s willingness to give out freebies. Eventually it catches up to her and she realizes that it’s a bad idea to be constantly smoking if she wants to be The Athelete Ever, so she cuts it back down and only smokes when they do it together. She was very begrudging about it.

Rarity:

Had no interest in smoking ever. It reminded her of some assholes she knew in highschool and thought it was “fiendish and ungraceful” until she saw how Fluttershy smoked. She becomes more huggy and affectionate, and loves gossiping. She also loves looking through and very audibly discussing her opinions on certain magazines (that she always brings with her). Nobody really knows what she’s talking about except for Fluttershy. Will randomly say “I am SO high right now.” as if she’s the only one. Constantly getting into arguments with Rainbow Dash (and winning). Suddenly becomes overly interested in everybody’s hair. She really liked Fluttershy’s setup and got her own just to never even touch it. Suddenly cannot control her own volume and is damn near shouting. Has her own cart/dap pen that she takes with her when she has to travel alone to promote her clothing line. Otherwise she only smokes with the mane 6. Never learned how to roll, and does not plan to.

Twilight Sparkle:

Sigh. She had no interest in smoking whatsoever until they decided to try smoking together and thought it could be a bonding opportunity. Brings a book that she uses as a reference guide for every sesh, and also has a journal of notes detailing strain types, step by step rolling guide, the mechanic of a bong, how weed grows, and everyone’s tolerance and behaviors. Did intensive research on the “process” of smoking, and the general sesh rules. Has an incredibly low tolerance, and has to tap out after only 3 or so hits—but she doesn’t really mind. The mane 6 made it a rule that she’s never allowed to smoke alone. Is actually VERY good at rolling—equal or very close to Pinkie Pie in skill. Asked Fluttershy to teach her and everyone ended up having to wait 2 hours because Twilight insisted on perfecting her rolling technique before they could smoke. Ends up using a bong most of the time because she likes the mechanics. Always talks a bit too loud and fast, and becomes more interested in art, painting, and drawing. Her crush on Pinkie Pie becomes painfully obvious and she always tries flirting with her the moment she gets a bit too high. Constantly trying to have everyone do a group activity together to “increase the bonding” when most them just want to sit around. They always end up indulging her and having fun though.

Bonus?

- Maude has smoked with the mane 6 before but none of them could ever see any changes except Pinkie

-They’ve all mentioned to Fluttershy how they’d like to try edibles—but she knows that they’re all wayyyy to inexperienced enough to handle it

-For some reason they all love watching old black and white shows on mute

-Fluttershy and Rarity both like to smoke their weed with lavender. Rainbow Dash loves a spliff

The Apple Family has their own private piece of land in Sweet Apple Acres that they like to sesh at and take walks along. They also like to bundle up in the old barn that they set up with cushions when it gets too late or cold

Fluttershy has her own small private garden that is separate from the animals where she grows her own strains

Twilight once offered for them to sesh at her tree house because she thought it would be a pleasant atmosphere. Rainbow Dash knocked a book down and Twilight sobbed (she was very high)

Also if this somehowactually does numbers feel free to reboot and add ur own ideas I would love to see em

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toomuchracket · 11 months

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mads does birthday party girlie speak french ? i've seen in a lot of them that she'll say like a sentence ! do u speak french ?

i think birthday party girly speaks a little bit of french, but not fluently! the little french hangovers in the middle of conversations (there's an "et toi" randomly in part 2 of tbp, for example) are a result of a fairly intense dark academia/classic lit phase you had as a teenager where you tried to incorporate french and latin phrases into conversations to seem wordly and wise lol. in hindsight, it was deeply, deeply pretentious of you, but some of the french responses stuck; matty found this story ridiculously funny and endearing when you first told him it not long after you two became friends, and you inevitably had the bret easton ellis/donna tartt besties convo right after it. matty also found it extremely endearing that you decided to relearn french before you went on the first paris trip with all your friends. he did take the piss out of you a little bit along with the rest of them - "darlin' we're going for a week there's no way you need to relearn the whole language" - but they were all forced to eat their words when a) they had to rely on you to do a solid 85% of the talking while you were away and b) you managed to get special treatment/people to be nicer to you all just because of your linguistic semi-proficiency and pleasant attitude. the day you and matty ended up hanging out together when everyone else went cycling, you remember turning back to him after ordering more wine and cracking jokes with the waitress en français to find him smiling at you in a way you hadn't seen before but immediately knew you wanted to see again (awed. moonstruck. lovingly); you were like "what?", and matty just shook his head slightly and went "you're incredible. that was so sophisticated. kinda hot, actually". and you both just giggled (to be fair, you were tipsy), but your relationship felt slightly different after that - closer, deeper, with a potential to be something more. and i'm also thinking that you speaking french ended up having some pavlovian effect on matty, where every time you'd pepper in a phrase he'd go all heart eyes - well, more so than normal - thinking about the two of you and your little wine drinking friend-date and how he so badly wanted to take you on a romantic one. and also thinking about how hot and smart you are lol. but yeah, you're not fluent-fluent, but you know enough french to both get by in france and make matty go all flustered, which is really all you need to know lmao!! also you're the inspo for the bfiafl album title. it's literally you lol <3

(and according to the scottish qualifications authority, i can speak french lol - i haven't spoken it for about six years, though, so i'm not as good as i was, but i can still read it quite well!)

#mads muses #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #into the birthday partyverse

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citylawns · 4 months

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idk if anyone has ever told you this but the way you conduct your convos give off i’m better than you and i’m smarter than you vibes. and no it’s not the “idc if people think i’m mean on the internet” you were talking about. maybe it’s your upbringing? but you fashion girls talk in an “out of touch” kind of manner. like i noticed it before, but the way you spoke to some people re: 25 teenager was so off putting and somehow condescending too.

So this is what I said and 99% of people who responded have no problem with it. How would you suggest I phrase this differently? When I read it back after taking in your message I have to admit I can’t understand how this comes across as “better than you” especially given the fact you surely see this was posing a question and since then I’ve been conversing with lots of different perspectives and genuinely enjoyed listening to them all, occasionally probing people for further explanations when needed. To me, that sounds like the complete opposite of what you describe. So, please help me understand what you mean. I don’t want to sit here and say I’m in the right I’ve done nothing wrong but I need to understand to accept your POV !!! can you link me to the tweet??

^^^ I definitely will give sass (like being sarcastic) back to people who have been sassy to me but I won’t be changing that ever haha. For example this person was responding to my tweets like they weren’t even reading them and then making personal insults to me for no reason, so I just ended the convo by saying this which makes me giggle. this is the only thing I can imagine you would have an issue with but I don't really see why because I'm just retaliating to someone else's spite. i'm not yet above not reacting to nasty people lol like I'm not perfect

I think most people see it’s clear that I’m just trying to understand and some people have been quite hostile as is the nature of twitter. Luckily most of the time those people have chilled out when I’ve explained I am genuinely asking a question and we have had a pleasant convo after. they have just reacted in the moment and by plainly restating I was just posing a question and want to hear their view they have changed their tune with me! For example the girl below ended up apologising and being sweet after I said this

I truly think people do just project and idea of who I am and what I’m like over the internet because you don’t know me, my tone or personality. I think the fact people can come at me pretty hostile and mostly then apologise and I have a good chat with them indicates I’m not “full of myself”. It is really puzzling to me why anyone would think that about me.

So yeah, I'm again doing my best to be diplomatic with you but it’s hard for me to understand where you’re coming from because I’ve spoken to so many people today and it’s genuinely impossible to guess which interaction you are referring to... I have got pissed off at people being mean to me online and bitten back today as shown here, yeah, I'm not perfect!!! But mostly I’ve had really interesting and insightful convos and I wonder why you don’t notice that? Why don't you look at the 99% of times I've had a really interesting convo with someone and see me as a whole, albeit imperfect person who mostly has nice pleasant interactions and occasionally gets ticked off at people being rude to me?

At the end of the day, I’m not going to please or be able to cater to everyone. I know what I’m about and so do most people I converse with. The people who think I have bad intentions I just don’t sweat about anymore, and honestly I don't think anyone who comes anonymously telling someone their up themselves or refers to them as "fashion girls" (whatever that means) is in a very happy or healthy place themselves. We can all do with some personal reflection, you and me both! Maybe me and you are just not each other’s people. I don’t have to agree with your perception of me and you don’t have to follow me, so we are all good 🤷🏻‍♀️

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rescuefield-a · 1 year

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TRUE ENDING, DARK ENDING, NEW BEGINNINGS - A STUDY IN CLAIRE AND LEON.

( because if there's one thing capflop can't do is treat women right. disclaimer: this might not be pleasant, please keep in my mind it's in relation to my portrayal and not THE truth )

let's skip all the obvious parts, we already know those. let's dive into claire's mind since by the time death island happens she considers leon her comrade in arms, even though perhaps with the way things go in canon she should be the one throwing the chair. only half joking here.

i'm gonna start by saying that i find ridiculous that claire would fuck off a few days after the outbreak - sure she's impulsive but not at these levels to go in with no plan and no actual idea of where to fly in the first place. so here's the thing, she's stayed with sherry and leon for a while before leaving, planned her search carefully with them watching her too. bonding more with sherry was a given, but she obviously shared enough pieces of information with leon as well since she knows his email.

i don't think claire ever fell head over heels for him as some in this fandom love to imply - she has eyes, and leon is easy on them. that's really all there is to see ( tho i do think her feelings might have changed slightly during their motel hopping situation, but that's more of me world building around the little that we know ) at the same time however, leaving and returning has been a disastrous experience for claire. she was definitely the first to reach out to him post rockfort - mostly to find out what happened to sherry.

on that note, i think that was what held them together at first. it is known that they had visit rights, probably showed up together sometimes, might have decided to join forces against simmons ( although it was useless ) when claire was trying to get sherry's custody. they both love sherry, they both went through hell, they both want to end it - their whole friendship is based on a promise they made to each other when they were a little more thank kids themselves. and that's probably why claire has ended up having a closer bond with leon post raccoon city; they share similarities in that way, and that's what gets them through things since apparently they keep in touch off screen ( would be fun to read more of their email exchanges )

it's obvious claire holds leon on a pedestal in a way - whereas chris was her go to person, leon sort of takes that place post rockfort. he gets contacted in harvardville, she asks his opinion about the drawing made by that kid in penamstan. she cares about him and his opinion, which is somewhat reciprocated through the little hints in canon, but at the same time we see a shift that changes things. if during the airport outbreak leon was speaking highly of claire and how she fought her way out of raccoon city, a couple years later in DC he tells her to "not do anything stupid" more than once, to which claire eventually even tells him "when are you going to stop treating me like a kid?" because claire knows very well she's capable and experienced, so her inner question when it comes to leon is why cant you see me as your equal?

i know some might have expected me to turn this into a ship moment, but it really all boils down to this. claire gets the damsel treatment over and over, to the point that even something that supposedly was fanservice becomes a moment where we can see her annoyance. she seems almost mad when leon asks her if she's fine after being picked up from the acid pool - and while she is okay, there's no doubt that leon and jason's antics have created problems during her convo with wilson, claire still gets up and goes to the control room to once again to the behind the scene work that will grant leon another tyrant kill and a pat on his shoulder by the government.

to put it simply, claire never gets praised, never gets credit, and yet she's the one doing half the work, she's the one staying behind during the aftermath, she's the one who made it possible for the government and bsaa to meet in the first place. claire might as well get into politics some day and i wouldn't be surprised, she's a leader who always gets pushed aside because she's unfortunately surrounded by a lot of toxic masculinity and very fragile egos.

so to circle back, i find it interesting that claire says "i do things my way and you do things yours" because it implies that until then they were always meeting in the middle, but it was really following leon's lead because he's supposed to know better than her. it could be implied that claire has compromised for the past decade, having a different approach to fighting the good fight than him ( leading me to think she had been influenced by neil's charm for a whole lot longer than revelations 2, he just wasn't the leader of terrasave yet so his role wasn't important for the plot but possibly formative to how claire operates ) so this is her stepping away from leon's shadow - it's her way to say ok, i've been following your lead until now, but just because you're the fighter and i'm the rescuer it doesn't mean we're not on the same level.

i also find very interesting that claire and leon seem to not have a "shared campaign" and that she has been given a weapon of her own in death island. it might not mean much in terms of plot meaning, but to me it means a lot because it's already a HUGE step forward ( until now movie wise she would always have a weapon that was either leon's or would be discarded after shooting one zombie which is ridiculous when there's a hoard of them ) toward claire having an identity of her own that is not tied to her brother, best friend, boyfriend of the day found dead at the end. this might be her biggest occasion to shine and perhaps to prove once again that she's on the same level as everybody else - her job doesn't define, her experience does... and of that let me tell you at this point she's got plenty.

to recap: claire did carry the torch for leon throughout the years and as long as the universe keeps destroying every attempt of her moving on, in a way she will always have a soft spot for him. but also if it's true that the distance makes the heart grow fonder, then the farther they stay when it comes to missios the more they'll remain in best terms ( he's still her best friend regardless, is a deal package along with sherry, she will totally host interventions but will never let people use her name to express their disappointment )

#ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ meta.#canon died in a ditch.. in the sense that i will interpret claire in these context the way god intends (me)#i actually have so much more to say but this is turning into a novel #all of this is true as well as what i write with savvvy obviously which is hilarious bc claire can't stand the whole #i have to protect you blah blah gig but also will always be available to hook up bc life's gotta be a little messy every now and then 😂#more notes about my canon died reference! it's obviously a joke and other muns portrayals are not wrong! i just don't agree with canon lol

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windandwater · 1 year

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new york is at it again!

delivery guy yesterday who I have NO memory of: “I haven’t seen you in a while!” me: “well I just got home so you got lucky!” idk it was just really sweet

bodega guy: how are you doing? me: okay...almost done mailing everything bg: oh for christmas? I haven’t done anything, you wanna know why? me: ...why... bg: because I’m Muslim! me: HA! I was gonna ask if you celebrate! bg: NOPE

bit later in the conversation: “this lady was saying she doesn’t know how she’s going to explain that she can’t afford to buy anything this year, I told her, just become Muslim!”

he’s right

have never had such a pleasant time running errands as this week, guy in the grocery store whole ass read my mind as to what I was looking for (clementines), convo in the new pharmacy ended with the guy ordering the meds I need next month in advance and them giving me their freaking “we’re a new business here’s a planner” gift.

another bodega guy conversation, once again griping about how expensive everything is, I was buying eggs? I didn’t say anything about the price but he mentioned they’re expensive and I had just come from the grocery store where the cheapest ones were eight dollars (!!!!). he was like yeah we used to pay 20 dollars for a case and now they’re 116 dollars a case. a hundred and sixteen dollars. for medium eggs, not even large eggs. they’re not that expensive in Jersey but they come across the bridge and the price shoots up. we just stood there shaking our heads at each other like what the fuck can you do.

a friend of mine started work at a new and extremely nice restaurant and her gift to me this year was a meal there and they kept just. bringing me out comped food and drinks. I am extremely full. but also part of the way through these two children ran right past the host (it was her first day) and straight to where we were sitting talking and tried to ask us for donations for something. ???? my friend was like excuse me where are your parents while they babbled about not wanting to get in trouble and were ushered out and I died laughing.

also they brought out my smoked fish in a wooden chest. why isn’t all food brought to the table in a wooden chest. every restaurant ever: take. notes.

got to the train and there’s just. a guy on the tracks. am I getting home tonight??? who knows!! Eric Adams likes to think an occupying army of cops will fix all this city’s problems, but they were apparently staring into the void doing nothing while an MTA employee tried to get LITERALLY ANYONE’S attention to get the dude some help! hahahaha! I hate it here!

they got the guy off the tracks and everything’s fine

on the way home my next door neighbor texted (the one who I met because they kept getting my mail, not the one who I met because she needed to break into her apartment--look this city is wild) asking if I had a covid test because they might be exposed so before I could sit down and deal with the massive amount of food I just ate I had to go ahead and run that over.

I fucking love it here.

#adventures in text posts #new york city

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ronmanmob · 1 year

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Whatever It Takes {Imagine Dragons}

Favourite Songs For Starters Meme

Flat on his back in the grass beside one of the innumerable paths crisscrossing Central Park, Ron stared up at the sky as he panted for breath and wondered, under the summer sun, just how the fuck it'd come to this. He'd never been much of a cardio man outside his once upon a time as a youth boxer; more weight and strength and power than light feet pounding pavements. And yet, as had so much about his life with his move to New York, all change. All change because of a glance at a chap running by one crisp spring morning - months back now.

There -- there was how it'd come to this, hm?

It'd never been a lets catch up with this chap and strike up a convo thing. Even if Ron had wanted to, that'd entail catching the bastard and he just didn't have even half a hope in hell at that. Man was like a gazelle, the speed he moved. No, it was more a lets see if I can do that too kinda notion; a challenge to set his Man Card (tm) to -- if he can, I can. First couple'a weeks were disgusting on him. Ron barely made it down the street en route to Central Park, let alone into the verdant wide-open itself. Week three was more promising, though he was still a recently ex-smoker who'd done this never and it showed. He saw Mr Inspiration again that week though, and redoubled his effort in stamping his Man Card I can do that too like.

Week four, he actually made it to the park. And with that the world felt like it opened up round him and welcomed him with open arms. He couldn't keep going much further than the gates and walked back home with a wobble in his step, but he'd made it and could make it again and that was a half-stamp on his Card, surely. Mr Inspiration and he crossed paths again that week. They even shared that oh hey, I've seen you round before nod that folks did when they clocked a new detail about their world. And for all Ron didn't know this fella from Adam, it was pleasant.

Week five tripped over his quarterly doctor's visit and so contained no running anywhere but to the loo, but week six picked up like five hadn't happened and week seven just built on that. Not only could Ron make it to the park now, he got a good portion of one of its more popular routes down before needing to collapse somewhere quiet to hyperventilate. It was during that pause that Mr Inspiration popped up again, trotting by this time like he could do what Ron had in his sleep -- which the look of him suggested he probably could.

The Bastard.

Though he'd not have seen him do it, Ron bared his teeth in a grin at his Not At All A Nemesis as he watched him eat the path up with every long stride. He'd get somewhere like there, he promised himself. Likely not exactly there given the other's comparative height and obvious conditioning, but there'd be a day when he could at least keep up. Weeks eight through ten where all steady improvement and sociable-without-being-social nods. And then--

Week Twelve.

On about his leisurely, Ron was hurtled past by the long legged wanker without so much as a by your leave. He could only gawk as the by now familiar figure sprinted on down the trail; could only wonder if it was his head or a bit of passing commentary by Speedy-Gone-Down-The-Path that lingered in his wake--

"On your left."

Twice more this nonsense happened over the coming week or so before Ron clocked that the dippy git was playing with him; challenging his Man Card by proverbially flashing his own.

From then, it was fucking on.

Every time Mr Inspiration did his sprint thing, Ron did his damnedest to keep up with him. He never made it, never caught him or even kept pace, but it didn't matter the size of the dog in the fight. What mattered was the size of the fight in the dog. He'd not let this challenge go unmet, so he met it. Every time.

And that--

That was how he'd really ended up on his back in Central Park in the midsummer; grass at his back; blue skies above. He'd tried to catch the git again, run himself knackered doing it an--

A presence on the path near him jolted Ron out of his reverie. He lurched upright - in paranoid defence or to wave off assistance he wasn't sure - and...stopped. Because he'd recognise that face by now, wouldn't he.

It looked like Mr Inspiration had doubled back.

"---Y'alrigh', mate?" Ron mustered, knowing nothing better to call him and being a bit too wrung out to manage many more words than two. His arm hooked round a raised knee, still puffing slightly and sweating, he must've looked a right state. But there was still fight in the dog.

#tarnishedhalo #NYC!verse #<- with The Man In The Black Hat #//fankoo for sending this in dear friend <3

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kuroosweakness · 3 years

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post-argument cuddles | kuroo, suna, atsumu

kuroo tetsuro

╰ after arguments, he’s always the one who brings up cuddling as a way to “cool our heads and get oxytocin.” it’s always a pleasant surprise to him when you agree :)

╰ it takes a while for the awkwardness to fade away, but thankfully, his attempts at small talk and corny jokes always get you two back on track

“...are you still mad at me?” you quietly asks, taking a close look at his facial expression. his gaze shifts from the ceiling to your face. immediately, his face softens.

“i already told you,” kuroo sighs, fingers lightly pushing back your hair. the rise and fall of his chest is a feeling you didn’t know you craved until know. “i’m wasn’t mad, just annoyed.”

“oh”

“...are you mad?”

“no”

“...it seems like it”

“i’m not mad”

“your words aren’t the most convincing, babe”

your heart tugs at the term of endearment at the end of his sentence. “i know you added babe to make me not mad” you frown at him.

“i thought you said you were already not mad” a small smirk stretches across his face as he continues to comb through your hair. “and so what if i did?”

unsure of what to say, you give him quick glare before settling your face back on his chest. your last argument was 20 minutes ago, yet he’s lowkey getting on your nerves again :’) “...maybe i should be mad at you”

“don’t say that,” he quietly mutters under his breath. making note of the cold room, he tugs the blanket higher up on your body. “neither of us would like that.”

“...would you still love me if i was a worm?”

“you’re asking me that now???”

suna rintaro

╰ a part of him really wants to be petty, but being petty is too much work so he usually cuddles like nothing happened

╰ very quiet. he’s a man of few words in the first place, and after arguments, he’d hate to say the wrong thing. it takes a while for the awkwardness to fade

╰ his to-go cuddling position would probably be spooning so you won’t be able to his somewhat flushed facial expression. besides, it feels nice to hold you in his arms

╰ may be a little more affectionate than usual~

“maybe we can order food,” he mumbles against your shoulder blades. before you can tell him that his breath tickles, he adds, “i’ll pay as a way to apologize”

how can you say no to food? :)

the rest of the evening if just you two munching on food. him offering you bites of his food for you “to try” even though both of you know very well that you already know the taste. lots of convos about how the food tastes, how your day went, and funny stories he has. it doesn’t take much for the argument to be forgotten!

miya atsumu

╰ big, clingy baby afterwards

╰ acts like the last time you two cuddled was 6 months ago :’)

╰ he’s just glad there’s no more tension between the two of you! he finds a sense of security and invincibility when he has you on his side <3

“i hated 10 minutes ago,” atsumu says, breaking the comfortable silence. his body feels way too hot to be pressed against, but you’re too comfy to move :’D

instead of replying, you glance curiously at him. who likes getting into serious arguments?? of course you didn’t enjoy 10 minutes earlier either. “i like now,” you tell him.

he eyes widen, face flushes, mouth forms a small ‘o.’ as your words sink in, he quickly melts into a small grin. “i do too” he faintly says as he pulls you even closer to him. “are we on kissing terms yet? or are you still annoyed at me?”

#haikyuu!!#kuroo x reader #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #lia drabbles #atsumu miya #Kuroo Tetsurou #suna rintaro #suna rintaro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu fluff #post-argument #cuddles #Kuroo Tetsuro #not my best work...but i like the concept :'))

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gentil-minou · 2 years

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So far my greatest fear is that I hope that Kuro Neko wasn't the end of the ladynoir conflict because well...for one thing it just doesn't fit with the entire season hdgdgd and for another thing I just can't see that being the case lol

However risk the strike back trailer did give me a lot of hope, ESPECIALLY since the holder like any other part was something Adrien did not seem to like and he! Expressed! That! too! (I am phrasing it VERY clumsily sorry!)

And with the whole team being broken (poor kids someone save them:(( ) and THAT scene in the trailer, I do think that there will be an us against the world moment (like there always has been in every finale😌) but I do think it will be Chat hyping up LB as usual this time. But it also seems different because this time doesn't just seem like he is hyping HER up, but also HE HIMSELF looks confident, ready to take on anything (cliffhanger??👀)

Also sorry I am just incoherent to some extent at this point but I wonder if there is something about most of their heart to heart convos in finales happening in the sewers UNDERGROUND while here it is seems to be from a high building (not really sure about that but I am clowning) out in the open without an umbrella in the rain djgsusgsusgshaaaa

Coming back to Kuro neko I do think that Ladybug thinking Chat's problem is about her loving him romantically was very much intentional to play into the miscommunication and not necessarily the narrative telling us so.

Anyway, thank you if you patiently read through all of my jumping from one topic to another djhxhxh

P.S. I know a lot of...not so pleasant discourse has been going on lately and just wanted to tell you that you and your metas are amazing whether people agree with them or not<3

Thanks for sharing your thoughts! I do think there's more to the story we're missing. A lot of people hold the ambassadors more accountable to things than what they actually are knowledgeable of (not to mention language barriers sdfjdks) but I do think there's more, and I agree I have to think that the ladynoir scene in the beginning of Risk is setting up something.

I'm hesitant about interpreting much from the trailer, which is why I'm impressed with how much you were able to theorize! I was stuck on the reason why Marinette was crying at the end, and I've started to wonder is if when she was using the bunny she discovered or learned something she wasn't supposed to...but that leads to soooo much speculation and I literally have so many theories at this point I cannot even be coherent with them beyond "AHHHHHHDFJDSKFDS"

And yeah, like always communication and secrets are the enemies all along, and they still continue to be I think

#all we can do is wait and seeeee #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml s4 #ml kuro neko #ml risk #ml strike back #asked and answered #ml theory

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littlewomenpodcast · 3 years

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Did Jo really regret not marrying Laurie or was it just because she felt alone?

Jo never regretted not marrying Laurie. She always loved Fritz (and Laurie loved Amy)

When Laurie in the book proposed to Jo he was badmouthing Friedrich, this is what she said:

"Don´t swear Teddy! He isn´t old, nor anything bad, but good and kind, and the best friend I´ve got next to you. Pray don´t fly into a passion; I want to be kind, but I know I shall get angry if you abuse my professor. I haven´t the least idea of loving him or anybody else".

Laurie keeps pushing and then Jo says (in this same chapter) that, there is a certain type of love she is looking for that can change her mind.

"YES, I WILL LIVE AND DIE FOR HIM! If he ever comes and makes me love him in spite of myself and you must do the best you can" cried Jo, losing patience with poor Teddy. "I´ve done my best but you won´t be reasonable, and it´s selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can´t give".

In the chapter "All Alone" after Beth´s passing Jo finds out about Amy´s and Laurie´s engagement (this happens about a year after the proposal, Jo and Friedrich have been writing letters to one another).

This is convo between Jo and Marmee:

"I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if he came back and asked again, you might, perhaps feel like giving another answer. Forgive me dear I can´t help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart, so I fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now".

"No mother, it is better as it is and I´m glad Amy has learned to love him. But you are right in one thing. I am lonely, and perhaps if Teddy had tried again I might have said yes. Not because I love him but because I care more to be loved.

"Mothers are the best lovers in the world but I don´t mind whispering to Marmee, that I´d like to try all kinds. It´s very curious, but the more I try to satisfy myself with all sort of natural affections the more I seem to want it. I´d no idea hearts could take in so many - mine is so elastic, i never seems full now, and I used to be quite contented with my family. I don´t understand it"

"i do" and Mrs March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back to read what Amy said of Laurie"

"It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me; he isn´t sentimental ,doesn´t say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and humble that I don´t seem to be the same girl I was".

"And that is our cool reserved and wordly Amy. Truly love works miracles. How very happy they must be! and Jo laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, and one might shut the covers of a lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the work-a-day world again.

By and by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy and she could not walk. A restless spirit possesed her, and the old feelings came agai, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowful patient wonder why one sister should have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true she knew that, and tried to put it away, but the natural craving for affection was strong and Amy´s happiness woke the hungry longing for some one to love with "heart and soul and cling to, while God let them be together".

Then In the garret

"She drew them out, turned them over and relived that pleasant winter at kind Mrs Kirke´s. She had smiled at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message written in the Professor´s hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out her lap, and she sat looking at the friendly words, as if they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart.

"Wait for me my friend, I may be a little late, but I surely come".

"Oh if he only would".

When Fritz does come, he spends two weeks visiting the Marches and during that time they became certain of their mutual feelings.

When Louisa wrote Little Women, she had met Laddie Wisniewski, the real-life Laurie a year before. We knew that she liked his company, but something did happen between Louisa, Laddie and her employee Anna Weld (it seems that Laddie had proposed Louisa´s boss). Louisa did consider marriage with Laddie, but it seem that he was too flicky and too immature for her (Louisa was 10 years older). Louisa also writes in an article which was published the same year the following:

“If love comes as it should come, accept it in God’s name and be worthy of His best blessing. If it never comes, then in God’s name reject the shadow of it, for that can never satisfy a hungry heart”

Louisa says that only love that is worth it is based on true feelings and that love that is based to patch loneliness is self-deceiving and not real.

When returning home, she must have felt very lonely (and maybe deceived). Henry had passed away 5 years earlier. He was Louisa´s first love, the same way as Friedrich is Jo´s.

Louisa believed in the incarnation and that in her next life, she would get the things she want. Starting a school, marry the man she loved, have kids and writing. She could have it all. Just like Jo in Little Women.

When Louisa´s sister May married and wrote to her, Louisa wrote into her diaries, how she envies her happiness. Jo doesn´t envy Amy for marrying Laurie, Louisa didn´t envy May marrying Ernest.

She envied their love and happiness.

@thatvermilionflycatcher and @joandfriedrich recently wrote great posts about Jo being the sister who is not expected to get married by society´s standards.

https://joandfriedrich.tumblr.com/post/660884114659016704/i-just-had-a-thought-about-jo-and-marriage-a-part

https://thatvermilionflycatcher.tumblr.com/post/659737154277228544/you-were-made-for-labor-not-for-love

Thanks for the question and sorry that it took a while for me to get back to you.

#little women #jo march #friedrich bhaer #laurie lawrence #amy march #louisa may alcott #ladislas wisniewski #jo x friedrich #amy x laurie #ask little women channel a question #jo x laurie #anti jo x laurie

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whoacanada · 3 years

Text

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game — he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively — defensively — as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily — burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

#Part I #maybe?#zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

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nctsworld · 4 years

Text

let me know

✩ mark x reader (ft. johnny) | pining | fluff | 1.5k

→ summary: on the living room couch, mark thinks you’re asleep with your head on his lap and has a conversation with johnny. as you secretly listen, mark reveals he has been meaning to tell you something for a while now. → warnings: dash of angst, reader jumps to conclusions → prompt: Person B falls asleep in Person A's lap and Person A has a conversation with someone else while stroking Person B's hair as if they were a sleeping cat.

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

It’s a chill day. Just you, Mark, and Johnny hanging around the apartment, playing games, watching Netflix on the couch, and the like. During a rewatch marathon of one of your favourite tv shows, you start to feel your eyes and head get heavy.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

Right now, it’s only you and him on the couch with both of you on either end. He glances over and notices how you’re beginning to doze off.

“Can I rest on you?” you ask, despite how you are already making your way over to his side. Your best friend nods and holds an arm out, open and ready for you to fill in the space near him. His arm wraps around your body as you lay your head on his shoulder. Mark’s natural, sweet aroma fills your nose and reacts with your other senses, making you melt into his body more. However, the position isn’t the best for how sleepy you are.

You break away for a second, and, to Mark’s surprise, you relax your head upon his lap.

“Are you comfortable like this?” Your question is soft, barely a whisper. He hasn’t answered yet, but you’re already closing your eyes and begin to draw invisible shapes on his thigh.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, watching the events unfolding with wide eyes. “Is this comfortable for you?”

Although you don’t manage to answer him, he knows the answer after a few moments as he feels your body become languid under his touch. A smile emerges across his face and he carefully places his hand on your head, rubbing his thumb gently and sending heartwarming vibes in hopes that you would sleep with pleasant dreams.

And your sleep really is peaceful and sweet, perhaps due to Mark’s small touches and caresses throughout it all. The sleeping beauty awakens some time later, but you don’t move in Mark’s lap, continuing to rest with your eyes closed.

From what you hear, the show isn’t playing anymore and is replaced by what you assume is one of Mark’s playlists playing faintly in the background. Your eyelids flicker, not wanting to open them fully, and see Mark scrolling on his phone.

Suddenly, Johnny’s footsteps are present, causing you to immediately shut your eyes and continue your act. There’s a clinking of a glass on the table nearby. Mark says a quick thank you, followed by a small thud in the armchair adjacent to the couch.

Johnny speaks up in a lower tone than usual, likely for your benefit, “You know, you could’ve gotten up and get the drink yourself.”

“You know I don’t want to disturb her.”

You imagine Johnny rolling his eyes. Sips could be heard in the room above you and from the armchair, before the older of the two men chimes in again.

“So,” his voice is gentle, more careful this time. “When are you going to tell her?”

It takes so much from you to not react to the conversation. Nevertheless, you contain yourself, but with perked ears. What were they referring to? What could Mark possibly have to tell you? Both of you were thick as thieves and secrets weren’t an issue in your friendship.��

No words are exchanged for some time. Other than the music, the only thing you’re aware of is Mark petting your head and casually running a few fingers through your hair.

“Soon,” you feel his body rock a little, and assume he’s nodding in response. “I’ve been figuring out the right time to say something.”

“Dude, you just gotta go for it.”

“I know. I just—what if it…”

Another pause lingers in the air. Mark inhales sharply; his breathing becomes a little shaky. Beyond the mystery of what Mark wants to tell you, you also wonder why Mark’s hesitating so much. He’s not normally this unsure of himself, or anything really.

“What if it ruins things for us?” he asks softly, with tinges of anxiety hanging from his words.

Mark can’t detect it, but your chest tightens in both sympathy over his concern for your relationship and fear of what Mark has to declare to you. The possibilities of what he has to confess run through your mind in a flash. You’re almost certain about what Mark is referring to, and it kills you to think he hasn’t told you since both of you are so close.

Johnny counters Mark nonchalantly, “You won’t know until you do it. I’m surprised she hasn’t caught on yet.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Risking a chance, you peek at the lanky man in the armchair, who is raising an eyebrow in doubt. Mark sighs and his body rocks slightly once again.

Your eyes are closed again and you exhale a small huff, processing what just occurred. You don’t know how to feel with this new information. Every touch from Mark ignites you in joy and bliss, like all the times he’s done so previously.

Regardless, if your assumption is real and true, why is he so casual and open with you physically? All the touches, the hugs, the forehead touches...

Your thoughts are spiraling the more you think, so you try your best to ignore them and indulge in the moment longer by attempting to sleep more.

Undoubtedly, the sleep doesn’t last as long as before. Feeling distant and unsure of everything, you pull away from Mark hastily when you wake before he can say anything to you and you abruptly announce that you should get going.

“You don’t want to stay for dinner?” Mark’s behind you when he inquires, yet you can see the confusion on his face from the inflection of his voice. You shake your head fervently and mumble barren excuses.

He’s standing, silently watching you put your shoes on, until he decides to add, “Wait, actually, before you go, I need to tell you something—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, still not wanting to face him. “I know, I know. I heard you and Johnny talking.” Mark tenses and watches you continue to put on your other shoe in shock.

“You have a girlfriend,” you state on his behalf prior to standing up to finally match his gaze.

“I get it and I’m fine with it.” The lies roll off your tongue and don’t sit well with you, but you truly don’t want to ruin what you and Mark have. “It won’t ruin—”

“Whoa, hold up,” now Mark’s the one who interjects, holding his hands out to stop you. His eyebrows furrow at your statement. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You do the same, except with an addition of a tilt of your head. “Are you sure?”

Mark chuckles, causing your guard to let down a little. “I think I’d know if I have a girlfriend or not.”

Trying to study him, you’re looking for any signs of lying or joking on his face. Mark often joshes around with you, but he can only hold his wall of lies for so long.

However, like he always did when you pressured him for dishonesty and Mark was expressing the truth, he pushed back with a flash of his genuine, saccharine smile.

You cross your arms, then lean against the hallway wall. “Then, what is it?”

In an instant, Mark’s composure is severed into broken pieces. He laughs awkwardly, prior to rubbing a hand against the back of his head and he ruffles his hair in the process.

“Uh…” his filler drones on endlessly and you keep your gaze steady on him, waiting for him to say what he’s been meaning to inform you.

“I, uh, like you. I guess.”

That is not what you’re expecting.

But it’s definitely better than hearing Mark has a girlfriend.

“You guess?” you echo him with a small smile on your face.

He clears his throat, deepens his voice, and holds his tone steady as he says it once more and deliberately makes an effort to stare back at you.

“I like you.”

The hallway lighting isn’t the best, yet how did his eyes seem to sparkle under it?

You groan and place your face into the palm of your hands.

“Are… Are you okay?” Mark comes a little closer to you and reaches out to comfort you.

“I legit thought you were talking about having a girlfriend during that entire convo,” your voice is muffled as you embarrassingly say within your palms. You drag your hands down your face.

Mark’s shaking his head and takes hold of the tips of your fingers in his after you drop your hands.

“Why would I want anyone other than you?”

You dart your face up to glance up at him.

“Really?”

He nods earnestly.

“Really.”

Both of you at this moment are staring, smiling, and giggling all at once. You bite your lip when you begin to take off your shoes.

“I guess I could stay for dinner.”

“You guess?” Mark mocks your tone from moments ago. Playfully, you punch him in the arm with tingling cheeks.

And with that response, Mark didn’t need to ask if you felt the same way about him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee fluff #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #mark lee #nct #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 #mywritings #myfanfics

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gnocchighoul · 4 years

Text

peach bubbles & cherry wine

Summary:

“Just once more, my love.” Lucifer says. You can feel the words as they move through his chest and past his lips—like the soft rumbles of a cat purring.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs.”

A/N: inspired by a convo about Lucifer’s bathroom with @thedemonstherapist , and a drunk anon :D (definitely go check out her blog, she wrote something for this concept as well and it’s *chefs kiss*)

AO3 Portal

“Don’t move.”

“If I don’t I’ll drown!”

“Just—fuck, here.” Lucifer hooks his hands under your arms and lifts you up, just slightly out of the water. He straightens out his legs, still holding you up with the ease of a bodybuilder lifting an orange, and yeah, you’re a little bit jealous at how strong he is.

Warm water closes around your hips as he gently lowers you back into his lap, and you can’t help but think about all of the things you could accomplish if you had that supernatural strength. For instance: you could probably lift a car, all by yourself. Or a really heavy bookcase. A sturdy one, made from really expensive wood. Pink ivorywood. Dalbergia. Or—

Oh, what is wrong with you? Who even cares about all of the theoretical things you could do with unimaginable strength when you are literally butt ass naked in a tub with Lucifer! And you accomplished this all on your own, with only the vastly underrated power of puppy eyes.

Also, wine. So much wine.

You swirl what’s left in your glass—the red liquid twisting in a dark vortex. It swallows up the dim light of the bathroom—looks more black than red. You know that color intimately. It’s nearly the same shade as Lucifer’s eyes—gleaming bright in the dark room as he dripped cherry wine into the hollow of your belly button—lapped at the red juice with his fleshy tongue and got you all sticky.

Which is how you ended up here, lounging together in warm, bubbly water. Not that you’re complaining.

Honestly, if you had known how nice Lucifer's personal bathroom is, you would have set out on your quest to date bone him so much sooner.

It’s a lot like his room—far too much black. All doom and gloom and gold metal. Black floors. Black walls, carved of marble with gold veining, and a few floor to ceiling mirrors. The ceiling is a dizzying mural, saturated with (you guessed it) more black, but white and gray too. Sometimes, if you stare long enough—you think you can see shapes dancing in the fog of it.

(Though that may just be a hallucination conjured up by your alcohol addled brain.)

The best thing about Lucifer’s bathroom though, by a landslide, is the massive tub situated right in the center of the room. Carved entirely of smoky quartz and the size of a small pool, you could quite literally spend hours lazing around in bubble bath bliss. Which you do, quite often. It’s borderline an obsession at this point.

(The first time you commandeered the bathtub, you had read an entire book in one sitting—as you were finishing up the last chapter, Lucifer had burst into the room all feathery and freaked out and totally convinced that you had managed to somehow drown yourself. A fair assumption—in his defense, you had been awfully quiet.)

With a tub like this, you would never use the shower again. And yet, for some horrible and awful reason, Lucifer insists that the shower is better. (Which is actually quite nice as well, but that’s neither here nor there.) When you had interrogated him about it, he just casually confessed that he hardly ever used the beautiful tub. Said something about 'showers are just more practical’. Pah. What does he know? Nothing, apparently.

But now? Well, it isn’t a challenge to coax him in with you.

Lucifer tips his head back against the cool ledge of the tub, eyes sliding shut. “Who’s idea was this anyways?”

You down the rest of your wine, scrunching your face like an accordion when the bitter flavor bursts on your tongue. “Yours.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Well it’s not left."

Lucifer groans loudly, acting like your totally great joke caused him real physical pain, and you tch at him.

You lean into him—rest the back of your head on his shoulder and set your empty wineglass aside on the broad, flat rim of the tub. His right arm snakes around your waist, tugging you up tight against his chest, fingertips tracing shapes into the side of your ribs and sending shivers racing across your skin.

You eye the mountain of white bubbles in front of you—lift a poofy handful out of the water. The smell of peaches brightens the room—all sun kissed and sweet.

You wonder if Lucifer is drunk enough to let you give him a bubble beard.

"Hey, babe—"

"Don't even think about it."

"Wh—you don’t even know what I was going to say!"

Lucifer nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Keep the bubbles away from my face."

"...You’re such a killjoy sometimes."

“Am I?” He threads his fingers through your hair—pulls slowly to tilt your head to the side and ghosts his lips over your neck, pausing to nip at your pulse point. Slides one hand over your breast, rolling your hard nipple between his soft fingers.

You feel it again, then—the pleasant ache still between your thighs, softened by the water's warmth settling into your body.

Lucifer bites down on your neck with sharp incisors, pulling a soft mewl from you.

You squirm. “Again?”

You’re not actually surprised. Saturdays are devoted just to the two of you—marathon fucking and unwinding from the weekly chaos. It’s a necessary tradition, especially after a week like this previous one. You had barely seen your beloved, thanks to his boyfriend keeping him busy .

(Lu has made it very clear that Diavolo isn’t his side piece, but like. Would it really be that bad if he was? You could invite him over for your Saturday Fuckfest, which is a very appealing thought. Who wouldn’t want a piece of that princely cake?)

“Just once more, my love.” Lucifer says. You can feel the words as they move through his chest and past his lips—like the soft rumbles of a cat purring. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs.”

Fuck. He sure as hell doesn’t need to tell you twice.

His fingertips skate down your stomach, deftly moving lower to brush teasingly over your clit and your head lolls back with a strangled little mewl. You turn to the side—he captures your lips with his own, swallows down your little cries. Tastes like cherry wine and dark chocolate.

It’s too much, and not nearly enough. The damp slick of his chest against your bare back, his hand cupping your breast. He toys with you slowly, teasingly, pressing only the lightest of touches to your clit, and you want—need—more. You rock your hips back, right up against his aching cock and he hisses—pinches your nipple and slips his fingers inside of you in tandem, stretching you wide and exploring as you desperately grind against his hand.

He spent all day teasing you—pushing you to the brink and then taking his sweet time unraveling you. Playing you like a finely tuned instrument until tears pricked at your eyes and you dissolved into a begging, whimpering puddle. That fire still burns in your belly—kindled back to life, red hot and unforgiving as he presses his fingers deeper inside of you.

When it comes to fucking, Lucifer is far more patient than you are—something he’s proven a thousand times over. He enjoys it—breaking you. Ruining you. Pushing you to the brink and leaving you there, time and time again.

But right now—you want more than just his skillful fingers.

You squirm out of Lucifer’s grip, confusing him for all of two seconds, until you turn around and straddle his strong thighs. Bubbles stick to your arms and tummy like little clouds.

“I want you inside me.” you pout.

“Was I just not?” he says, cheekily, and you glare.

He suddenly bucks his hips up once into your own, threatening your already questionable balance—nearly sends you careening face first into his shoulder. Sudsy water sloshes over the dark rim of the tub as you steady yourself by placing both hands on his chest. You glare at his smug fucking face.

His eyes, vibrant and jarring, meet yours—sparkling with delight. Crimson shot through with so much black that you’re not sure where the pupil ends anymore.

You grab his chin with your slick hand—dig your fingers into his jaw and pull him into a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and heat. Relish the taste of his mouth and the slide of his lips, wordlessly begging for what you want.

He grins against your mouth. “Such a needy little thing.”

You don’t entertain him with a reply—just grind your hips down on his cock, catching your throbbing clit, leaving you keening.

He sucks the plush of your bottom lip into his mouth and bites as you sink down on the heavy weight of cock, inch by agonizing inch until he’s buried to the hilt. He murmurs praise against your lips as he fills your pussy to the brim—sends white hot sparks shooting up your spine. You burn.

Experimentally, you roll your hips. Lucifer meets you halfway—always does. Grinds his hips languidly into yours, easing the painful stretch of his cock between your walls into a pleasant fullness. There’s no urgency—he’s already ravaged your sweet, tight cunt.

Lucifer feasts on your mewls—swallows them whole as he thrusts his hips up, sloshing more water over the tub rim. His hands dig into your hip as he grinds up into you with sharp, short jabs—buries his face into the crook of your neck and bites down hard. Draws blood to the surface and lingers there. Leaves behind berry-red marks.

Your nipples rub against his chest and you grip his shoulders—dig your nails into the taut, firm lines of muscle. Your thighs tremble as you bounce on his cock, rocking down faster—needy.

Heat spirals and coils in your belly, winding tighter and tighter until your blood is singing with it, leaving you breathless and dizzy and alight. He snakes a hand down between your legs—fingers finding your clit and your hips spasm, squeezing him so tight that it pulls a hiss from him.

Your climax hits you hard—steals your breath away and makes your vision all fuzzy and dark. Your walls clench and Lucifer pulls your hips down, again and again and again, spurred on by your gasping and whimpering. Dragging your tight, warm pussy on his pulsating cock as he floods your womb with his seed.

As his cock softens inside of you, he releases that bruising grip on your hips—tugs you into a close embrace with absolutely no possibility of escape, squishing your slippery breasts against his chest. Heart drumming a furious beat beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around his neck and melt into his arms.

For a few beats, it’s silent. You can tell that he wants to say something—he’s practically buzzing with words unspoken.

You lean back to see his face properly and tap the pad of your pointer finger against his chest. “Out with it, handsome.”

“You know that I love you.” A statement, followed up by a softer, “Right?”

A smile tugs at your lips. As if that’s even a question.

“Well I'd certainly hope so, because you're stuck with me. Forever.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth slide upwards into that dazzling grin you love so damn much. Then he shifts his hips, reminding you that he's still very much inside of you, and nudges his cock over that little patch inside of you that makes you see sparks but is also far too sensitive right now. Your breath leaves you in one great big whoosh and you bite down hard on your swollen lip.

"You're so mean."

Lucifer hums in agreement, looking far too thrilled by your reaction. Presses a kiss to your jaw and murmurs, "Say it back."

"What?"

He leans back. Searches out your gaze and meets it with his own. "Say that you love me."

Oh.

You would think he'd be reassured by the fact that his dick is literally still inside you, but… you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to use your words, too.

You hold his hand—link your pinky finger with his own and say, "I love you."

It’s a promise.

You relax back into his arms, content to just sit quietly amidst the peach-scented bubbles and confessions.

…For about ten seconds.

“So… About that bubble beard…”

Lucifer scoffs. Presses a kiss to your temple and smiles there.

He really does love you.

#woohoo this is my first smut fic *insert kermit dancing gif*#om! smut #obey me smut #obey me lemon #gnocchiwrites #obey me drabble #obey me #om! lucifer #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me fanfic

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