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#oh buddy it’s only monday but it’s tech week ;-;
locitapurplepink · 2 years
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Here's my very first star wars fanfiction in tumblr !!! I hope you guys will love this.
I was inspired by @photogirl894 's headcanon/thought about the bad batch being High Schoolers. You guys should check it out.
Happy reading 😊😁
Chapter 1
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Echo was asked by a teacher to write his anwser on the board while the others paying attenttion at that math question "Here's my answer, Mrs. Yarrow." "You did it great job, Echo. Thank you."
At the same time, the school bell rang "Alright students, that's all for today. Don't forget to finish your homework when I see you all again."
As the students was out from the school building, Echo mentioned Tech staring at the teenage girl who has a long brown hair with a yellow headband and wearing a yellow glasses.
He shook his head as tapping Tech's shoulder "Hey, why don't you talk with her ? Just taking her a walk."
Tech stared at him "I'm afraid to not having time to finish my homework and study."
"Man, it's Friday. You should take it easy. The math won't be appear until Tuesday or....you could take her to study together." Echo sighed.
Tech was shocked "Like study buddies ? Echo, you're my only study buddy that I'm comfortable with..."
"Well, it's about time to have more." Echo suggested.
Tech stared at that girl then took breath "Very well. Wish me luck." He walked to her as Echo nodded.
Tech spoke "Hello Lydia." She immediately stared at him "Oh, hi. I'm sorry I can't remember your name." "I understand. You just be here last week. I am Tech." "Oh yes, Tech, right."
"Do you have any plan for tomorrow ?" He asked.
She shook her head "No, my mother is busy with her work this week."
"Would you like to do study together and doing our homework tomorrow ?" He asked her.
"Oh, really ? I mean, nobody's wanna study with me." She told him. "Well, I want to. In fact, I have my study buddy over there." He pointed at Echo which Echo was shocked as trying to be cool as waving at them.
She chuckled "I would like to. How about at my house ? I have to take care of my little brother."
"No problem. You may have double helpers." Tech replied.
She passed a piece of paper to him "Here's my address and my phone."
"Excellent."
Then Lydia's phone was rang "I have to go. See you tomorrow." She rushed to go. "Be safe, Lydia."
After she left, Echo gave Tech a punch "Why are you taking me in ? I don't wanna be your third wheel." "I need an emotion support by my side and I am counting on you." Echo rolled his eyes as they walked out from the school.
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Hunter was doing his math homework at near the soccerball field but at the time, he was bothered by a toothstick that Crosshair threw.
He sighed then talked with him "Crosshair, would you stop that ? Don't you have a homework to finish it ?"
Crosshair chuckled "Ha, I already done before you. Why we have to go to school anyways ? I'm too smart for this level." He threw another toothpaste to Jesse who played soccerball with the others.
Jesse was annoyed and faced to him "Hey, mind your bussiness, punk !" But Hunter stopped him "Easy, man. I suggest you continue enjoy your fun." Jesse grunted "Fine by me."
He left them alone as Hunter rolling his eyes to Crosshair "You better respect the others here." "Nah, who cares ? Talking with you just giving me a headache." Crosshair immediately left him alone.
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Hunter just put his backpack in his locker as he was called by Wrecker "Hunter, can you help me with number 9 please ? I don't know how to start it and I have no idea if I could finish it time !" He asked panicked.
"Wrecker, Math is on Tuesday which is tomorrow, today is Monday and we're heading to English now." Hunter said.
Wrecker was shocked "Really ?!"
He checked his schudule inside his locker and figured out that Hunter was right "Oh man, I should have rechecked again." "Anyways, I just did what I could on that number, that one is pretty hard. We should ask Tech." "Couldn't agree more."
Then they noticed Echo heading to the class "Hey Echo !" Wrecker called him and Echo came to them "You came here by yourself ? Where's Tech ?" Hunter questioned.
Echo sighed "He's taking Lydia here today." "Lydia ? That girl who moved here two weeks ago ?" Hunter asked and Echo nodded as they watching Tech and Lydia put their backpacks in their lockers.
"Thanks for helping me, Tech. I hope I could pass math test next week." Lydia spoke to him. "Anytime, Lydia. I'm good of everything." She chuckled "And I'm counting the right guy." Then she entered the class.
After that, he came to the boys "Uhh..someone has a girlfriend now." Wrecker teased.
Tech stopped him "She's not my girlfriend yet. She just need a study buddy. That's all."
Echo added it "Yeah, Lydia, Tech, and I did a study group at her house two days ago and she was getting used with Tech."
"Aww, that's cute. Now, can you help me with my math homework please ? I have no idea how to do with number 9." Wrecker asked Tech for help. Hunter replied "Me either."
"Very well, how about we do study group together after school ? I had a promise with Lydia to study at the library." Tech said.
Wrecker teased him again "Aww, your girlfriend will be there." Tech rolled his eyes as he, Echo, and Hunter left.
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Here's the chapter 1. What do you guys think about it ? 😊😁
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theswampghost · 3 years
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oh fuck tech week
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Day 6: Carpet- Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia
Day 6: Carpet - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 
Prequel now available: The Test Results 
November Writing Challenge 
Day 5: Holy - Llewyn Davis 
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Monday 
“So I’ve been thinking querida, how do you feel about putting carpet on the floor of the nursery? I just don’t want the baby to fall and get hurt because of the hardwood.” 
You blinked staring at your husband, “Santi, baby are you serious? You want to put down carpet in the nursery so if they fall it might not hurt as bad? Baby the whole house is hardwood…” 
“Yeah I know, but they will probably be spending a lot of time in there and I was just thinking it might be a good idea. I already talked to the guys about it and they said they would help.” Santi grins at you. 
“Wait...you are going to have your buddies from Delta Force come to our house and put down carpet in the nursery? You don’t even want to hire someone to install it? Baby that’s insane!” you shout at him before pushing yourself out of the kitchen chair to walk to the kitchen. 
The second you stand, Santiago rushes out of his own seat to hold you. “Querida you need to take it easy you-” 
“I swear to god Garcia, women have been having babies for centuries. I am not going to get injured walking from the table to the kitchen. Santi you need to calm down, you have turned the whole damn house into a baby proof fortress, nothing is going to happen to me or our daughter, ok?” you press your hands against his chest before waddling the rest of the way to the kitchen. 
Santiago takes a deep breath before following you into the kitchen, “Ok, how about we make a compromise? I will lay off on being an overprotective papa bear and you will let me and the guys put carpet in the nursery.” 
You laugh out loud, visualizing your husband as a bear defending the house before you turn to face him again, “Ok...deal you and the guys can put carpet in the nursery.” 
Santi puts his fist in the air and grabs you into his arms, kissing you passionately. Your daughter begins kicking wildly, and Santi laughs before leaning down and rubbing your swollen belly, “you hear that mija, your papa is going to make your room safe for you,” he whispers before placing a kiss on your belly. He stands back up before kissing you again briefly, “I’m gonna go call Frankie and the guys, this weekend baby the nursery will have carpet!” 
You shake your head watching him go off. Good lord what did you just agree too. 
Thursday 
You're sitting on the couch, elevating your feet, watching TV when your phone beeps signifying a text message. Santi and Frankie had gone to the store to pick out the carpet and order the supplies for Saturday. You open the phone and snort when you see a picture of a very annoyed Frankie Morales holding up two basically identical colors of cream carpet. 
Which one do you like better? - Hubby 
You are tempted to reply and let him know they look exactly alike but you know better. 
The one on the left. - Wifey 
Hmmm…. But that one isn’t as soft. - Hubby 
You roll your eyes, how the hell would you know that. You type back a reply. 
The one on the right then. - Wifey 
Hmmmm...but it’s quite a bit darker than the other one. -Hubby 
The look on Frankie’s face is beginning to make sense. 
Pick which one you like then Santi. -Wifey 
…. Ok let’s go with the one on the left….no right….ugh fuck I don’t know this is hard querida, and Frankie just keeps telling me to pick. - Hubby 
You send a quick text off to Frankie.
Tell him to pick the one on the left. - Besties Wifey 
Querida, Frankie’s telling me to get the one on the left and you know he has no sense of style so I am going to pick the one on the right. Is that ok with you?- Hubby 
You shake your head laughing at your husband. 
Sounds great! :) - Wifey 
Saturday 
“Okay get together, I need all of you in the picture!” Benny’s girlfriend Mya is shouting at the guys. They’re all smiling wearing knee pads, jeans, and an assortment of colored flannel. 
You giggle to yourself watching them pose in their work gear. “Santi, baby do you really think this is the best idea, your knees…” you trail off watching the smile slip from his face. 
“Querida...I need to be able to protect our little girl, my knees will be fine. Plus with the four of us it should only take a few hours,” he kisses your head before slapping his hands together guiding the guys to the bedroom. 
It did not take them only a couple hours, four hours in and you and the other wives/girlfriends were lounging by the pool outside. Drinking lemonade and gossiping, when Mya came back out laughing outright holding a white box in her hand. 
“This is the greatest thing I have ever listened to!” she shouts holding the white box out to you. 
“Oh my god, is that….is that a baby monitor?” Madison, Will’s wife gathers closer to your side and you flip the switch on. 
“Why do you already have a baby monitor?” Ella, Frankie’s wife asks. 
“Santi wanted to be prepared for the baby, so he set it up weeks ago,” you tell them, twisting the knobs to turn up the sound. 
From the device comes the voice of your husband panting, “fuck...why is this so goddamn difficult?! This should be easy, I told her this was going to be easy.” 
“Pope, man maybe it’s time to call in a professional. I mean we’ve been working for four hours and have barely made any progress,” Will tells him. 
“Fuck no man, I told my wife we could do this and we are going to do it!” Santi shouts back. 
“Hermano, I’m not trying to sound defeatist but we literally have no idea what we're doing,” Frankie tries to comfort his best friend, “I mean we could shoot our way into the most dangerous places in the world but I know absolutely nothing about carpet.” 
“We are not giving up! Santi needs us!!...plus I bet Mya $100 we could get it done and you know how much shit she’s gonna give me if I lose,” Benny whines. 
Mya snorts into her lemonade, making the rest of you burst out laughing. “Maybe we should just take pity on them, and call in a professional,” you ask looking at the other women. 
“I can’t believe Will agreed to this, he is hopeless with anything related to fixing or maintenance. We have to call in a professional for everything!” Madison laughs. 
You all listen for a few more minutes, laughing as the guys argue before the painful grunt of your husband makes you get up. “That’s it I am ending this shit show,” you waddle into the house and go to the nursery ushering everyone out except Santi who sits on the floor on his butt looking up at you with an adorable pout. 
You walk over to him and look down at him, you bend your knees and half fall/half sit down on the ground next to him. Santi immediately looks alarmed before you raise your hand silencing him. “Baby, I know you really wanted to do this yourself but I think it’s time we call it quits and call in a professional.” 
Santi sighs loudly, “Querida, I wanted to be able to do this for you and the baby. I need her to be safe, and I really wanted to do it myself.” 
“Santiago Garcia, you look at me right now. We are safe with you, we don’t need high tech security cameras, carpeted floors, locks on every cabinet. You didn’t fail baby, sometimes it’s ok to need help.” 
“I love you querida,” he pulls you into his side placing a kiss on your cheek and rubbing your belly, “I love both of you.” 
“We love you too, now help me off this floor my butt is beginning to go numb,” you reach out to your husband who gives you a blank look. 
“I can’t get up right now querida, my knees...I think I need some ice and my pain killers.” 
You blink several times, “....you mean we are stuck here?” 
You both burst out laughing until you’ve got tears in your eyes. You gulp for air before looking at your husband again, “Don’t worry I got this,” he looks at you slightly confused before you take a deep breath shouting, “BENNY!! WILL!! FRANKIE!! HELP ME!!!” 
It sounds like bulls charging through your house when the door suddenly flies open. The look on their faces will be burned in your memory forever, panic and determination. You start laughing all over again, and when Frankie steps forward and asks what’s wrong you almost can’t get the words out, “We- we’re stu-stuck! We- we can’t ge-get up!” 
You and Santiago begin cracking up again like a couple of lunatics before the others join in, eventually helping you and Santi off the floor. Frankie holds your arm and takes you back to the living room, Benny and Will each holding a side of Santi easing him down onto the couch. 
“I took the liberty of calling a company to come out tomorrow to install the carpet,” Mya tells you, handing you your phone you had left outside. 
You thank her before plopping down on the couch next to Santi, your head resting on his shoulder. 
“Baby, you're the best,” Benny tells Mya. 
“Oh ho ho no Benny Miller, you owe me 100 bucks, and I owe you a massive I told you so!” Mya points at him.
The room bursts into laughter again. What a great way to spend a Saturday.
Day 7: Sculpted Javier Pena 
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svtskneecaps · 3 years
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crew and cast
(gender neutral) reader x jihoon
genre: fluff + some?? angst? listen i tried lmao; words: 2.8k
well howdy @toxicsocial​ tis i, your tct secret santa. so uh, i can’t actually make people cry in a timely manner and i didn’t figure most people would be down to read like 9k of buildup, so!! the angst is minimal!!! but i tried really hard and i hope you like it i love you so much also i forgot to title it again until right now so don’t look at it too hard
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You loved your high school’s theatre crew. From freshman year they’d been a staple in your life. It was refreshingly stable to be able to walk into the tech room anytime and reliably know what would be going on. Except, there was one thing about theatre you couldn’t stand: Lee Jihoon. You’d avoided him since freshman year, but unfortunately for you, you’d taken over the position of Run Crew Head and Prop Master, and he was the Student Director. You were forced to sit through every production meeting with him.
Which, fine. You’d do anything for the show to run well. But that didn’t change the fact that he made you want to commit a crime.
Or three.
“Great news guys!” you yelled, sweeping into the tech room. “The crutches still aren’t right and Jihoon wants us to repaint the brickwork on the platforms to be less ‘garish’ and the typewriter is from the 1940s when it should be from the 1890s and I’m going to set something on fire!”
Chan slammed his head against the nearest cabinet. “This is the third time he’s rejected the brickwork, oh my god.”
“Fourth time he’s hated the crutches too, and I’ve told him that the only period accurate typewriter in the basement is literally one wrong keystroke from breaking onstage but I guess he’s willing to take that risk for a typewriter that’s going to be in one scene.” You massaged your forehead. “I’m gonna stay late Wednesday so we can have our shit together by Hell Week.”
“I’ll have to join.” Chan peeled his head off the cabinet, cracking his knuckles. “You think Mingyu’s got time to spare? I might get him to help; there’s way too much platform for me to do in time.”
“Dunno, he’s pretty busy.” Vernon scooped a loose screw out of a sawdust pile and swept the whole thing into the dustpan. “Makeup’s been working hard to get the ‘ragged urchin’ look right.”
“I’ll con Soonyoung into it then, I don’t think they’re rehearsing the dance numbers tomorrow so he might be free.”
“I wish you luck with that, dude.” You scooped the crutch off the floor. “I gotta go beg costumes to let me into the basement storage and see if there’s another goddamn piece of fabric I can use for the crutches.”
“You have fun.”
You ended up getting lucky; Minghao already needed to go down there so you wouldn’t have to fight for cell signal to make sure you were allowed to deface the cloth scraps you’d found.
“You seem stressed,” he noted as he unlocked the basement door.
You snorted. “Stressed is an understatement.”
“Jihoon again?”
“If he tells me to redo the damn crutches again I’m going to nail him to the wall.”
Minghao lead the way down the stairs. “I really thought you had it that time.”
“Nothing is good enough for that guy.”
He shrugged. “He just wants the show to go well.”
“Yeah, well, so do I. He doesn’t have to get up everybody’s ass sticking his opinions where they don’t belong. He’s never been crew, why does he get to make us repaint the entire damn set anyway?”
“He’s the director.”
“Everyone else thought the bricks looked fine!”
Minghao looked at you sideways. “What’s your deal with Jihoon?”
“Like I said, poking his nose where it doesn’t--”
“No, you had beef before he got appointed Student Director.”
You sighed. “I don’t know. He’s always kind of been a pain even when he was ensemble.” You drove your finger into your temple. “And he broke a crucial prop that wasn’t his the night before the show opened and didn’t tell me.”
“You did props?”
“Buddy I was Prop Master. I literally didn’t find out until the Stage Manager tried to run that scene before school.” You glared absently at the shelves of typewriters to one side of the walkway. “I literally had to skip my last three classes and dinner to get a replacement and he never even apologized for it.”
Minghao whistled. “That’s unforgivable.”
“Tell me about it.” You waded through the costume racks to get to the bins of scraps in the back.
“And you’ve never considered forgiving and forgetting? I mean, it’s been two years.”
You sighed, leaning the crutch against a shelf. “I mean. . .”
He snickered. “Come on, it’s just you and me and the ghosts down here, you can say it.”
“I mean. . . he just makes me so mad!” You yanked the lid off a tote with a snap that echoed across the basement. “Like, every time I start thinking maybe he’s not so bad he pulls some other shit on me and I slam right back into hating his goddamn guts.”
“You’re on the same team,” Minghao called down the row. “You’re just trying to make the show better.”
“Making the show better shouldn’t involve painting the entire set three times.”
“I’m just saying, it’d put at least three years back on your lifespan.”
“Yeah yeah.”
You managed to update the crutches by the end of the day, and repainted the entire set on Wednesday--although you had to sacrifice your lunch and free periods and several hours after school to get it all done. Thursday left you with a finished set and another production meeting.
He didn’t like the bricks.
You saw red.
In the hallway, you pulled him aside.
“What don’t you like about the bricks?”
He frowned. “They detract attention from the actors.”
You wanted to seize him by the shoulders and shake him like a maraca. “It’s gray! It is the darkest most nondescript color we have in the buckets and you’re telling me it detracts attention from the actors? You haven’t even seen them rehearse with it!”
“It’s gonna be too much,” he argued. “It’s the same color as half the costumes--”
“I have seen every single costume in the show, it’s not even close to the same pigment!”
“Even still--”
“Listen,” you snapped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “if you want the set redone in time for Hell Week then I expect to see you in the goddamn tech room tomorrow after school wearing something you don’t mind getting paint on because I’m not going to make Chan and Vernon repaint the entire damn set by themselves for the fifth time and I have to figure out how to keep that 1890s typewriter from falling apart, do I make myself clear?”
He looked almost disgusted at the prospect, but he nodded stiffly. “Crystal.”
You turned on your heel just as stiffly, striding away before you lost all composure.
To your complete surprise, Jihoon actually showed up the next day, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a shirt so faded that whatever decal had been on the front had long washed away.
“So he arrives!” Chan yelled from his perch on the desk, where he’d been watching you wrestle with the typewriter.
Jihoon looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders. “Where do you need me?”
“We gotta move all the set pieces in before we start,” Chan said. “Then I’ll probably have you start on the legs. We gotta wait for Vernon before we can move the tall stuff. One sec, I’ll--” he bolted into the hallway.
Jihoon stared after him, then looked to you. “Where is he going?”
“To tell Vernon we’re actually doing the repaint.” You shrugged. “Honestly I’m surprised you showed up.”
“I said I would.”
“Actually you just said you understood the ultimatum; we had no idea if you’d show or not.”
“Oh.”
You shrugged. “Good to have you anyway.”
Chan returned with Vernon before the silence could get too awkward, and you helped them move all the platforms back into the tech room. From there, Vernon set up his speaker and the real work began.
Jihoon helped choose the color of the bricks (and Chan threatened to really break his leg if he changed his mind about it later), and they got to laying down the base coat. You went back to glaring at the typewriter and reading through every antiques article you could find online.
After trying seven different methods to no avail, you shoved your chair away from the desk. “Typewriters are hellspawn created by the Devil himself to punish unfortunate Prop Masters.”
Vernon snickered. “That good, huh?”
“I’m going to put a screwdriver through the keyboard,” you said mildly.
“Okay maybe don’t do that.” Chan paused to pull a clean paintbrush out of his pocket and throw it at you. “You know where the overalls are; come take a break.”
“Why do you just have that?” Jihoon asked.
“A painter is always prepared.”
Jihoon glanced at you. You shrugged. “I don’t question it.”
Between the four of you, you managed to finish all but one platform by the time Chan and Vernon had to go. Being older, you had infinite time, so you cracked your knuckles and sat back at the typewriter. Jihoon lingered in the doorway.
“You need any help?”
You looked up. “Nah, I think I got it. Thank you, though.”
He shifted. “Listen, I know we didn’t really get off on the right foot but, I’m sorry. I know I never really apologized for the prop, and I’m sorry for how long it took, too.”
You sighed. “It’s fine. It’s kind of unfair of me to hold it against you this long anyway, so, I’m sorry too.” It wasn’t the only reason he made you so angry, but that chip on your shoulder made a lot of other offenses you would have normally overlooked seem larger.
“Can we maybe start over?” he asked. “Freshman year all over again?”
You actually found yourself nodding. “As long as you don’t make us repaint the set ever again.”
He laughed, running a paint-stained hand through his hair. “No, I won’t. I can’t do that to your crew again.”
“Good. Cause we weren’t kidding about breaking your legs.”
“I will keep that in mind.” He hiked up his backpack. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”
“Happy Hell Week.”
Hell Week was hell (and the sky is blue).
Three of the actors lost their voices four days before Opening Night. One of the glasses for the restaurant scene shattered during the dance number--even though it was supposed to be offstage already--and the third lead got very close to twisting her ankle after landing a jump wrong. The actors could never manage to find their light, there were technical glitches with the backstage mics, and you were so on edge that if you heard the word standby you’d jump so bad you’d bruise your knee on the table.
The typewriter gave you more anxiety than it was worth. The actress using it had strict instructions not to actually touch the keys, because the only thing holding it together was gaff tape. You’d put Jun and Wonwoo in charge of bringing the desk it sat on onstage, because you trusted them to have it under control and keep it from tipping, because if it tipped at an angle any more than about 30 degrees, the keys would get out of alignment and that required time and experience to fix, of which you had neither.
Needless to say, you were two steps away from tearing your hair out.
At least you weren’t fighting with Jihoon, though. You’d even gone out to grab takeout with him for dinner, once, and yelling about all the problems in the car was really cathartic and you came back refreshed and relaxed, for once (only for every muscle in your back to clench at once because an actor bumped the prop table in their hurry to get in costume and one of the glasses fell over).
But it was Opening Night, and you were wound tighter than a spring waiting for everything to go wrong.
And it did.
Jihoon was in the hallway behind the stage, giving Joshua a few final notes about his big solo, and he didn’t check his surroundings closely enough. In his wild gesturing to demonstrate the level of enthusiasm, his arm clipped the typewriter.
And it fell.
He stared at it. Joshua stared at it. You could not tear your eyes from it.
The keys had tilted out of alignment. The bar holding the paper was skewed. The decorative paneling to one side had cracked down the middle. You didn’t have time to fix it before it went on. Maybe you couldn’t fix it at all.
“I am so sorry--” Jihoon started, but you stopped him with a hand, balling the other into a fist.
“Don’t,” you forced through your teeth, because you didn’t want to start yelling at him; it was an honest mistake and it was your fault for not resettling it on the desk after the last run. You were just seething with rage, at yourself, at the typewriter--you didn’t want to project it.
“Ten minutes to go!” someone yelled down the hall. You forced yourself to exhale, gingerly picking it up, flinching with every shift of the keys.
“Is there anything I can--”
“Get to the booth. Tell Seungcheol what happened, just-- be in your place. Jun!” you yelled into the tech room. His head jerked up. “I need you to take over headset for me, can you do that?”
His mouth fell open seeing the typewriter and he nodded, wordlessly, leaping to his feet and hurrying backstage.
Jihoon still stood there, looking between the typewriter and you with an anguished expression. “You’re sure you don’t--”
“I got it,” you said again, clipped. “I can handle it. I can-- just get to the booth, Jihoon!”
You hadn’t yelled. You knew enough not to yell when the audience was already in their seats. But your words had the same effect, because he flinched, and he nodded, and he turned the other way and ran.
Your rage was turning inward as fast as it was dulling, but you had a show to put on, so you placed the broken typewriter carefully on a counter in the tech room and sprinted for the basement.
You managed to get the 1970s typewriter back upstairs and on the desk before it went on, and the show went on without a hitch. The actors hit their marks, all the props found their way back to the prop table, and the pit orchestra didn’t have to loop a section for a missed cue even once.
You waited until everyone was gone before you let yourself cry.
“I really am sorry.”
You looked up.
Jihoon stood in the doorway, twisting his hands.
“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s partially my fault for not making sure it was centered right.” You rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, hoping to disguise the redness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you want help?”
“I don’t know if it can even be fixed,” you said, staring blankly at the remains of the typewriter in front of you. “It might-- it might be beyond my help.”
For a long moment, you stared at it, mind spiralling.
You pushed yourself up. “They’ll want to lock up.” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll just come in before the show and work on it. Maybe get Jun to grab me some McDonald’s or something and eat during the intermission.”
Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “That’s not healthy.”
“I’ve done it before.” You waved him off. “The show must go on, you know?” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The day came by in flashes as you researched the typewriter with a renewed vigor. You could probably use hot glue and some kind of putty to hide the crack in the paneling, you could probably put the keys back or at the very least tape them to look like they were back, from a distance. The bar at the top would be much harder but you hadn’t really inspected it the night before so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it was?
You didn’t feel particularly hopeful when you stopped by the tech room to pick up the typewriter.
Until you saw the typewriter.
“What the fuck.” It was fixed. The keys aligned, the crack sealed, the bar sitting on top just as it was supposed to be. It looked exactly like it had when you’d first set it on that desk.
Jihoon came around the corner, dried putty staining his hands. “Hey,” he said, seeming tired but absolutely beaming at you.
“Did you do this?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want you putting your health on the line.”
“Oh my god, thank you. I can’t-- this is incredible!” You kept tracing your fingers over the ridge formed by the sealed crack, but you couldn’t see it.
“I did a good job, then?” He put his hands in his pockets, grinning.
“Better than good, oh my god I could kiss you!”
Your cheeks burned when you realized what you’d said, but he laughed. “Whoa, buy me dinner first.”
“Bet,” you said, accepting it like a challenge. “You pick the place, I’ll pay.”
“Okay,” he said, and then lifted his hands. “I gotta wash up.”
“Meet you by the front door in five?”
“It’s a date.”
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hale-13 · 3 years
Text
Engulfed
By Hale13
For the Summer of Whump Day 30(!!!) Prompt - Crying
It’s just all too much. Everything is too much. It’s been a year and Peter can’t stand to do anything but sit here on this roof and ruminate until his mind goes blank.
Words: 2146, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Rating: Gen
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Roger Harrington
TW: Depression, Survivor’s Guilt
Read on AO3 or below the line break.
“Peter can I speak with you real quick?” Mr. Harrington called as the final bell of the day rang and students started abandoning the class in droves. Ned shared a commiserating look with him as he finished packing up his things and left the room; leaving Peter to approach Mr. Harrington’s desk nervously and stand in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth nervously. “Oh!” Mr. Harrington said, holding up his arms in surrender as he closed the door behind the last student. “You can relax, you aren’t in trouble!”
Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and let some of the tension drain from him muscles. “I’m not?”
Harrington raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you done something to warrant being in trouble?”
“No!” Peter said, his voice breaking a little on the end. “No sir!”
His teacher gave him a suspicious look but didn’t push it, instead gesturing for Peter to sit down in one of the empty desks as he perched on the edge of his own desk. Peter dropped his bag and sat, trying to keep his fingers from twitching from the anxiety strumming through him. Harrington observed him for a moment longer before sighing and handing Peter a folder. With curiosity, Peter opened it and paled considerably as he cycled through his latest test grade in addition to his final paper and project of the nine week grading period. There wasn’t a single grade above a ‘C’.
“So I wanted to talk to you before I handed these back tomorrow,” his teacher said gently, pulling a free chair up to the desk Peter was seated at and pulling the folder from his slack fingers. “Peter this isn’t the work I’m used to you turning in. What’s going on?”
“I uh,” Peter said, mind blanking as he flipped through his term paper that was absolutely coated in copious amounts of red ink. “I don’t know. I worked… I mean I spent… I don’t know,” he stuttered out, feeling untethered and confused.
Harrington sighed and, carefully, pried Peter’s fingers from the folder and closed it, setting it down on the desk. “You’ve seemed a little overwhelmed recently,” he said gently. “Most of your teachers have noticed it and this isn’t the only class where your work has taken a bit of a nose-dive. I know that you guys don’t always want to talk to teachers and school administrators about what’s going on in your personal life but, Peter, we’re here if you need it okay?”
Peter nodded, a little dumbly, his tongue too thick and dry to form words. He felt dizzy – he was turning in failing work in more than one class? “I uh…,” he cleared his throat and tried to wet his mouth, “I guess I have been a little… distracted recently but I’m okay,” he said and tried to hide his flinch at how unconvincing his voice sounded. He was fine right? “I’m sorry about the work, I know I can’t make up the test grade but is there any… uh… any extra credit I can do? I’ll do anything!”
“It’s alright,” Harrington said, picking the folder back up and standing. “I’m going to let you retake the test on Monday and if you write an analysis of what was wrong with your essay and correct the issues I’ll regrade it, same with the project. You’ll need to have them both to me Monday morning I can’t offer more than a ‘B’ on any of them but it should help your grade and make sure you don’t lose your scholarship.”
Peter felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under him and he had to grip the desk tightly. “My scholarship,” he whispered horrified and Harrington gave him a guilty look.
“You’ll have to speak with your other teachers on Monday about extra credit and make-up work but I believe all of them will be willing to help out,” Harrington passed the folder back to Peter who took it with numb and trembling fingers. “It’ll be fine Peter.”
“Right,” he said, feeling like he was underwater and standing shakily. “Thanks Mr. Harrington, I’ll go work on these now.” He never heard the man respond nor did he remember much of his walk home, the next thing he was aware of was standing in his room, his hoodie a little damp from the mist that had descended on the city and the barely-there drizzle that had started. Peter dropped his bag with a thump to the floor and collapsed into his desk chair.
He had work to do and he did so at an absolutely feverish pace. Reading back through his paper he had no idea how he had thought it was even marginally acceptable to turn in. He hadn’t even bothered looking at his project yet but he knew that it would look the much the same and he could already feel his gut twisting into tight knots as he considered the work he would be putting into it over the rest of the weekend.
By the time he had finished, his eyes were dry and crusty and the rain was pounding in earnest against his bedroom window; the only light coming from his desk lamp and the flickering streetlight outside his window. He sat back and blinked furiously, staring at the window with his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He could feel his heart speed up and shook his head once, hard, before jumping from his seat and stripping out of his clothes to pull on his suit.
“Hello Peter,” Karen said brightly as his HUD flickered and readings started to populate. “It is past-,”
“Mute Karen,” Peter said, voice croaking and shaky as he popped his fingers and neck. “Disable HUD and go dark.” It wasn’t often that he shut down his entire suit and went out the way he used to – just him with no extra tech – but sometimes it (and Karen) did effect his senses. And sometimes, like tonight, he just needed the silence.
He opened up his window, reveling in the cool air that creeped into his room and the drops of rain that stuck against his limbs like ice cubes. He paused for just a moment before firing a web through the fog to latch onto the building across the street, swinging out into the weather.
As he took slow laps around Queens, he let his mind drift and his body to just run on complete auto-pilot. He rarely saw any sort of major crime in rain and fog like this and his Spider Sense was quiet in his mind as he swung. Without Karen active and with his suit dark, he didn’t have his heater or GPS or access to his phone or the police scanner but he was fine with all of that. Content to just swing until he couldn’t.
The ‘until he couldn’t’ came a lot soon than he thought, his numb finger slipping on a web and sending him careening onto the top of a building where he rolled and ended up on his back, staring up at the moonless and starless night sky and the thick drops of rain. He laid there for just a moment longer, stunned and taking stock, but nothing hurt too much, he just felt detached.
With no small effort, Peter sat up and scooted over to sit with his back against the roof access, staring out over Queens but unable to see more than a few hundred feet ahead of him. His eyes unfocused and he felt his mind slowing down – blank and quiet finally.
“Do you know what time it is?” His mentor’s voice should have surprised him but, even drifting off the way he was, it was impossible to not hear the loud repulsers of the Iron Man armor. He touched down on the roof to the left of Peter and his face plate shifted up, keeping him dry from the rain but reveling his face that was a mix of disapproving and concerned. Peter just shrugged.
“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse and monotonous in the gloom. Tony furrowed his brows at him.
“You good kiddo?”
“Sure,” Peter said, looking out over the roof top again. “Fine.”
“Right,” Tony said, his voice disbelieving. “Well its past your curfew buddy and you’re completely soaked. You okay with me giving you a lift home?” Peter nodded without consideration. He was cold and he couldn’t really feel his fingertips – getting a ride home on the Iron Man express was definitely preferable than walking. “Hop on then,” Tony motioned to his back as he turned and, after a moment to psych himself up for it, Peter stood slowly and wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck.
The armor was warm and the flaps prevented Peter from getting pestered by too many of the remaining raindrops on their flight. He let his eyes slip closed as they flew, content to drift, which he realized was a mistake when he opened them a few minutes later and realized Tony had taken them to the Tower instead. “This isn’t my apartment,” he said, dropping down to land on the over-large balcony of the penthouse so that Tony could step out of the armor.
“Nope,” he agreed, shuffling Peter inside and carefully pulling his mask over his face and dropping a towel around his shoulders. “You’re staying here tonight – I know May’s working third.”
The water dripping from his damp hair onto his neck made him shiver but Peter made no move to dry off with the towel – standing just inside the entrance to the penthouse and staring ahead at his mentor who clucked his tongue and started to dry Peter’s hair off himself. “What’s going on Pete?” He asked as he rubbed the terry cloth through Peter’s curls. “This isn’t you.”
“Nothing,” Peter said, his voice sounding emotionless, “I’m fine.”
The look Tony leveled him with was that of pure disbelief but he herded Peter toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Go take a warm shower and change. I’ll make some hot chocolate and meet you in the living room when you’re done.”
Peter nodded his assent and made his way toward his en suite bathroom. The Spidey suit was sticking wetly to his clammy skin and it took some doing to get out of it but it was worth it to slip into the fancy shower his room at the Tower offered. He stood for an untold amount of time under the burning spray of water and felt the tension leave his body, his emotions swirling confusingly in his head and leaving him nearly dizzy. Deciding he couldn’t put it off any longer, Peter grabbed the towel from the heated rack and dried off, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making it back to the living room.
In his time away, Tony had made one of the only things he could in the kitchen: hot chocolate from scratch (a recipe from Rhodey and his college years) and was settled on the overly large couch with a pile of throw blankets. Peter sank into the nest and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, accepting the mug his mentor offered and taking a sip of the steaming drink.
“Alright out with it,” Tony said, sitting to face Peter, the expression on his face open. “Something’s going on buddy but you can tell me okay?”
“It’s October thirteenth,” Peter blurted before biting his lip.
“October thirteenth?” Tony asked with a furrowed brow. “What…?”
“Uncle Ben died a year ago,” Peter whispered, curling up further into himself. From next to him Tony let out a sigh of air.
“Oh kiddo,” he said, voice sad and filled with understanding. Peter sniffed once and felt a hot tear leak down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “There’s… not really anything that I can say that will make it better,” Tony said as he scooted closer and sat his mug of coffee on the table in front of them. “I know that from experience but, if you ever want to talk about him you can always come to me.”
Peter nodded once and was surprised when, just a moment later, Tony reached out and pulled Peter tightly into his side in a hug. Peter’s mind went blank for a moment and then he felt his eyes well with tears that fell in silent waves down his cheeks. He had felt so overwhelmed, so underwater for weeks leading up to this day and he just…
“Let it out buddy,” tony said, pulling him in tighter and running calloused fingers through Peter’s still-damp hair. “It’s alright.”
With that permission, Peter turned himself more fully into his mentor, curling himself in tighter and letting his eyes cry themselves out.
It felt like catharsis.
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Scarlett and the Professor - a startling revelation
[continued from]    [contains brief NSFW material]
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The way that Scarlett had kissed him when they parted lingered in Hennessy’s mind far longer than was fit for his intentions towards her. As he fell asleep in the nights that followed; when he woke up in the dark, needing to use the loo. Making him wonder if she was sleeping soundly, warm and soft, and far from his bed. Making him hope that he was the stuff of her dreams. 
But this was ludicrous! Untenable and undisciplined. And even as he watched her, innocently sitting two rows back from his desk—modestly attired in a knee length dress of pale peach, silk chiffon, the flawless skin of her throat and decolletage  beckoning to him nonetheless—he sure as hellfire intended to do something about it. 
Thus far, she had made no obvious attempt to garner his attention. Throughout Monday’s class and today’s—which was quickly winding down—Scarlett had played the part of a model student. Seated demurely while studiously taking notes, alert and attentive, and even raising her hand in bids to answer questions. True, when he allowed himself to call upon her, the slight flush that colored her cheeks was surely on his account, but she answered so confidently that it almost felt like she was daring him to correct her. 
She’d worn her hair loose today and on Monday too, instead of her customary chignon. Distracting him with thoughts of how it felt pooled in his hands, spread across the skin of his chest, and—for Christ’s sake!–brushing against his thighs when she worshipped him with her mouth. Goddammit! How the hell had she insinuated herself into his forebrain this way, and after such relatively little time? It boggled the mind. 
Hennessy was particularly aware of her scent; the combination of her shampoo, the natural aroma of her skin, combined with her light, delicate perfume. He knew that couldn’t be helped, of course, as he’d worn her scent on his skin during their many hours of sin, and it had lingered on his sheets until his cleaning woman had changed them out. Whenever Hennessy walked the aisle where Scarlett sat, it assaulted his senses, made his mouth water, and caused him just the slightest hesitation in delivery of his lecture. 
Even now, as he backed up the aisle on his way to his desk, she didn’t even react when his fingertips just grazed her arm where it rested on her desk. Scarlett before the series of sensual lessons he had granted her would have given a quiet gasp and wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes from him. This Scarlett was gazing at the blackboard while she absentmindedly nibbled on the end of her pencil, seemingly unaware of how that action made him lick his own lips as he considered the taste and texture of her pretty, precious mouth. Hennessy realized he must do something soon to change the trajectory he was on. 
He was so immersed in his thoughts that the noon bell took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and muttered his dismissal. Scarlett was up and out of his classroom with the rest of the students, not even granting him a moment’s acknowledgement of their wicked secret. How was this to be borne! No lover had turned the tables on him so effortlessly before, and without even trying. But what could he do about Scarlett? 
Hennessy took to his chair, mulling over his options, and each seemed less satisfactory than the previous one. His mobile buzzed with a text alert, and he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which was draped across the back of his chair. “Well...I’ll...be...damned...” he grinned, his dexterous fingers skating across the keypad in reply. This is practically a deus ex machina, he chuckled, with timing that couldn’t be more perfect. 
                    _______________________________________
Hennessy was nursing his second scotch on the rocks, taking his drink slowly as he figured he’d be hitting the road not long after his awaited guest arrived. This wasn’t so much a bar, as a seedy, roadside dive, but considering the nature of their meetup, it suited the mood perfectly. His belly felt tight with anticipation, further piqued by the burn of the liquor as he scanned the room, satisfied to see that the other few, isolated patrons were involved in minding their own business. 
She was late, of course, a perpetual habit which he’d grown accustomed to years ago, but he expected her arrival at any moment now. And sure enough, as though he had summoned her by thought alone, his favorite tall and leggy redhead strolled through the door.
Sylvie Martin, Professor of Biology, specializing in Humans and Primates. Sylvie Caldwell nee Martin, he reminded himself as she approached and he caught the flash of her huge and rather gaudy diamond engagement ring. Interestingly, she was wearing it on her right-hand ring finger rather then her left. A portent of good things to come, as far as Hennessy was concerned. 
She wore a snug, silk dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit up one side, with a dark green, Oriental print embossed on it’s emerald green background, along with her trademark spiked heels, in matching green. Sylvie knew that color flattered her best, and she certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Once she spotted him, she moved with unflappable focus towards his booth. “Darling...Henns!” she greeted him as he rose to embrace her, allowing him the familiarity of lingering his palm against her back. No bra...all the better, he thought, breathing in Dior’s J’adore, which had always been her favorite perfume, and wondering if she had arrived sans thong as well. He’d likely discover the answer for himself soon enough. 
“Sylvie, you dazzle me as always,” he proclaimed, kissing her cheek, “And honestly, the island hasn’t been the same since you decamped.” Hennessy motioned to the cocktail waitress to bring the round of drinks he’d preordered for them; a dirty martini for Sylvie and another tumbler of scotch for himself. He waited for his guest to slide into the booth and then joined her, not at all hesitant to press his thigh against hers. “So tell me, darling- what brings you back to us now? Business...or pleasure? 
“Hennzy,” she smirked, tracing the rim of her glass before eyeing him sideways, “A little bit of business, as I finally found a buyer for my old place.” Sylvie turned to him and ran the same finger along his cheekbone. “And as for pleasure, well...” she sighed and batted her eyes, “...I was counting on you for that.” 
“Moi,” he exclaimed, feigning shock, “I thought those days were done! I mean, what would Gerald say?” 
“That he married an insatiable tart,” she huffed, then took a deep swallow of her martini, “And that a leopard can’t change her spots, no matter how much luxury you lavish upon her...” 
“Ahhhhh, my poor, dear Sylvie,” he tutted, biting his lip against a smirk of his own. Hennessy had been certain when she’d left the University without giving even a week’s notice, and had barely bid farewell to even her closest friends as she pursued the 50-something tech mogul that had feted her through a whirlwind courtship---following him to his home base in the States---that she would be back one day. In the finest gold digger tradition, they had married within a month. Hennessy hoped now, as he had when he first read her text announcing the news, that she’d been smart enough to get a generous prenup. “I’ll be only too glad to help, of course,” he patted her hand in mock consolation, knowing that her heart had never truly been invested in that relationship, “Just tell me what you need, darling.” 
Sylvie laughed slyly, confirming what he had expected from the moment he had gotten her text this afternoon, “Well, we could start with a night full of shameless shagging.” Leaning into him, she murmured in his ear, “You know that you were always my favorite fuck buddy for that, Henns.” She tugged his earlobe between her teeth as she pulled away, and his prick twitched with the need she had awoken. “Please don’t say no, darling,” she pouted as she eyed him hungrily, “It’s been ages since I’ve been properly railed.” 
Why the hell not, he thought, astounded that the universe had hand delivered the perfect answer to his dilemma. She’s the most delectable, effortless and no-strings-attached distraction that I ever could have asked for. Hennessy grabbed his glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single, hearty swallow. “What the fuck are we waiting for,” he growled, “Which will it be, darling- your place or mine?”
                    ___________________________________ 
As Sylvie had arrived by Uber, they took took the Spitfire back to her hotel. Never one to stand on ceremony, she didn’t even wait two minutes before she snaked her hand across his thigh. “Mmmmm...good old Hennessy,” she purred, “And your...mmmmm...incomparable...dedicated...always delicious cock...” 
He shifted slightly, instinctively thrusting his pelvis up to maximize her access, even while warning her, “Christ, woman---let me get us there in one piece first...”
“I can’t help it, baby,” she whined, “I’ve missed this...missed you...sooooo verrrrry much.” 
Hennessy turned her way just enough to note the naked lust in every line of her gorgeous features. There’s never been anything subtle about her, he recalled, as a moue of distaste whispered at the back of his mind; but sometimes a man wants subtlety. Sometimes he wants a woman who’s soft and pliable, and...aching to follow his lead.
He gave a rough shake of his head, banishing that very uncharacteristic course of thought, and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sylvie threw back her head at the sudden acceleration, laughing hard and taking that as a sign of his eagerness. “Oh, Henns, you know I’ve always adored when you go fast!” She gave the bulge in his trousers a hearty squeeze. 
He grunted back, then plucked her questing hand from his crotch and raised it enough to give it a half-hearted kiss. “Not in everything, Sylvie,” he reminded her, his eyes remaining squarely on the road ahead, “And never when it’s crucial to go slow.” 
“Hmmmmm...right. I’d forgotten that sometimes a devil like you can show the patience of a saint,” she trilled, taking back her hand and laying it next to the gear shift, “So I suppose I’d better follow your example---for the time being.” 
“You best believe it, Syl...” Much to his chagrin, Hennessy was beginning to remember the slew of things about his friend-with-benefits that used to get on his nerves, and always ended with them going their separate ways for months at a time. Until one or the other of them had an itch for the kind of raw, filthy sex that had been their perpetual default setting. Of course, that was exactly what he was in need of now. At least once we begin, he reckoned, she’ll just shut up and put her mouth to better use than stating the obvious. 
She stayed fairly silent for the rest of the trip, likely having picked up the vibe that he wasn’t in the mood for trifling. Sylvie did grab his hand when they exited the car---pulling him along from the parking lot and through the airy lobby, and then into the elevator up to her suite. As soon as the doors slid shut, she had draped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his as tightly as she could, and captured his mouth with a relentless, probing kiss. Hennessy had answered her advance by cupping her bottom in both hands---finding that ‘yes’ was the answer to his earlier speculation that she might be completely bare under her dress. 
He was thinking what a cliche this was, and that he wished she was making their liaison at least a bit challenging. Worse still, Hennessy was finding himself more than a little sorry for Sylvie, wondering just how miserable she must have been since the fresh bloom of her hasty marriage had faded away. That she’d fooled herself into thinking she could endure a union that had no true spark, and that Caldwell’s money would be enough to make her happy with a man who clearly didn’t understand or appreciate her true nature. 
But as she swiped her keycard to grant them entry to her rooms, Hennessy reminded himself that he wasn’t here to be her therapist or confessor. He wasn’t going to ask about what problems she was having---be they marital or otherwise---and he hoped that Sylvie wouldn’t try to tell. They each had pressing needs to fulfill, and as far as he was concerned, this was simply a palate cleanser. A chance to put some distance between himself and the threat that he was developing an obsession for the most unlikely of candidates. 
Once across the threshold, Sylvie headed towards the bar cart, where sat a sealed bottle of Glenlivit  12-Year, alongside a covered ice bucket. The sight immediately sobered him, as though the universe wanted to remind him of the very memories he was trying to blot out. It’s just coincidence, he tried to convince himself; besides which, Sylvie knows what I like. Of course she’d have that waiting for us, on the presumption that we’d end up here tonight. Hennessy didn’t say a word as she poured out for the both of them---moving to her side instead, to take the tumbler she offered him and set it back down on the bar.
Perplexed, she started to ask why, but he shook his head and then took her face in his hands, to land a needy kiss upon her willing mouth. All that he wanted now was to be in the moment; to spare no thoughts for the past several days, nor any for the future beyond what would happen in the confines of these rooms. 
Ensnared in hungry, almost violent kisses to begin with, their hands plucking at one another’s clothing, they ended up on the sofa with Sylvie straddling his hips, bending low to slather his skin, his nipples, the contours of his ribs, with further hot, impatient kisses. Hennessy was well aware where she was leading, and he thrust both hands into her flame-red tresses, gradually guiding her down to her inevitable destination. She slid her body further down so that she could undo his trousers and nuzzle his erection through his briefs. 
He groaned at the scrumptious sensation, watching her intently, and she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Bet I still give the best head on the island, Hennzy,” she proclaimed, then wet her lips and smacked them hard. 
“I’ll be the judge of that, Syl,” he countered, laying his head back while tightening his fingers in her hair, “Talk is cheap. Just fucking show me. Right fucking now...” 
She tugged his clothing far enough down to give herself full access to his works. And good god, yes, she hadn’t lost a trick; her tongue was as silky and as talented as he remembered. Her fingers knew just what he liked. Her mouth welcomed him greedily, and it all felt bloody fantastic. 
Yet something was missing. Something elementary, but vital enough that despite how great it was, he felt a sort of cool detachment. That he was experiencing a purely mechanical act, carried out by rote, devoid of...joy. Stripped of warmth and any connection beyond the physical. Sylvie was dedicated alright, relentlessly sucking and taking him deep, caressing his bollocks and teasing them with her manicured nails, groaning as she worked him---and yet, Hennessy didn’t feel any nearer to his climax. And shockingly, he didn’t care if he came or not. 
Without intending to, his fingers went slack in her hair, although Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed his eyes tighter, aghast at the sudden notion of losing his erection before she was finished with him. Desperately, he searched his mind for images to help him stave off a humiliation he had never experienced before. His heart jumping ahead, supplying the answer which he couldn’t deny.
Scarlett. 
His soft, compliant, delectable Scarlett. 
Hennessy drew a sudden gasp---Sylvie would take it for a gasp of pleasure---as the images flooded his mind. Scarlett kneeling before him in the sand, woefully inexperienced and skittish, but bravely following his first demand of her. In his study, sliding onto the floor from his lap, eager to please him, to taste him, but turning shy in the aftermath, at the relish she had taken in their shared sin. His Scarlett. The pure dedication in her eyes as she looked up at him before she began, and the small, sweet sounds she gave over as she generously loved him---which always felt like proof of her devotion. The astonishing beauty of her head and hands adoring him, reflected in the mirror above his bed. And then how she clung to him afterwards, leaving trails of soft, loving kisses on his thighs. 
“Yes...yes...mmmmm...that’s my girl,” he murmured, beginning to thrust himself into Sylvie’s mouth. “My darling, little lamb,” he panted, repeatedly hitting the back of Sylvie’s throat, as he imagined it was Scarlett doing the deed, with her pretty, pouty mouth. Her tender, loving tongue. “Fuck...oh fuck, that’s good baby,” he groaned, the need to explode into his orgasm building and building all through his pelvis and his loins, as it hit him that when Scarlett did him, each moment of bliss she gave him arose from her generous and loving heart. “Mine...mine...” he cried out, arching his body off the sofa cushions, grunting with each hard pump of his hips and tugging hard on Sylvie’s hair. “...mine...my jo...” he sighed as he finished, the euphoria and warmth spreading through his veins, mercifully allowing him to forget for a little while that he’d been forced to fantasize in order to reach his to satisfaction.
Sylvie propped herself above him, her lipstick smeared, her mouth and chin slick with her saliva and his semen, and looking very pleased with herself. “God, how I’ve missed that, Henns! Just like old times,” she laughed, “But what’s with this little lamb shit? Where the hell did that come from?”
Hennessy had no problem fibbing his way through that faux pas. His mouth dropped open as though he was shocked and he huffed cynically, “Honestly, Syl? I have no fucking clue...” 
She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly as she looked for the lie on his face. “Alright then- but don’t do it again. If you’re going to call me by a pet name, I’d rather it weren’t a farm animal.” 
“Got it,” he winked, “Let’s forget it ever happened.” 
“Forgotten already,” she told him, then brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, before clambering off of him. The top of Sylvie’s dress was bunched around her waist, but she didn’t seem to care as she headed to refill her glass and fetch his. This time, when she offered him the scotch, he took it and immediately swallowed half ot it---for he knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming next. 
“So, Henns...”Her voice had taken on a pouty, singsong quality, “Not to be gauche, but you owe me one now...” 
Christ! Was she always like this, he wondered; and was I just blinded by the sex? 
”...well, at least one,” she added, “Although I know you’re good for...many more.” She tossed back the rest of her scotch, gave a shake of her head as the burn went down, then wagged her head in the direction of the bedroom. “How about we crack on, as you Brits like to say?” 
“Righto.” Hennessy finished his drink and stood up, resigned to the unsavory outcome he’d wrought for himself. Knowing that he was obliged to a small degree---the wheels in his head busy spinning as he searched for a way to extricate himself with his dignity intact, before he was quite literally in too deep.
tagging:  @strangelock221b​  @thelostsmiles​  @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @tsukuyomi011​  @emilyinnj4real​  @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @frowerssx2​  @groovyfluxie​ @humanbornarchangel​  @elizaaugust  @ravencatart  @doctor-stephenstrange​  @ben-c-group-therapy​   @cumbercougars​
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sprnklersplashes · 3 years
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work-love balance (rejanis one shot)
There are a number of reasons Regina wishes she didn’t have this job.
For one, the uniform is gross. And yeah the uniform is just an apron but it’s a gross apron. It’s navy, that’s all that needs to be said about it. Second, she’s realised she hates dealing with people. Not all people, there are a few that are okay, but some people are just so, so hard. And since she’s already on her second warning from her manager, she can’t tell someone to shove it whenever they snap their fingers at her, or don’t say thank you, or refuse to tip. She just has to swallow her pride, paint a smile on her face and complain when it’s quiet. Thirdly, it’s coming up to Christmas now which means she has to deal with Mariah Carey being played on a constant loop or six hours straight and not even Jolly St Nick himself could put up with that.
And fourth and most important; it eats into her Janis time.
Senior year is hard for both of them, especially now with finals coming up and work starting on their college applications. Janis is swamped with artwork, her hands constantly covered in paint, and Regina can barely breathe with all the assignments she has to get done. Where weekends were once for movie nights and coffee dates are now booked through with studying and projects and their conversations happening almost completely through the phone. They kept themselves busy enough earlier, with Regina’s lacrosse and Janis’ various extracurriculars, but now it seems that neither one can fit the other into their schedule. And believe it when they say they’re trying.
“Okay,” Janis sighs. They sit at an empty cafeteria table, a soft silence about the room at this early hour. Since the only time they see each other is in school, they agreed to come in early to try to work some sort of plan out. Regina was fine with it because she’d have been up anyway, Janis on the other hand was a little harder to persuade. A little begging, a lot of pleading, and a promise of a coffee on her swung it in the end. “Okay, so Monday is out, you have lacrosse training. Tuesday I have to study for my biology final. What about Wednesday?”
“I can’t,” she sighs. “Group project to work on. And then job-work after that. Thursday?”
“The talent show has their tech rehearsal. And they need the whole team down there.” Janis takes a long drink of her coffee, a scowl etched onto her face. Regina knows Janis loves doing the techy stuff for the school shows, and she outdoes herself every year, but she simply wishes that this year she’d have skipped it. Regardless of how good it looks on the college application. “Friday night?”
“More lacrosse practice,” Regina grumbles. “And I’m working.”
“Saturday and Sunday?”
“Work, work, work. Both in the school and the job.” Her head falls onto her arms, a low groan emitting from her and shaking the table. She feels Janis’ hand on her back making soft, reassuring pats and it makes her feel a little better, especially with her girlfriend mutters “there, there” in a half-joking, half-serious way that only Janis could pull off. A smile curls on her mouth, even if it’s muted by the rest of her frustrations.
“I just miss you,” she says, her head back up. “I miss how things used to be with us. You know…” She grins slyly, her finger tracing across the table until it reaches Janis’. “You and me. My room. Laptop between us.” Her fingers slowly interlink with Janis’ and she watches as the faintest hint of a blush creeps across her girlfriend’s cheeks. “Your head on my shoulder… us sharing the same blanket.”
“Stop,” she says softly, her voice so close to a plea. “You’re making me nostalgic.” She lets out a wistful sigh then, her thumb rubbing the back of Regina’s hand and sending goosebumps up her arms. “I miss you too. I mean who else is going to stop me from going crazy?”
“Thought that was Damian’s job.”
“Damian’s job is to keep me crazy.” She winks then and now it’s Regina’s turn to blush. “Your job is to keep me crazy.”
“My mistake,” she chuckles. Janis lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her fingers, her eyes never leaving hers, telling her she’s forgiven.
There’s a sort of breathless excitement she’s started feeling since dating Janis, and it comes in the small moments like this. Those moments have been so few and far between recently that Regina’s almost forgotten what that felt like, but here it is. The way her heart picks up just slightly, the way her veins seem to hum beneath her skin, the little soft feeling that unfurls in her stomach, all making her feel good-really, truly good-for the first time in a long, long time.
It doesn’t last long though, the bell ringing rudely and cutting into their alone time, and so they head off together, pinkie fingers linked, both hoping that somehow, they’ll find more time this week. She knows that it’s not likely, but if her relationship with Janis has taught Regina anything, it’s that miracles can happen. Sometimes they just need a little push.
Regina spies her opportunity for a ‘little push’ on Friday night. As per usual, the mall is absolutely packed with Christmas shoppers-parents buying for kids, teens getting Secret Santas and young men trying desperately to find a good gift for a girl who probably expects a ring. The mall is utterly flooded with people everywhere you look and that means that the line for Regina’s little milkshake shop is at least a mile long. She’s not been here an hour and both she and her colleague, a little wisp of a thing named Clara, both have headaches from the amount of screaming children and her cheeks sting from the smile plastered on her face. She’s been keeping score since she got here and so far there’s been three assholes telling them to hurry up and two Karens chastising her for her lack of customer service skills.
She wishes so badly she didn’t need this job, otherwise she’d flip each and every one of them off. Or, she would if she could remember their faces, but as she takes orders and turns around they all blend into one, and she doesn’t see them again until she’s shouted “small Skittles shake!” for the third time and the owner finally, finally comes forwards.
So all in all, she’s exhausted.
“Seriously,” she pants when she line dies down. “Who the heck wants milkshakes in December? Or ice cream? Why do we still sell that.”
“The kids,” Clara explains with a vague wave. “You know… kids like ice cream. And parents just want to shut them up.”
“Reminds me why I’m never having kids,” she scoffs and Clara actually laughs at that. She’s not so bad, not at all. She’s good fun and she’s nice, which is all you could want in a work buddy.
They serve the last few customers, and Regina wonders if she’ll actually be able to take a break, run down to the food court and get herself a sandwich, only to look up and find the manager appearing in front of them, carrying two cardboard boxes on his shoulder.
“You said you were running out of cones?” he asks.
“Did we?” She turns and looks and yep, their supply of cones has dwindled to almost nothing at all. Clara must have find a second, if even, to send him a text. “Oh yeah, thanks.”
“How have things been over here?”
“Well we’re alive,” Regina sighs. “Barely, but we’re alive. We made a lot of money if that’s what you’re interested in.”
“Oh, sounds good,” he says. “And Regina… you’re good to close up shop?”
“Yes I am,” she says through gritted teeth. He nods at that and gives her a brief, clipped thank you before asking her for the delivery receipts and heading on his merry way, back to his comfy office and his comfy office chair while they remain on their feet for the next few hours, serving customer after customer until they collapse. And then, with Clara leaving soon (she deserves it after all), Regina’s left to shut down all by herself…
Hang on. Lightbulb moment.
“Clara.” She grabs the other girl by the shoulder, her eyes wide and a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “Can you hold the fort down while I go on my break?”
The girl hasn’t even finished saying ‘sure’ before Regina is gone, flying down the halls and pushing past people as fast her legs can carry her, her months of lacrosse training finally being useful. She makes a quick pitstop at the foodcourt and grabs herself some dinner before sitting down at an empty table and whipping her phone out, mistyping the number twice in her excitement.
Janis picks up on the second ring and that’s still not fast enough.
“Regina?”
“Hey,” she says through a mouthful of noodles, a small prick of anxiety in her gut. “Okay, so what are you doing tonight?”
“Um, nothing I guess,” she says. “Homework, art, watching Netflix. Why?”
“Because I have an idea,” she begins. “For us.”
“Oh do share.”
“It’s a surprise.” She can practically see Janis’ face falling. She hates surprises, and that’s what makes this fun. “I just need you to trust me on this.”
“Okay… I trust you,” she says in the least-convincing voice Regina has ever heard.
“Perfect,” she says. “Just get here late and hang around until 9 okay?”
“9? The mall closes at 9.”
“9:15 actually.” She wolfs down some more noodles. “Just be subtle when you get in here, okay? Be sneaky.”
“And then you’ll reveal to me your mysterious plan?”
“I promise.” She hears Janis laughing then and oh what that sound does to her heart.
“Okay. I better get some studying done then before I get there.”
“And I need to finish my food. Oh and Janis-” she interjects. “Bring your laptop. And your charger. Just in case, you know?”
And it’s the long, confused ‘okay’ from Janis that makes this all so worthwhile.
The mall is practically deserted when Regina switches off the sign and gets out the brush and pan. Normally the clean-up process is painfully slow, what with the dozens of things that need doing and Regina feeling utterly drained by the end of the night. But tonight she’s found a source of energy she didn’t know she had, one that has everything to do with her girlfriend, and she wipes down surfaces and brushes the floors in double quick time and throws things in the fridge with no rhyme or reason. She sprints out to the dumpster with the trash and back again in less than ten seconds, determined that nothing and no-one cuts into her time with Janis. She’s so focussed on her mental to-do list that she doesn’t even notice a person coming up behind her, not until she hears those dreaded words-
“Hi can I get a large Reese’s milkshake?”
Oh for the love of-
But her rant is stopped entirely when she turns and sees only Janis, chuckling on the opposite side of the counter, hair slightly damp and her backpack on her shoulders, a self-satisfied gleam in her eyes.
“Asshole,” she sighs. “That’s what you are. An absolute asshole.” She waves her hand. “Come on in, asshole.”
“Oh someone’s been busy,” she comments. “You know, I did get a little worried when I didn’t receive one snapchat from you about how much you hate the closing shift.”
“Oh shut up.” She checks that the coast is clear and then pulls down the shutter, with them still inside. Thankfully she had the foresight to slip the stepstool underneath it, preventing them from being shut in completely, but Janis’ eyebrows still shoot up, her mouth hanging half-open in a silent scream of oh my god my girlfriend’s finally lost it.
“Regina…” she begins. “Please look me in the eyes and tell me you are not locking me in a milkshake store with you. Please, tell me that.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not locking us in. What I am doing is having an amazing idea for a date night.”
“Which is…” Regina gestures around them.
“Look around,” she says. “We’re alone. We have all the ice cream we can eat. We have sparkly lights. And you have your laptop, so we can whack on something cute. Or something dark if you’re into it.” She shrugs. “I thought if my job interrupts our dates, maybe we could have a date at work.”
For two seconds, maybe less, a cold fear washes over her as she waits for Janis’ reaction. Maybe this is too far, maybe she already had plans, maybe she doesn’t want to sit on a dirty floor with her.
Or maybe, she’s throwing her arms around her and the force of her body is throwing them back. Maybe she’s giggling into her shoulder and rocking the two of them gently, her smile brighter than any of the lights and sweeter than any of the candy around them.
“This is amazing,” she whispers. “You’re amazing. Maddening and possibly crazy, but amazing.”
She kisses her then and Regina wonders how she can still get butterflies in her stomach, even now.
They sit down on the floor, using their jackets as impromptu blankets, and Regina grabs some ice cream from the freezer, settling on Rocky Road after some deliberation, while Janis opens up her laptop. The heat from the computer contrasts with the coldness of the ice cream, both balanced across their legs, and it’s an odd sensation to say the least, but Regina doesn’t care.  They keep the ice cream close by and the toppings even closer; Janis has already covered her servings in chocolate sauce, and of course, rainbow sprinkles. The opening credits of To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before play onscreen, which Janis swears she only watches because Regina likes it so much, but she’s heard the muffled squeals behind her hand. She knows how she feels and one day she’ll get her to admit it.
But for now she just leans her head on Janis’ shoulder and snuggles into her. Janis presses a kiss to her head, slow and soft and so precious and Regina concludes that if they get trapped in here overnight, it won’t be so bad. Not if there’s Janis.
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loreweaver-universe · 4 years
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And that’s the episode.
HOLY FUCK YOU GUYS
THAT WAS...HOLY SHIT
HOLY SHIT
YOU WEREN’T KIDDING THAT THIS ONE WAS A “HOLY SHIT” EPISODE
That was intense.  Oh my god.  Oh my god!
That’s an all-timer.  That really had me going.  The suspense!  The execution!  I was really strung along!  And watching Steven really get into the fight was horrifying all on its own!
That was intense.  Holy shit.
So!  Steven just killed somebody.  He brought her back to life after, but she was dead, and by his hand.  That’s some heavy shit.  It’s also, like...not to downplay what he did, because he did that and he needs to face up to that as a consequence, but this is definitely not what our boy can deal with right now.  And on top of everything else, Jasper is treating him like her Diamond now!  That’s going to screw with his self-image even more, since he associates diamondhood with nothing but bad stuff.
I don’t want to make this all about his issues.  He killed someone, and I don’t know how to process that yet.  This is such a complicated thing.  He’s done something horrible.  Accidentally, yes, but...still.  It’s going to take me some time to really process that this went down.    How are the other Gems going to react?  This is crazy.  What a turn this has taken.  And it occurs to me as I write this that the last four episodes will probably deal with closing Jasper’s arc, too!  It’s about damn time, I think.  Time to break her of her notions about her place in the world.
What’s not complicated is how good this episode was.  Fragments comes in at my new #2 for Season 6 (between Bismuth Casual and Snow Day) and my new #7 overall (between Last One Out of Beach City and Reunited).  That marks the third episode of Future to crack my top ten.  This season has had some low lows, but holy hell, when it’s on its game it’s on its goddamn game.  I’m looking forward to seeing if the last four episodes can do the same.
The last four episodes.  We’re almost done with Steven Universe.  For real, this time.  Last time I thought it was over...well, those were real tears I cried.  I don’t know how I’m going to react this time.  But...I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a ride.
The last four episodes air tonight, but we’re taking a short break from Steven Universe for a few days.  I’m going to do an episode of She-Ra next.  I need the break, and some time to process this.  Episode 11 of She-Ra will begin on Monday.
As for streams, we’re a few streams into Nier so far, and I’m enjoying it, mostly!  I don’t know if I have a stream in me tonight, but you’ll get a notification on here and the community Discord server if I do.  If I don’t stream tonight, I will probably stream tomorrow, but the new Borderlands 3 DLC came out this week and my buddy Eddie and I may be playing through it over the weekend.  You can click here for my Twitch channel, or click here for the playlist of Nier streams I’ve done so far.
I’ll see you wherever you plan to tune in, and thank you for continuing to support me!  The amount of support you guys have shown after I asked for more patrons has been wonderful.  Thank you guys so, SO much.  That’s going to give me some room to start saving up money, I think.
Anyways, until next time!  See you there!
IN OTHER NEWS:
I recently completed my playthrough of the second story campaign in Fire Emblem: Three Houses!   You can view all the streams of the Golden Deer and Black Eagles routes I have done by clicking here!
I recently completed a blind playthrough of Hollow Knight on Twitch!  You can watch all the Hollow Knight streams I’ve uploaded to Youtube by clicking here!
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You should also go pledge to Gio’s Patreon–our Discord server maintenance tech, creator of Rubybot, and community Minecraft server overlord deserves far more than I can afford to pledge to him by myself.
If you’d like more of me and my content:
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It’s your kindness and support that lets me do this stuff, and I wouldn’t be where I am without all of you to do it for.  Thank you all so much for your support, and for tuning in every episode!
OTHER PEOPLE YOU MAY ENJOY:
I may have been one of the earlier Steven Universe liveblogs, but a whole community of livebloggers has sprung up over the last five years!   I linked to a bunch individually for a few wrap-ups, but honestly, this end-slate is already eight billion miles long, so I’m just gonna link to my links page.  Click here if you want recommendations of other livebloggers, or other neat people, or webcomics and podcasts that I recommend.
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kenmasgameboy · 4 years
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PIPSQUEAK
a kuroo x gangmember!reader
summary;
" you like to cause a bit of trouble, pipsqueak?"
" pipsqueak? seriously?"
Life for you got turned upside down after your first year at Nekoma high. Realizing it was too dangerous, your parents sent you back to live in Miyagi and attend Karasuno with your old friends. Kuroo Tetsuro, the Police Chiefs son, comes into contact with you in the most unexpected way possible, bringing trouble wherever you both go.
—————————-
Prologue.
      High school was never that interesting to you. Though, you'll admit that it was a good way to help the days pass. You always found different games to help.
At first, games to you meant sneaking out of the house, slashing tires, almost getting arrested, going to parties. You had a bad reputation. You had been mixed up with all the wrong people before at your old school. But now you were going to turn your life around. Even if that means that now games to you would mean studying. Kind of.
         The closest you'd probably get to your new life would be getting in trouble for minor things at school. For example, falling asleep in class was a specialty of yours. Truly, an art form. Waking up to that sweet slap of a ruler against your desk was better than any alarm clock you'd ever hear. The rush in your chest, the heat to your cheeks, the sweaty palms. Incredible. But that is it. You promised your mother that this year you would be making her proud at Karasuno. You wouldn't be hanging out with those "thugs" as she liked to call them. You would keep up, maybe pay attention, and maybe make some more real friends.
       The truth was that school never felt like a real challenge to you. Sure there were plenty of difficult subjects that made you feel stupid but you always kept out of the drama, minded your business, and kept your head down. It was fine. There really was a target on your back now that you were the new girl at school though, and you had adjusted week by week meeting new people and reuniting with some old ones, too. But ultimately you decided the social system just wasn't made for you. There wasn't really a good place for you to fit in, or maybe it just wasn't comparing to the kind of family you made before.
      Today was one of those days where your motivation was at its peak, you were taking good notes. Studied for a quiz, been overly diligent. Then that sweet beautiful sound of the lunch bell rang, you pulled out your food, grabbed your skateboard, and left the classroom in a bit of a hurry. As you were leaving you started to hear a conversation:
      Dude, don't worry, I have it completely handled. Watch...
      "(Y/N)!" Narita, your classmate called for you once you exited the room and into the hallway. He stood next to Ennoshita who looked like he would explode any second. You knew Narita, him and Ennoshita were in Class 4 with you and you really didn't have that many real friends at school but you wouldn't mind calling them that. They were some of the friends you were reunited with from middle school, they were a big comfort to you when you transferred in.
      "Hey, how's it going?" You slowly walked over, trying to find your excuse to leave and take a nap without seeming impolite.
      "Great, good. Thanks, yourself?" Narita answered for him and Ennoshita. He also seemed in a hurry for some reason but was much worse at covering it up.
      "Pretty tired, but uh, for the most part—" You started but your sentence didn't last long.
      "You should come to my party! Uh— Our party. We're having a party it would probably wake you up. It's in Tokyo! I mean—" Narita came in strong.
       "Nice, buddy. You really do got this handled." Was all Ennoshita followed it up with, "Gotta go, see you guys in class."
       "A party?" You laughed a little, just because these guys were anything but the partying type. You started walking and Narita was following you like a hawk, "Don't you guys have volleyball practice or something?"
        "Yeah, of course. But not this Friday night! I mean technically we do but we'll be done at 6:30. Party can start at 7:30." Narita followed up, "All the volleyball guys will be there, too. We have a summer training camp in Tokyo starting on Monday so this is kind of the only day we can get everyone together. We already had our friends from Nekoma invite pretty much everyone they knew."
       "N-Nekoma, huh?" Your smile wavered, "That sounds like it'll be really fun for you guys. Thanks for the invite, but I don't really know anyone on your team. Plus, I can't get to Tokyo by 7:30." You said, declining as well as you could without making your answer too suspicious.
       "Well, yeah about that. Um, by 'it's in Tokyo' what I meant to say was Tokyo guys will be there. They're volleyball players, too, actually." He explained, rubbing the back of his neck and adjusting his satchel, trying his best to act cool and lean against the vending machine you were using.
       "So, it's a Volleyball mixer with you guys and a bunch of guys from Tokyo but it's not in Tokyo? Where is it, then?" You asked for the elaboration, kind of liking this dancing way to get to the point.
        "Yes, well and other schools in Miyagi, too. It's a lot of schools, I mean I'm talking Nekoma, Fukorodani, Aoba Johsai, Johzenji, Date Tech, Shiratorizawa.. maybe.. Inarizaki.. and more.. again maybe. But it's at Kinoshita's house. Which is still kinda far, but it has a pool! His family is loaded and they'll all be gone this weekend." Narita finally got to the point.
        "Sounds like it'll be a good time for you guys. I'm happy for you, sounds like you've made a lot of friends from other schools." You cheers'd your milk to him and started walking again to find a place to eat.
        "No, no. Girls will be there, too. It's kinda the whole point."
        "You really have to work on your pitch." You said plainly.
        "Please, I need your help (Y/N). I was put in charge of getting girls to come to this party." Narita begged, you couldn't help but let out a laugh at his desperation. In all your years of knowing him and being in the same classes you had never seen him talk to a single girl who wasn't in a group project or something related to it.
        "Why you?"
        "It was either me or Tanaka."
        "Oh, then definitely you are the better choice." You agreed, having known just from the previous stories he's told you. "Interesting proposition. I'll think about it."
       "You'll think about it and say yes?" He tried, "Every time I talk to a pretty girl I feel like I'm going to throw up, I can't talk to groups of girls and invite them to a party. But you're likable, more well known now since you're the new girl."
       "First of all, rude that I don't make you want to throw up. I'm pretty, sometimes."
       "Fair."
        "How about, I'll say yes if you tell me who it is you have a crush on, which girl you most want at this party then I'll help out." You offered. Narita thought for a minute as you started eating your lunch.
       "Fine." He nodded, "This is my duty to my boys." Then he leaned into your ear and whispered the name of the prettiest and smartest girl in your class: Ichika Yua. Ichika was going to be a tough sell.
       "Alright. A deals a deal. You've given me a secret and I will do what I can do. How many girls do you need, anyway? Are we going for a 1:1 ratio or..?"
       "No, these guys need a much higher chance I think. Let's try a 4:1 ratio."
       "Yeah, actually you're gonna take what you can get."
       "Yes, ma'am."
        "Now give me the rundown on your team. I don't really know any of them and I need to know for my pitches I have to do this week. And don't think because I'm doing some work means that you can slack off okay. I really only know 2nd-year girls, if you want 3rd year or 1st you have to go to them. You need to try too. Also, will there be alcohol?" You listed off your demands and were straight forward. Narita made a slow nod,
        "Oh, I almost forgot. Do you know any girls from Nekoma who could come?" He asked you the dreaded question.
        Yup, you were originally supposed to spend your high school years at Nekoma High School. When you were entering high school your dad got a job offer in Tokyo, forcing you to move out there after middle school. Then after everything happened, your Mom knew it was too risky to let you live out in Tokyo still and she shipped you back here to go to Karasuno and live in a small apartment by yourself. You have family friends who come to check on you and your parents visit when they can. It's not horrible, at least now you get to come back to streets more familiar.
      "Um, I think the girls I knew from Nekoma aren't exactly the girls you want at a party. Besides, you should just ask your volleyball brethren to ask some girls and pull their weight. Or are they too pretty for you to talk to?" You teased Narita and knocked his head.
      "Hey, girls are girls." Narita held his head from where you knocked it.
      "Sure, if thats the case then the next time you see me I better be seeing some chunks."
     You and Narita continued to eat lunch together that day. Until you realized you only had a limited amount of time left and had to use the bathroom before class so you excused yourself. You skated away around the outside of the courtyard with a bun in your mouth and around some of your other classmates, waving.
        "Dude, uh. Who was that?" A guy with an aggressive appearance walked up to Narita, having walked past a few minutes before but stayed just to gawk.
        "Huh? (Y/N)?" Narita clarified, innocently.
        "(Y/N)... wow. What a beautiful name." Tanaka sighed in simp, "Is she our year?"
        "Yeah, man. She's in my class. You never noticed her before? I'm surprised she was the talk of Karasuno guys for like the whole first week of this year." He laughed. "She is technically new to Karasuno this year. But she's from Miyagi, I've known her since grade school."
        "My babe sensor has been reserved for Kiyoko only recently. Trying to be loyal." He humphed, "You guys a thing?"
       "What? No, no." Narita laughed, "No, we've just been friends for a while. She's helping me get girls to come to the party on Friday."
       Tanaka jumped up with optimism, "Yes! This is going to be the best party of our high school lives!"
       "I hope so." Narita rubbed his neck to try and tame his nerves again.
       "(Y/N).." Tanaka sighed again, "You know who's gonna go nuts when they get a look at her, right?"
       "I know."
———————————-
next
Thank you so much for reading!! Please let me know what you think and keep reading!!
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badmcuposts · 5 years
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A New Favorite Thing
No warnings
Good ole irondad and spiderson as suggested by @dantedeletes
Set like, a week or two after Civil War this is very very very early in their relationship.
Tony wants to learn how this slightly annoying snot-nosed kid from queens manufactured webbing that a genius billionaire can’t replicate for the life of him. In the end, he learns the slightly-annoying-snot-nosed-kid-from-queens is actually a miniature version of himself, and decides to keep him.
-
All Tony wanted was to find out how the kid designed that stupid webbing.
He had spent five-no-six days holed up in the lab over this, and nothing. Pep was getting concerned, rightfully so, that he hadn’t just asked Peter to show him. But how was he supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey buddy can you teach me how to do the thing i have multiple phds in because you’re smarter than me at 12?’ The whole thing was god awful embarrassing.
Which would be exactly the reason as to why Tony was about to burn the whole tower down if she pulled something like this again. Inviting the kid herself like she owned the place. Well, she did, but that wasn’t the point of it all. He didn’t even know what to do with an annoying little kid!
It wasn’t that Tony didn’t trust Peter in his lab. He had seen the kid’s grades. It was more or less worrying about what he was supposed to do in the highly unlikely event that the kid wasn’t as trustworthy as he seemed. If they got in there and Peter couldn’t hold his own, he would be at a total loss to keep control in the lab. There were so many questions, so many worries in case something went wrong.
Was he even old enough for the energy drinks? What else was in the minifridge up in the lab? Bagels? Did he like bagels? What if Peter got scared up in the workshop? Would he fit into Tony’s spare safety goggles? What if he didn’t like the way the workshop was organized? What if Peter didn’t want to be around Tony after this and got himself hurt?
And this would be why Tony really hadn’t contacted Peter, huh? His own insecurity about how he was supposed to continue on with his relationship with a something-year-old child after no doubt traumatizing the poor thing in a battle and then embarrassing him via benching halfway through.
He’d read the countless articles in old newspapers, seen the police files involving the kid. The Parker boy was a ticking time bomb, no doubt about it. If Tony didn’t keep him in line and make sure not to hurt him any more, those special abilities might turn into weapons of mass destruction. And he really didn’t want to start planning for the kid to go to the dark side.
But, it was time to man up and face the music. Or, rather, the child standing three feet away with the most worn duffle bag to ever grace the eyes of someone with the Stark name. Tony gently smiled, raising his hand for a polite shake that Peter took with innocent eagerness and aptitude. God, this kid is definitely gonna break something up there.
“Peter, nice of you to join me. I’d love to talk a bit about that webbing we discussed before.”
Peter’s smile faltered a little, but returned within the second.
“Yeah, Miss Potts said to bring my stuff. Though, if you wanna do me a favor, let’s not break any of it. Technically, I’m borrowing it from the school labs.”
“You don’t have your own equipment?”
Tony was honestly shocked. Where had Peter been making all of this? He couldn’t have been using public school half-ass production level equipment this whole time, could he?
“No, sir. I just make the web fluid during chemistry when the teacher turns around.”
Well, that answers that question. How smart was this kid? A few years of straight As indicated intelligence but, at this rate, shouldn’t he have skipped a few grades?
“Well then, looks like it’s time to get down to business, isn’t it?”
Peter’s breathing managed to begin to replicate the tune of “I’ll Make a Man Out Of You”. This kid...
“Yessir.”
And as they reached the elevator, Friday automatically carrying the pair of nerds to floor 79, Tony finally said it.
“Stop calling me sir, you make me feel older every time you speak than most people do when they remind me that my father was young and spry in the smack dab middle of World War Two.”
“Only if you start referring to this stuff as “web fluid”, Mr. Stark. It’s very important to repect scientific nomenclature in the form given by the original scientist.” “How much of that was a the answer to a science class pretest?” “The whole thing.”
Fair enough, you little-
The elevator came to a halt (smoothly, of course. It’s stark tech) at the workshop. Luckily for Tony, he had plenty of extra space so Peter would feel comfortable. He pointed to a desk a few feet from his own and briefly stated “Set your gear up over there, tell me what chemicals you need.”
Peter, however, didn’t seem to willing to let his host take the lead.
“Oh no, sir, I brought my own stuff. Midtown is loaded with spare bottles. They won’t notice.”
Two could play at that game, couldn’t they? Well, there was always one way to find out.
“Yeah, and you’re gonna leave them in the bag and put them back tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow’s saturday.”
“Monday, whatever. My cabinet has a billion variations of every science-related doohickey known to man and it could use some more use. No point wasting all the money that school probably spends with the intent of it being used in class, huh? And what did I say about calling me sir?”
“Sorry, sir.”
The kid was smirking. What did Tony do to deserve such cruel treatment from the universe?
Peter tossed his bag onto the desk with enough force to make any non-enhanced teenager look like they were about to throw a tantrum. But, Peter merely glanced at his hands, sighed, and checked that none of the gear had gotten damaged.
Right, super kid. Not a normal intern. Not an intern at all, technically. Unless...
Nope. Later, Tones.
Tony quickly assisted in the set-up, hoping he could rush this and memorize the formula as quickly as inhumanly possible. And that’s when he noticed, Peter’s notes were in the back of his chemistry notebook. How in pointbreak’s name had nobody figured this kid out yet?
Pushing his lack of faith in humanity and all of its company, Tony unlocked the cabinet of infinite chemicals.
“Alright can you grab me some... uhhhhh.... Salicylic Acid, Touline, Methanol, Carbon Tetrachloride, H-Heptane, Potassium Carbonate, Ethyl Acetate, Hexate, BHA, Sodium Tetraborate, and why not just jump the gun and grab the Cactivator Activated Silica Gel now instead of waiting until later?”
Jesus christ this might as well be a liquid bomb with how little he trusts a child with any of these products. Especially silica gel. Don’t kids get high off of that stuff? No, no, Tony, be a good mentor-figure-thing. Now was the time to let the kid have a little room to make mistakes. Let him blow up the lab now instead of later. Sounds responsible.
“Gotcha, Wiz Kid.”
“First off, if I was a sim, my childhood aspiration would be Rambunctious Scamp.”
Tony deadpanned at Peter for another three minutes and twelve seconds before finally responding.
“I literally have no idea what you are talking about, ever.”
Well, ain’t that the truth. However, if Tony was being honest with himself, a little back and forth did wonders to calm his nerves. Maybe the kid wasn’t all too frightening. More like a kitten in the freezing rain.
“What’s next?”
Peter grabbed the worn notebook and examined the page closely.
“Uhhhh, now we add activator degas for 30 minutes, I think. Or is it 45? Wait a sec, I’ll find it somewhere in my notes.”
“You don’t have it memorized?”
“Well, usually I don’t have an audience.”
“Touché.”
Time continued on like that for the next half hour. Back and forth, quip after quip, each remark from the thir-fif-twe-si-fourteen year old “August 10th, 2001, the day the world wishes had never happened. No, it’s a joke Mr. Stark. More of a gen z kind of thing.” reminding Tony of himself. Perhaps, in another world, he could have been as amazing as Peter Parker was proving to be.
He even introduced Peter to the bots, who immediately decided they had a new brother to play with and went hog wild trying to play ball with the kid who was far more interested in marveling at their hotwiring. To Tony, their designs were juvenile and messy. However, to the teenaged dumpster diver next to him, they were beautiful.
And once time slowed, they finally went back to work.
“Now we need to heat it, slowly! Don’t hurt my baby, Mr. Stark!”
“Your baby?”
“You literally just called a little robot your baby but I’m the weird one, ok.”
“Dum-E has artificial feelings, your super glue wouldn’t care if you magically turned to ash.”
Ok, too far. But the kid took it as a joke, no doubt. He snorted the whole way through his laugh. Snorted.
“How slowly is this supposed to be anyway?”
“For the next 24 hours.”
“24 HOURS? What are we supposed to do until then?”
“I dunno. I can swing over tomorrow and we can finish it up then.”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.”
Tony helped Peter load his equipment back up, hoping the kid wouldn’t get caught stealing school property.
“Heck, maybe make it a tradition. Lab days until one of us explodes from too much science.”
And Tony smiled. The brightest, most genuine smile he had ever given in his lifetime.
“You got it, kiddo.”
Yeah, Lab days.
He could get behind that.
It might just be his new favorite thing.
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reckoningss · 5 years
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Mercy Springs - One
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Summary: Mercy Booker holds these truths to be self-evident: animals are significantly more relatable than people, and working as a veterinary tech in a sleepy little town is as close to the “good life” as she’s going to get. When a strange man shows up at her clinic after hours with an injured dog, she has a decision to make - go on living the quiet life she’s come to know or open the door to the exhilarating unknown.
Pairing: Pete Castiglione/Frank Castle x OC (Mercy Booker)
Warnings: Animal death, allusions to blood
Wordcount: 2k
A/N: Starting a new series as if I’m in any way consistent or disciplined. We’ll see how this goes.
Mrs. Haskell was in tears. More accurately, she was wracked with pitiful, blubbering sobs that shook her shoulders and dripped tears and God knows what down the front of her worn, magenta hoodie. Mercy rubbed her shuddering back and try, unsuccessfully, for a comforting smile. 
Wednesdays were the worst. 
It was no coincidence either; Dr. Liebovitz scheduled the majority of his euthanizations on Wednesdays and Mercy - as his primary veterinary tech - attended all of them. By his reasoning, Wednesday wasn’t early enough in the week to compound the misery of a Monday and wasn’t late enough to spoil the weekend. She had to admit there might have been something to his logic. 
Mercy removed her hand from Mrs. Haskell’s back and gently grasped her forearm instead. “Hey.” She infused her voice with a measure of authority - warm consternation. Mrs. Haskell lifted her face out of her hands and gazed at her with watery eyes. All of the crying had painted her face with a mosaic of creamy red and pink splotches. Mercy smiled again. 
“It’s time.” 
Her lip quivered and more fat tears escaped the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Mercy, I don’t think I can watch. I can’t go in there.”
Mercy squeezed the older woman’s wrist and willed her to meet her eye. “You have to. The last thing Boomer sees shouldn’t be me.”
Jeanie Haskell choked out another sob and screwed her face up in agony. “Bu-”
“But nothing.” Mercy cut her off decidedly, leveraging her burgeoning talent for providing comfort and chastisement in the same breath, “You’re his entire world. He deserves to have you there.” 
Her sobs quieted to gasping whimpers as Mercy walked over behind the reception desk and plucked two tissues from the strategically placed Kleenex box. Returning, she folded them gently into Mrs. Haskell’s hands and rubbed her back again. 
“It’s going to be alright. We’ll be right there with you.”
In the operating room, Mercy stood quietly to the side as Mrs. Haskell kneeled in front of Boomer and wrapped her arms around her neck. She’d managed to stop crying, but the old dog could feel the sadness rolling off of her and tucked his wide head into the side of her neck. 
Poor thing, Mercy thought as she watched the final embrace unfold. Jeanie Haskell had been bringing Boomer to Charity Springs Animal Clinic since he was a puppy - well before Mercy graduated from DeBrie with her associate's degree and stumbled into a job with Dr. Leibowitz. He’d been older but still energetic when Mercy first met him - fun, but more reserved with age. They’d had a few good years to bond over checkups and countless treats. But now at 11 he was suffering from the onset of bone cancer and walked with a pitiable limp. He just looked tired. 
Mrs. Haskell pulled away from her old Beauceron and ran a hand down the side of his long, weathered face, then, kissing his nose one last time, she stood and backed into Dr. Leibowitz’ waiting arms. The older man gazed at Mercy over the top of the wire-rim glasses sitting low on his nose and offered a wistful smile. 
Mercy took a deep breath and nodded. “Ok.” 
From her pocket she produced a treat - chicken jerky flavored, Boomer’s favorite - and offered it to the dog. After a cursory sniff, he took it meekly from her palm. Mercy rubbed the crown of his head with one hand and with the other, injected several milliliters of acepromazine into the dog’s rear. He twitched a little but didn’t respond. 
“Good boy,” Mercy cooed, scratching Boomer behind the ears while she waited for the sedative to take effect. “You’re doing so great.” Boomer blinked sluggishly, laying his head on the linoleum floor. “That’s it, Buddy.” Crouching, Mercy slid her hands gently beneath the large dog’s frame and hefted him into her arms. He really was a big dog - 105 pounds the last time she’d weighed him, probably closer to 95 now. She huffed tightly through her nose. “I’ve gotcha.”
Mercy laid Boomer down on the stainless steel exam table and smoothed a hand down his side. His black fur was duller than it had been in previous years but no less beautiful. 
“Oh,” came a breathy whisper from over Mercy’s shoulder. She stepped to the side so a sniffling Mrs. Haskell could step in and caress her beloved companion. “Oh, baby, I love you so much.” 
Mercy shared a look with Dr. Elie Leibowitz from where he stood across the table. The doctor looked good for 67, but he had sad eyes. Mercy knew for a fact that he adored his job, but it saddened him too, especially during moments like this. Dr. Leibowitz nodded. 
Mercy took another breath in preparation. 
“Ok. Boomer is partially sedated now. The acepromazine is going to keep him from feeling any pain, ok?” 
Dr. Leibowitz shuffled over to the corner and rolled over a metal stand. An IV bag swung lazily from one of its arms. Mercy carefully unsleeved a catheter needle. A pair of gloved fingers pushed back fur and located a vein in one of Boomer’s hind legs. She pushed the needle in. “We’re going to start an IV of pentobarbital - a seizure drug. At this dosage, it’s going to put Boomer to sleep. Then it’ll shut down his brain and heart functions.”
Dr. Leibowitz fit the end of the IV line into the catheter port and screwed it in. Mrs. Haskell hiccupped another quiet sob and buried her hands in Boomer’s fur. Big, anguished tears were rolling down her round cheeks again. Mercy watched as the liquid began to fill the drip chamber.
“It should only take a few minutes.” 
“You were wonderful, Jeanie, you made Boomer’s last moments very special,” Dr. Leibowitz murmured reassuringly from the hallway. 
That part was his specialty - the people part - and Mercy knew to leave him to it.  She could practically see him - one arm wrapped around the mourning woman’s shoulders, head bent in to whisper comfort to her. He always knew what to say.
She would much rather do this. The aluminum gurney bumped over the tiles as she rolled Boomer’s body into cold storage in the back. The body was stiff now, brown eyes half-lidded. The local pet crematorium would be by to pick up the body in the morning. In a few days time, Mrs. Haskell would come back to pick up the urn of Boomer’s remains. 
Mercy lugged the heavy storage door open and rolled the table inside. Boomer didn’t look like he was sleeping in the low light filtering in from the hallway but Mercy laid one gloved hand on the side of his lifeless face anyway. “You were such a good dog, Boom.”
Dr. Leibowitz was already disinfecting the table when Mercy made it back to the exam room. He offered her a quick glance overtop his glasses as he hummed. Mercy quietly went around the room, gathering discarded paper sleeves and alcohol wipes into a trash bag. 
“You were very good with Mrs. Haskell today.” 
Mercy paused in the doorway - the mouth of the trash bag half twisted into a knot - and peered at Dr. Leibowitz over her shoulder. 
“I mean it.” The doctor bent low to snatch a pen up off the floor, bracing a hand on his knee and groaning. He was like a very, very old tree. “Your bedside manner is really improving.” 
Mercy scoffed. “The animals think my bedside manner is great.” 
Dr. Leibowitz chuckled warmly as he shuffled across the room toward her. He cupped her shoulders and looked down into her face intently. “I know animals come easy for you, but the toughest part of this job is the people and they’re important too.” 
Mercy offered a begrudging nod of ascent before glancing down at his vintage timepiece. She raised a brow. ”You have a date to go to.” 
The doctor unhanded her shoulder to squint down at the face of his watch. His eyes went wide. “You’re right!” He threw his hands up and shuffled away from her at a determined speed. “It’s Italian night!” 
Mercy grinned and followed him to the lobby, tugging on the knotted garbage bag to secure it. Leibowitz leaned over the reception desk to grab his coat and hat from the hooks on the wall. She had to admit, he looked rather dapper as he shrugged the jacket on. His wife was a lucky woman. Leibowitz lowered the trilby onto his head and glanced back at her. “You ok to lock up alone?” 
“I always am.” 
After Mercy locked the door behind Dr. Leibowitz and lugged all the trash to the dumpster out back, she made her way around the clinic cleaning and shutting everything down. The hour and a half long process wasn’t half bad with some music to keep her company. Not to mention that she always saved the best closing duty for last. 
Mercy stored the empty mop bucket in the supply closet and retreated to the boarding room in the very rear of the clinic. A chorus of yips and cries met her ears as soon as she opened the door, bringing a smile to her face. 
“Hey guys!” 
It was the middle of fall and as such, the clinic was a little light on boarders, but Mercy didn’t mind. This way, she could provide their few charges with as much love as possible. 
A litter of kittens had been brought in by the local girl scout troupe. Small, fluffy, and vicious, they were all a wonderful terror to babysit. Then there was Bodhi - the rescue bulldog puppy in for observation and shots. Mercy’s peach scrubs were a dark, slobber-stained coral by the time she locked his crate again. Tinkerbell - the curmudgeonly old tabby - was still in a foul mood from her operation to extract a benign growth, but they’d managed to work out a decent enough working relationship and Mercy swore she felt a purr when she tugged gently on the cat’s ears. And last, but certainly not least, Stav the lionhead rabbit was little more than a big, hairy softy, desperate for attention. Mercy made sure to spend a few extra moments stroking his soft belly. 
Mercy finished up administering medication, checking stitches and refilling water bowls and offered the animals one last quiet ‘goodnight’ before turning the light out and retracing her steps to the lobby. It had started to rain while she finished up and she noted the patter against the wide plate glass windows with some relief. It had been a long day; she was just now beginning to feel the fatigue pulling at her as she dragged a hoodie over her head. She couldn't wait to get home, warm up a meal, drink a beer and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Something flashed across her periphery just as her head breached the neckline of the hoodie. Mercy peered into the grainy bank of CCTV screens on the monitor sitting behind the reception desk and saw nothing save for the greyscale glittering of fallen rain. Maybe it had just been a raccoon. They were known to skulk around the clinic, ripping off whatever scraps they could find in the dumpsters. 
Shrugging it off, Mercy dug her keys out of the desk drawer and headed for the door. She flipped through the densely populated key ring as she walked, thumbing through until she selected the heavy key to lock the door behind herself when she left. Mercy pinched the thick locking mechanism between her forefinger and thumb, ready to rotate it counterclockwise and swing open the door. 
A volley of violent knocks shook the door and echoed through the nearly empty clinic. Mercy shrieked, dropping the keys and looking up into the bloody, frantic face of a man only inches away from her on the other side of the glass. 
Mercy stifled the urge to clutch her chest although she could feel her heart hammering mercilessly against her ribcage. Her hand fumbled in her pocket for her phone, numb fingers itching to dial 911, until her gaze left the man’s desperate face and made its way down to the massive, grey dog bleeding in his arms. 
Part Two
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Road to Achievement City: Chapter 2- Meetings Had
Summary: Achievement Hunters are a group of treasure hunters who have been searching for the ruins of Achievement City for ages. Jack finds an old map in his parents’ attic that may be the key to finally finding the ruins. The journey ahead may be long, but at least they’ll be traveling down the right road this time.
Chapter:2/12
Word Count: 1,319
Parings: Gavin/Ryan
Previous / Next / AO3
Jack called Geoff after family dinner that night and told him that he needed to get to Achievement Hunter headquarters in Austin as soon as possible. Jack said he would be there in the morning and that he was bringing his older brother along as a part of the hunt. Geoff agreed, and Jack and Ryan were set to head down to Austin in the morning. Ryan was reluctant to travel, seeing as he wanted to spend time with their dad for his birthday, but Jack argued that they’d have all weekend with their dad, and this was just a day trip. Ryan agreed, after that.
After Ryan was woken up early by an excited Jack the next morning, they drove the 3-hour drive to the Achievement Hunter headquarters. Once they arrived, Ryan followed Jack to a meeting room. There were three younger men sitting at the meeting table. One had curly auburn hair and what seemed like a permanent scowl on his face. The next man was lanky, had messy dark blonde hair, and a rather large nose. The last man was short, bald, and muscular; and he looked vaguely familiar.
“Morning Lads,” Jack greeted the men as he and Ryan entered the room.
“Morning, Jack,” the curly-haired man replied in return.
“Did Geoff run off to do something?”
“News of another lead on finding Achievement City must have given him a boner and he’s getting B-Team ready for the map. Speaking of which, who’s the douchebag holding it?”
“This douchebag happens to be joining us on the treasure hunt. He’s my older brother—”
“RYAN!” the short man interrupted, rushing over to Ryan. “I missed my Battle Buddy.”
“Battle Buddy…” Ryan questioned and the man gave him a huge hug. “Jeremy?” The man nodded. “Jeremy, it’s been years! You’ve gotten so big, but not very tall.” Jeremy released the hug and punched Ryan in the shoulder.
“You know him?” the curly-haired man asked.
“Yeah, he used to babysit me, when I was a kid,” Jeremy replied.
“Alright, so you already know Ryan, Jeremy. Why don’t you introduce yourselves, Michael and Gavin, and explain what you do in the group,” Jack said.
“Well, I’m Michael,” the curly-haired man started. “I do explosives and pyrotechnics for navigating through tough obstacles.”
“You already know me, but I do a lot of the heavy lifting for treasure hunts. I mostly just help out with whatever needs extra help,” Jeremy explained.
“Mm-hm,” Ryan replied with a nod. Then he looked at the last man. “And what about you?” he asked.
The last man looked at him. Ryan noticed that the new man was staring at him, looking lost in thought. He had no idea if the man was thinking or judging him, or he was just staring into space.
“Gavin!” Michael said, elbowing the man. “Introduce yourself!”
The man snapped out of his gaze and coughed. “I’m Vav… uh, I mean… Gavin,” he stuttered.
“Smooth,” Jeremy teased.
Michael stared at Gavin, wide-eyed. “Dude…” he mouthed.
“And what is your job in the group?” Ryan asked.
“I, uh, do teach. I mean, tech. Bollocks…” Gavin continued to stutter.
“Oh, cool. I work for a tech support company, so maybe I could be your assistant or something,” Ryan suggested with a smile.
“I… uh…” Gavin started. Then he shut his mouth and started to rapidly nod his head up and down.
“Okay…”
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Michael whispered to Gavin.
“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Gavin whispered back.
“You’re staring at Jack’s brother.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. Do you think he’s hot or something? Because you look like you’re in love or something?”
“What? I mean, he is a rather handsome bloke…”
“Did you just get smitten with Jack’s older brother?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe?”
“What, you gonna try to get drunk with him and ask him out?”
“I don’t know…”
Michael looked up at Ryan. “Hey Ryan, hypothetically would you wanna go out for a drink some time?” he asked.
“Hypothetically? Well… I don’t drink…” Ryan replied, confused.
Michael turned back to Gavin. “So, getting drunk with him won’t work for you,” he whispered.
“I don’t know if I can interact with someone so bloody handsome without getting distracted,” Gavin whispered back.
“Well, you still need you get shit done. You gotta try acting more confident and assertive if you’re nervous about being distracted.”
“I’m not sure I’ve very good about—”
“Hey what are you guys whispering about?” Ryan interrupted to ask.
“Oh, ignore them. it’s always ‘Team Nice Dynamite’ against the world,” Jack said.
“‘Team Nice Dynamite.’ “
“What they call themselves.”
“Ah.”
“Well, since Mavin is over there gossiping, we can catch up,” Jeremy said.
“Mavin?”
“I got good news, everyone!” a new man said as he entered the room. He had dark brown hair, tired eyes, and was covered in tattoos.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Geoff,” Jack said.
“I don’t need your sass, Jack.” Then he turned to Ryan. “And you must be the techy brother who has the map to Achievement City.” He walked over and offered his hand. “Geoff Ramsey.”
“Ryan Haywood-Pattillo,” Ryan introduced in return, shaking Geoff’s hand.
“So, what was this good news you had for us?” Jack asked.
“Well, B-Team zoomed in on the picture of the map you took on your phone and determined it wouldn’t be a very long trip to find the treasure after all,” Geoff explained.
“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked.
“Everyone, come gather around the pic on my phone so I can show you.”
“You know,” Ryan said as he pulled out the map. “I have the actual map with me.”
“Damn, that makes things easier. Lay it out on the table,” he said. Ryan nodded an rolled the map out. Everyone gathered around the map. “Alright. So, it looks like it’s about a five-hour drive from Austin to the Mexico border.  Then an hour south and five more hours west and we should be there.”
“Okay, so, this treasure isn’t very far away…” Michael said.
“Now that we have the map in person, B-Team should be able to get more of their shit together.”
“Meaning?” Gavin asked.
“If we give B-Team the weekend to work, we should be on our way to finding Achievement City by Monday!”
“Monday!?” Ryan yelped.
“Yeah, Monday. What’s the problem with that?”
“It’s just that, I was only supposed to be in town for Jack’s and my father’s birthday and I was supposed to fly back to Georgia on Sunday. And I’m pretty sure Jack told you that I wanted to be a part of this treasure hunt because the map technically belongs to me.”
Jack sighed. “I did tell you that Ryan wants to be a part of this, Geoff.”
“So, is it possible that we could do this hunt in a couple months, so I can schedule actual vacation time to take off of work for?”
“Ryan, buddy, I’m sorry dude, but this is what we’ve been searching for, for years. It’s what we name the treasure hunting team after, so we’re going to want to get on this hunt. As soon as possible. So, you have to decide, how important is going on this treasure hunt, to you?” Geoff asked.
“I…” Ryan paused then sighed in defeat. “I’ll go call my boss and tell him that I need the vacation time now, and I’ll be unable to come into work for a couple weeks.”
“Are you absolutely sure you still want to do this?” Jack asked.
“The map is mine, so yeah, I’m sure I want to do this.” Jack gave Ryan a pat on the shoulder and nodded. Ryan smiled and pulled out his cellphone.
“Just remember, you’re not going to be vacationing in this vacation,” Michael joked.
Ryan sighed and exited the room to go make his call.
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faithfulcat111 · 6 years
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A Fully Unfunctional Human
Summary: It has been one hell of a semester. After all, 27 Student Health/ER visits between four people in four months is nothing to sneeze at. Just make sure to use a tissue if you do.
Word count: 2001
Note: So, because the whole situation was so hilarious, I decided to write out what happened to me and my roommates last semester. Yes, the timeline is accurate (although the conversations aren’t, sorry my memory sucks.) And if you remember some of my posts from last April, you will recognize some of these events. Enjoy!
“Frick!” Virgil grabbed at his left wrist, pulling away from his laptop.
One of his roommates shot his head up from the book he was reading while curled up on the couch. “Are you okay, Virgil?” Patton asked.
“I'm fine,” Virgil grimaced, rolling his wrist and trying to ignore the shooting pain.
“You've been complaining about your wrist all day,” Logan stepped out of his and Roman’s bedroom into their living room. “Are you sure you don't want to go to Student Health?”
Virgil glanced down at the clock on his laptop, “They closed 10 minutes ago. If my wrist is still bothering me, I'll go on Monday. I don't have class till 11 anyway.”
“And what about tonight?” Logan asked. When Virgil didn't answer, Logan sighed, “At least let me wrap it. I don't want you going out tonight with it in that much pain.”
“It's just a bake sale,” Virgil groaned, but followed Logan back into his bedroom and let his wrist be wrapped.
In hindsight, Virgil was grateful for the wrap and had Logan and Roman help him the rest of the weekend. It certainly helped carry things while setting up and taking down the bake sale his theatre troupe was held during intermission of their current musical. But he was so grateful when it closed and Monday came around. Carpel tunnel. Early onset, but years of sprained wrists from falling and hours of tech prepping for the musical finally caught up to him. If only it ended there.
That afternoon, Virgil was curled up on the couch this time, avoiding his homework as it hurt to use his computer while scrolling away on his phone. Roman walked in through the front door, tapping on his own phone while loudly saying, “Okay, I have about 45 minutes until I have to pick up my kids. I don't have a show tonight, but I might be going out to Harley’s with Logan. Did you go to student health?”
Virgil held up his left wrist showing off his brand-new wrist brace. “They say it is early onset so I should be able to take it off in a few weeks. But I need to take it easy.”
“Is that through finals?” Roman asked.
Virgil shook his head, “Just dead week. But I can't type right now unless I pluck like a chicken at the keys and I still have a paper to finish.”
“Yikes,” Roman glances back at his phone. “I'm going to take a speed nap. See you soon, doll.”
Virgil gave a wave as he looked back down at his phone. But not two minutes later, there was a loud thud from the back bedroom and accompanied by a cry of pain. Virgil leapt off the couch and ran back into the bedroom to find Roman laying on the floor squinting at the ceiling. “What happened?” Virgil asked, slightly panicked as he crouched down next to him.
“I fell off the bed,” Roman gasped as he started to push himself up, propping himself up on the desk behind him. Virgil looked up at Roman’s bed, the top of the bunks. Roman gasped again, his face twisting in pain as he grabbed at his right leg. “Where is my phone?” he finally whimpered.
Virgil hopped up and grabbed the phone from where it had been placed on Roman’s bed. Roman called a number as another figure appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Are you okay?” Brian asked. “I heard one very loud thud and a bunch of little thuds from my apartment downstairs.”
“Roman fell off the bed and hurt his foot,” Virgil explained, standing back up.
“Ankle,” Roman clarified with a grimace before the person he was calling answered. “Logan!”
“Roman? What happened?” Logan crackled over the poor connection, the sound of a dog barking in the distance.
“I fell. I think I need to go see the doctor. But that isn’t important. I need to pick up my kids and I don’t think I can drive and they know you,” Roman suddenly cut himself off, looking up at Virgil. “Can you drive? Like I know you can, but can you drive my van?”
Virgil faltered for a minute before softly answering, “Yeah. No problem.”
“Okay, nevermind!” Roman tried to sound cheerful. “Virgil will go with me and drive. And then we’ll go to the hospital.”
“Okay, okay,” Logan said. “You need to call your mom unless you have already. She isn’t going to be happy.”
Roman laughed, “I know. Bye doll.” Logan muttered a bye before Roman hung up and looked up at Virgil, “Care lending a hand?” Virgil helped Roman to his feet.
“Can I help?” Brian asked, inching towards the door.
Virgil shook his head and Brian left while the two very slowly made it down the stairs. It was quite a feat considering they lived three floors up with no elevators and Roman was five inches taller than Virgil, but they somehow made it out to the van. Virgil started it up while Roman called his mom and explained the situation. “You’re what?” Roman asked holding out a hand to stop Virgil from shifting out of park. “Okay, fifteen minutes? See you then.” Roman hanged up and leaned back in his seat. “My mom happened to come to town this afternoon. She’ll help me pick up the kids and take me to the hospital.”
“Oh,” Virgil said, turning the van back off. “Can I help you with anything else?”
Roman shook his head, looking down at his rapidly swelling ankle, “Thanks, buddy. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Yeah, be safe,” Virgil said, leaving the van while Roman chuckled. He looked back at the van halfway to the house, before turning and walking back inside.
“I can’t believe he is still performing,” Logan muttered while he handed their tickets over. “I guess not even fracturing his ankle will stop that idiot from performing.”
“Well, they did pull him from all the dance scenes,” Patton pointed out, trying to stay cheerful.
“I know, but he should have backed out. He isn’t even playing a main character this time around,” Logan groaned as they walked into the theatre. The three had bought tickets to go see Roman’s performance with the community theatre troupe. Roman had joined that show while Virgil was working tech on their school’s performance of a different show. Which led to some confusion in the apartment while they overlapped.
But Logan’s point was quickly proven as they watched the show. Every time Roman was on stage, his face was pulled into a barely concealed grimace and in some scenes, you could actively see him limping. By the time the three went backstage to check on him after the show, even optimistic Patton was concerned.
“Who are you?” one of the other cast members asked, vaguely recognizing Virgil and Logan, but not enough to place them.
“We’re Roman’s roommates,” Logan explained, trying to keep a smile on his face.
“Oh,” the cast member crossed his arms, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Why did none of you catch him when he fell?”
“Well, we weren’t home,” Logan gestured between Patton and himself.
When the cast member looked over at Virgil, he just lifted up his left hand, showing off his own brace. “Well, aren’t you guys just a mess?” he laughed.
“We’re trying,” Logan laughed, but much more nervously. At that moment, Roman limped into the room, collapsing in the chair next to Logan, and snatching up his leg brace. Logan waited until the cast member left before asking, “Are you going to keep performing?”
“Yes,” Roman said, determinedly while pulling on the straps. “I only have four more shows. I’ll be fine.” Logan made a noise of disagreement but didn’t say anything else. “I’m going to stay at my parents tonight,” Roman added. “Don’t let that darn dog squish you.”
“Okay,” Logan sighed, looking down at his hands. “We better get going. I still have to drop these two off at home before driving out there.”
When Virgil got out of class on Thursday, he nearly dropped his phone in shock at the large number of text messages in his apartment group chat, mainly between Logan and Roman. He quickly scanned them as he ran home, out of breath before he even crossed the deathtrap of a road in front of his house. Upstairs, he found Logan sitting on the couch, his left leg propped up on the coffee table with an ice pack on it. “What happened?” he asked, dropping his backpack in the doorway as Patton walked in behind him.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t fracture it,” Logan sighed. “Just a sprain. Thomas took me to the doctor already.”
“Did I read the text correctly?” Patton asked, looking back down at his own phone.
“Yup,” Logan grimaced. “Fell down some stairs. And you two were in class and Roman certainly couldn’t come to get me. So Thomas and Remy did.” Logan looked up at Virgil, “I still don’t know how you managed to get up and keep walking after you fell down the stairs in February and last November.”
“I didn’t sprain my ankle in February, just scratched up my knee. And all I knew in November is I still had work to do before poor Valerie could come to pick me up and I was alone in the building,” Virgil explained, keeping his voice low.
Logan sighed, looking back down at his ankle. “Wait,” Patton suddenly said. “Between the three of you, you make almost a fully unfunctional human.”
“That leaves you, Pat,” Virgil said.
Patton looked down at his right wrist and whispered in a horrified whisper, “Oh no!”
Really, it shouldn’t have surprised them. And it almost didn’t. Especially after Patton negated going to swing dance on Sunday night to go to sleep early. Something he hadn’t done all year. He loved swing so much that he kept going despite his body’s aches and pains. But he decided to sleep early that night. And the next morning, he stumbled out of his and Virgil’s bedroom, nose running and throat croaky and asked Logan if he could drive him to Student Health. Logan was already going so that Roman could get a bigger brace as the one he had wasn’t nearly tall enough. But the four piled into the car and started off, Roman awkwardly stretched across the back seat with Patton curled up in a ball beside him.
“What visit does this make?” Virgil asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.
Logan furrowed his brow as he thought, “I think, keeping both Roman and Patton separate, this is trip 26 and 27 to either Student Health or the ER for one of us four.”
“This school year?” Virgil asked.
Roman laughed, “This semester.”
“Jeez,” Virgil said. “I know I’ve only been twice.”
“This is my first,” Patton spoke up from under his hood.
“Man, you two went 24 times?” Virgil asked, twisting in his seat to see both Logan and Roman.
“I’m convinced that the danger of whatever this is is following Logan,” Roman said.
“Nope,” Logan countered. “During the brief time when I moved upstairs and Virgil moved downstairs with you last semester, nothing happened to me, but Virgil fell down stairs and sprained his ankle.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Roman whispered, horrified, “It is following me.”
The entire care burst into laughter. After another moment of silence, Patton spoke up in his congested voice, “I thought of something guys.”
“What?” Logan asked.
“We can make a fully unfunctional human. I sprained my right wrist at swing a month and a half ago. I was just way earlier than you guys,” Patton said.
“We are a mess,” Virgil laughed, running one hand through his hair.
The entire car joined in as they pulled into the Student Health parking lot for hopefully the last time that semester. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.
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darkaislinn · 6 years
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Finally. A worthy update.
So I finally figured out what I was doing wrong with the mods for Dragon Age Inquisition. Apparently I was using the wrong “tool”. 
I want to vent about my day so please bear with me. 
I had a shitty day. I got written up because I refused to kiss a doctor’s ass when she flat out told me that she was sending an emergency over and I told her that the doctor who was there was already neck deep in emergencies. She also happens to be butt buddies with the practice manager. The best part? She said that I “wasn’t able to handle nights”. Which is bullshit and all the night doctors are absolutely furious about it because my replacement is someone who gets flustered at the smallest things. I’ll be back on nights soon enough when they realize their mistakes and this girl is staying until midnight because she can’t keep up with any of her work. 
Even better? She only sees 6 pets a day which is nothing compared to what we see at the ER. Oh and let’s not forget that the pet she was sending over was her FUCKING NEIGHBOR. She said it was a GDV (bloat) when she hadn’t even seen the animal. She literally couldn’t walk next door to check on the pet to see if it really was bloat. She’s that fucking lazy. 
So fuck her. 
I’m going to go back to days starting Monday and when Sara fucks up or can’t handle it, they’ll beg me to come back to nights. All of my critical care techs were so mad when they found out. Sara stayed for 2 extra hours for no reason one night because... I don’t even know why. I had it covered and Robin was there to have my back because we were swamped. She told Sara multiple times to leave because we had it, but Sara kept saying, “But Heather needs me. The phones won’t stop ringing, the doorbell keeps going off and she’s literally being pulled in 5 different directions.” Robin looked at her said, “Heather is perfectly capable of doing her job, better than an other receptionist, and I’m helping her. You need to go home.”  
The doctor tonight said, “I can’t believe they’re putting Sara on nights. She can’t even handle a mildly busy afternoon without panicking and freaking out. Management explicitly asked who we wanted for nights and we chose you because you’re strong and you get your shit done. I like working with you and I feel confident that even if we get busy or have emergencies out our ass that you’ll handle it. I’ll personally make a complaint because a doctor from a sister clinic should have ZERO say in our personnel, especially when she’s never worked with you before. You know what? I’m glad you didn’t kiss her ass, too many people around here do and I’m glad you told her what was going on. If it was my neighbor, I’d’ve taken the time to triage and assess the pet because that’s what good doctors do. You were justified in everything and they are throwing you under the bus because she’s friends with Kristen. I’ll get with Shine and Alex and we’ll get you back.”
That made me feel good. I was so mad about being written up and getting placed back on days that I wanted to cry. It’s the principal of the thing. Not only that they brought up another incident with another doctor from yet another sister clinic that happened MONTHS ago. 
Let me give you the low down on that: 
This doctor, who is also friends with the practice manager, had spoken with the doctor who was there. Not once did the information get passed on to me or the techs. This pet showed up, who was very sick, and I had no idea what they were there for. The owner got mad at me because I didn’t know the doctor (I had only been there for a few weeks by then) and that I didn’t know what was going on. The doctor who was there and had spoken with the other doctor was in surgery so he couldn’t see the pet at that moment. I had them drop off which pissed them off. Turned out that the pet needed to be hospitalized anyway and needed surgery. So Dr. Carney called and bitched at me because of “how the situation was handled”. I told her that I had no information about it, I had no client information, no records were faxed to me or emailed to us and that I was getting all the information from the owners. Dr. Carney said, “How about you actually check the fax machine?” I did and I told her, “I’m looking right at it and there is nothing here. No one has been up here recently except me and there are no faxes that have come through.” She huffed and said, “FINE. I’ll have them send it again.” She hung up on me. The next day she called her bestie, our “practice manager”, and complained that I was incompetent even though she expected me to be a mind reader and know everything when she couldn’t even be bothered to call the clinic and speak with the either me or a tech about what was happening. EXCUSE ME? I had only been with this ER for a few weeks, maybe a month.  
Long story short, Shannon (my supervisor) brought this up to justify why I was being written up. I literally stared at her and said, “You’re seriously writing me up because of Dr. Heather with the throw back to something that happened months ago? Which, might I remind you, you and Kristen found out that I was in the right the entire time after speaking with Dr. Mike?! Fine. If that’s how things are done here, I’ll sign it, but if this happens again I will fight it because this is incompetent work simply because Kristen is friends with Dr. Heather and Dr. Carney.” 
She looked really upset at the whole thing and told me that it was coming from Kristen. I was furious. She’s MY supervisor. Now I can’t even trust her to have my back and fight for me. 
God. I’m so mad that I could literally scream. 
I told Kay, my work wife, that this made me want to quit and she said, “Don’t do that because that’s what Dr. Heather wants. She loves making people leave. You’re a great receptionist and tech. You need to prove her spoiled ass wrong and show Kristen that you’re not intimidated by their bullshit. Fucking show them that they’re not going to rattle you. You know that I’m in school for becoming an LVT and I, including Amber, come to you for help.”
The doctor I worked with tonight said the same thing as well as the 3 other techs. When I told them what was happening, they immediately started complaining and said, “But you’re so good at nights! You’re amazing at triage, you know you shit and you’re not back here every 5 minutes asking stupid questions.” 
Despite all of this bullshit, it feels pretty amazing when I tell an owner what I think might be happening and the doctor comes to me and says, “You totally nailed it. Have you thought about going to vet school?” 
So I’m going to do it. I don’t care about the loans. 
That’s the only silver lining to all of this. 
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Puff, the Magic Dragon
Come one, come all! Gather all ye round my fire-pit, and I will share with you my folklore. The power I feel when I am holding my Magic Wand – my “tobacco” pipe – is unmatched. It seems when I light the sticky green kush that fills the pipe (meant for strictly tobacco use only - of course) and breathe in the fumes, the wind blows harder with more vengeance and the clouds roar until thunder booms and lightning strikes. I then take my horse out of the stable, suit up in black leather boots, hides and cowboy hat and ride through the darkness to the eye of the storm. The power stems from the feeling that I am fitting in, I am doing something that all the cool kids do. Do I think it makes me cooler and a cut above the rest that I use drugs? I believe it does. Especially when I am on them. I feel good. I feel confident and secure in myself.  Not that I am not already a little magical when I’m not on drugs. I light up and all the sorcery I have cast appears in front of my bloodshot eyes in the form of a firework show. I see colors and hear music. It’s like a “Saturday in the Park” every day. It’s like trumpets are being blown at the arrival of The Queen to The United States where American Flags are waving triumphantly as her plane touches down. Little trivialities do not concern me. Only America’s and thine own victories are at the forefront of my mind. I drive by all the woman and they smile at me in their Sunday’s best and on their best behavior. I click my heels, tip my hat as they swoon. All is right in the world. There is no bad, but only good. Bad is unbeknownst to me in my little corner of heaven where the flowers bloom and the sky shines blue right on cue.
The first time I found my way into wheeling and dealing with illegal substances, I was 16 and in the eleventh grade. My girlfriends and I made it a thing to spend the weekends together. We would talk about girls, boys, hermaphrodites, make jokes and mess around well into the night. I guess it is just something we preferred to being alone. We knew everything about everyone in our school. We got a hoot out of them. We enjoyed frequenting the cinema and even so lucky to see our favorite musicians in concert. For example, the first movie we went to see together was Blades of Glory with Will Ferrell. As a group, the first movie we watched was Coraline. We would get excited about going to the movies almost every single weekend, so we could be very in the know about up-to-date cinematography. We went to handfuls of concerts, such as Bring Me the Horizon, Mychildren Mybride, Chiodos, A Skylit Drive, Family Force 5, Escape the Fate, and A Day to Remember. Recently I have seen The Cary Brothers, but that is on a-whole-nother level. We went to Roller Derby events, Art in the Park, Hyde Park Street Fair.
The girlfriend I spent a lot of time at school with, due to her being in my homeroom classes, (actually the first person I sort of chilled with in middle school that I saw on the first day of 9th grade) would always speak of her nights of drinking, drug use and intercourse at Monday lunches. She lived in a trailer park with her grandmother and mother. She was upset with her mom because she would not look for work. I would say little, well, what did I do that weekend? Pass out….watch TV….. do my homework….? So it goes, throughout our 9-10 grade year, she would do those things occasionally and in the 11th year she found a reputable provider of alcohol and started drinking more exuberantly. She had a new girlfriend and she didn’t need me as much as before. I found other companionship as well. One of my “other friends” had been caught drinking at a park after dark with her buddies from Meridian Medical Charter and was put on juvenile probation in grade 9 or 10. She had also been drinking at a cabin party where she was in a terrible accident and the vehicle rolled. Luckily, they survived. She was furious with the driver because the driver claimed, “I am fine to drive.” And of course, the driver was Asian. My pal had cut back on alcohol use, but thought she was healed from that trauma enough to divulge once again in a safe environment. She had known I had not used before, but she knew I was interested in tasting what they would always rave on. Sometimes I whined that I never had the opportunity. She would preach safe drinking because she had experienced the effects personally. We waited until my parents went out of town and had the other girlfriend brought us a “half gal.” She says to be careful because when you are young and a beginner, a little goes a long way. They were similar in such respects.
           I set the stage. My flat screen is connected to my Dr. Dre, Tech N9ne, Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent booth. The party refreshment I stowed for the week in my closet was busted out and awaiting to be pressed to our lips. The house is clean, catered and decorated to the best of my abilities. I had showered, shaved, and was in my best attire when the guests began to arrive. One of the party-goers had skipped a Band Trip with her Lesbian Lover to attend My Party. (Although she was already a slacker. She played drum line.) I told her it was sure going to be “Crunk” and we would get “Schwasted.” Another one of them was “Big Boobs McGee.�� She wouldn’t have come had the lesbian not. She was very picky of who she put her time into. Third, we had “Monotone Melissa Magaret” We were ripe to the pickin’, ready and willing to go all-out to get “Riggity-Riggity-Wrecked!” This was my first time. Each of the guests had indulged in this vice prior. They arrive together, and we decide on doing a round of shots. One round turned into three quite quickly where we begin to slowly fade into the outskirts of intoxication. We knew we were in for some fun at that point. Monotone Melissa thinks she’ll pour a “Screwdriver.”
Turns out, I am rowdy, full of spirits, and don’t know when to stop or what boundaries are. I found myself on a chair in my living room and “Big Boobs” was laying up against me in the recliner with the foot rest up. I think she was there first, but my butt snuck up into the little space she had between her and the armrest. I remember the feeling of elation. I couldn’t stop hitting on her. She told me she wasn’t a lesbian when I told her I was in love with her. At that point I began to cry. I get up and sneak off, when everyone is too drunk to be paying attention, to the alcohol on the counter. I have a habit of getting sad and then chugging straight liquor. I must have cried hard for a half-hour when somebody said “MAN, YOU’VE BEEN CRYING FOR SOME TIME.” I say, “HAVE I, NOW?” I had no memory of this hysterics. There was alcohol spilled all over the floor and counter from my hysterical shot glass attempts and, now there is a full-blood Hispanic in my living room. Next, I find myself deeming this Hispanic “Pablo.” He had a Caucasian sounding name (Like e.g. Jim), but to me he appeared as a “Pablo.” Then, I am out back in the yard. I look to the sky, it is beautiful, as always. Then I tackle the lesbian onto the grass and start smooching her all over. I go inside, fall over, try very hard to get off the floor, but I can’t. “MY BODY FEELS LIKE THAT GUMBY CHARACTER.” No big deal, but I am officially drunk for the first time in my life.
           “…..So what we get drunk.. So what we smoke weed….” As everyone begins to awake, they “gotta blast,” but want something greasy to rid their hangovers. They’re thinking Mac D’s. I get a threatening text from the lesbians’ lover that I better never put my hand on her property ever again. “Oh,” I say, “I didn’t mean it. We were just drunk. Of course I don’t have a thing for her, she’s just a good friend!” I was a little scared. She sounded like she meant it. I wake up and I am still drunk. There is about an inch of liquor left and I take another shot because, “Why the hell not!?” At this point I am enjoying the new feelings in my body and I do not wish to revert back to a normal state of dull routine quite yet. I could immediately see how this would be addictive to me. At the time, I did not think into Abuse or Addiction. I just used seldom as I pleased, for the shits & giggles, as in stress-relief. My parents are due home in a few hours. I’m not sure exactly when. I begin to feel scared because I am obviously still drunk or hungover or still drunk. I pray they won’t get home early and will be gone. My parents are both of addictive personalities. I pray they won’t get suspicious when I am asleep in bed and not down to greet them. I greet them anyway although I am still a little drunk. Then I crawl back to my bed and hide away, no questions asked.
           At this young age, I am still respectful and obedient of my parents. My conscience does not want to disappoint them. It is funny how much I dread any sort of trouble in fear of punishment from my parents, because when I get in trouble my parents never are actually mad with me. They are angry people and can get nasty but mostly with each other. I thought they would turn that nastiness towards me, but that never happened. They usually shrug, shirk it and go on with their business like, “Oh, that isn’t too bad.” This is hilarious. The very next weekend, my mom decides to move the bed from the guest room into storage. I had forgotten, while drunk that I had put the bottle of the alcohol under that bed. She moves it and the crime I thought I had gotten away with was in view for her. She asks, “What is this?” I tell my girlfriends and we roll on the floor laughing. “Oh, it was my first time,” I say, “I only drank about eh, half the bottle, more or less, between us five.”
           Now, I really thought these were nice young woman. Better friends than I could ever imagine actually having. And we bonded over this drug use. It was almost no more to us than an inside joke. We knew we were good. We were impermeable. This drug use would not harm or test our solid sense of inner strength. We knew we had this one life and were going to live it to our fancy. One day, we are over for a chill. One of them walks us to the parkway drive. She’s got a pipe and a baggie. She asks, “Does anyone want to try some of this?” We all agree that it wouldn’t be too bad to just try it. The lesbian lovers were united again and they had already smoked marijuana together before. But again, this was all rather occasionally seldom. We get in a circle and she says it is Spice (K2), a fad at the time that you could buy at tobacco stores!! Otherwise referred to as “Potpourri.” She received it from her brother who was one year older. We roast the bowl and feel funny. My Asian friend pipes up, “My dad is out of town and the house is empty. I didn’t know you guys wanted to get high tonight. We could go back there and relax.” We walk back to retrieve our belongings and my body feels almost made of stone. It is hard to pick up my legs to walk. I exclaim, “I feel like a statue!” I guess it was kind of like walking on the moon. We load in the car and head a short-way east to set up camp. Almost out of a dream, she’s got a table out back with just enough seats. Just like the characters in That 70s Show, we would toke in a circle. This was Pope, so the high was around 15 minutes. But you were extraordinarily high for those 15 minutes. At the comedown, we would just smoke more. It was off the wall, but we all agreed that we enjoyed doing this and were even more pleased our parents hadn’t a clue or they didn’t care to. She tells us, “My dad will be gone the entire week. My girlfriend is staying with me. Why are you smoking that spice and not legit marijuana anyway? I can get us some real weed.” I am all, “Uh, how much does this cost? How much do you need to buy?” She is, “You can get really high off a small amount. We’d probably only need a dime bag to get good and ‘stoney-baloney.’” We agree we will search for real marijuana because the spice only leaves you high for 15 minutes and always a disappointment to comedown. Such a disappointment to come down. So our sessions would last a few hours. Plus, it’s kind of a dirty high. Real marijuana and you were high for two hours.. then you could smoke again or pass out.
           “We’ve got the goods!” One of the lesbians creates a “Gravity Bong” for us and tries to explain the mechanics behind how you use it. You dip the Gatorade bottle with holes in the bottom in the bucket of water, then pull up slowly when you torch the bowl, (making sure to only light the side of the bowl as to not waste “greens”) as the smoke fills up the bottle, then you untwist the cap until when you can see the smoke and inhale the vapor. You must blow outward to empty your lungs so they have full capacity when you are breathing in. She says it is the best way to smoke weed and the gravity bong gets you the highest. “Who wants greens? Angela it is your first time, so you can take them. Here, I can light it for you.” My first reaction when breathing in this foreign vapor, is to hack up a lung. My lungs are virgin to the substance and it burns heavily. I can’t take too large of a hit. We start toking before one of my friend shows up. She gets there a little concerned like, “Hey, I can smell that from the front yard. You don’t think your neighbors can smell it? We better move further back.” We feel all philosophical on this drug. We feel our minds bending in our skulls. We feel like we can reach a level we can’t reach intellectually without this drug. We try not to cough and take it like a champ. Our friend keeps saying she’s getting “Scooby Snacks.” (Ew) We become enamored with learning terminology and more about this miraculous little drug. I say what I’m feeling is really a sort of an epiphany. Brilliant things would come to me almost out of nowhere! We have a wonderful time. They even built a fort. The lesbian was practicing rapping the fast part in “Look at Me Now.” The notorious quote from our silly friend arises, “Shall we load another bowl?” To sum up my first time smoking weed, time slows to a stand still and everything becomes hilarious. I felt a sense of safeness and contentness that I was not used to. I had always been a little depressive and anxiety-ridden, but this provided me with a smile.
           Melissa’s brother’s friends become known as “dealers,” or that’s what everyone called them at least. My friends would like to refer to him as “Permafried.” Him and his pals would experiment with huffing freon on the weekends when they were fooling around. At school one time, Melissa invited us to her home for lunch. “I usually walk,” She says, “But today, I don’t feel like it.” We get to her house and all is normal. She goes briskly upstairs to her bedroom. I follow her, being curious as I am, and find her with a Coke can with holes poked in it with a thumb tack and she is smoking spice and blowing the smoke out of the window. I say, “Ey, now that is pretty cool that you smoke before class.” She says, “Yeah, but it is just spice so the high doesn’t last long and I’m usually sobered up by the time class gets in session.” I ask if I can take a hit before class, you know, to loosen up a little. School was stressful and we didn’t enjoy high school much. She asks me in our last period how I liked it. We had History 10 together. She sat in front of me. She was right I was not very stoned by the time class started. One time we decided we didn’t like how our history teacher did the lessons. We wrote her an anonymous note saying she was a great person but a crappy teacher and put it on her desk in stealth. Next time, we contact her dealers one lunch. There is a bong on the table outside Melissa’s house. I guess her parents were out of town. We get a bag of OG Kush. Apparently, it’s the hottest weed on the market. I remember thinking it didn’t seem any more special than what I had previously tried. As a beginner, I’d always let someone else take control of the bag and load the bowls and all. Literally, all I had to do was take the pipe, light it, and pass it. I would pitch in to pay instead of buying lunch because of the desire to get high and just eat cereal or something. We light up and I drive us back to school in my mom’s 2007 Toyota Escape Sport-Truck. Now, I am feeling like a complete badass and school doesn’t seem like a chore. “Is anyone else as high as me right now?” I think. My friends tell me, “I know you shouldn’t have tried it because you are going to want to get high all of the time and then I will be disappointed in you.” I’m like, “Stop that chit-chat right now, I am a big girl and I will smoke weed if I please.” My willfulness was beginning to rear its’ ugly head.
A experience I remember, is weekends at Monotone Melissa’s. Her parents roomed downstairs, her upstairs. She had a “TV room.” Sometimes I would play Donkey Kong on her vintage machine. Once we watched The Hills Have Eyes and I about shit my pants. This particular time, she had a sack and I would park my truck around the bend by her house and we’d sneak out to the car with the sack and fill my gravity bong with water bottles we kept in a bag. She told me that she heard you can get higher if you hold in the smoke. I lit me a big fat, yellow hit and held my breath for about 3 minutes. When I went to breathe out, not only was I oxygen deprived, but the weed smoke had already binded to my aioli’s and no weed smoke came out. She said, “HOLY SHIT. THAT WAS A HUGE HIT. YOU DIDN’T EVEN BREATHE OUT.” She asks if we are good. Then we stumble inside. I go lay on the couch and she goes to her room. I grab my IPod with 1400 songs and put on shuffle. I am amazed. I go – I’VE NEVER HEARD MUSIC SOUND THIS GOOD BEFORE. I had all types of music I had never listened to. Shuffle began with “Bear” by The Antlers, then went to some Bombay Bicycle Club. I decided whilst stoned alone I would make a mission to discover music I liked that I had never heard.   After school one time we went to an abandoned house and smoked in the backyard. We started getting that paranoia when we thought the man just walking by was out to get us so we had to hurry to hop the fence and leave. We were addicted at this point. Once we were at a party and had no smoke so we tried to smoke cat nip because I read on a forum it gets you high like weed. It got us a little high, but it was not like weed. I remember the first time I drove after smoking weed. We decided to go on a “Space Cruise.” The first thing I say when I put my foot on the accelerator is “I FEEL LIKE I AM OPERATING A ROCKETSHIP!” You are driving the speed limit, but everything around you is moving so slow.. We only find problems with staying in such a small lane. We have to have the co-pilot make sure we are not gravitating towards the other lane. We drove across town and I quickly found that to be my favorite post-toke activity.
           We always worry about appearing sketchy, but we never actually come close to getting caught. Well except caught by their mothers. It was very easy to get away with. One of the girls would surprisingly bring a thermos with her weed and pipe and lighter to class every day, just set on her desk like it was water. It was exceptionally hilarious when she would come to after lunch period (Algebra II) stoned. She was Asian. For some reason that escaped us, it was always obvious that she was high. This was before I smoked before classes ever and before I used frequent. It seemed to be 2-3 times a week. And also, surprising the teachers didn’t care. Her eyes were red as the devil and so pronounced. I never really asked if anyone else could tell. But I knew instantaneously. It was so obvious and she would move SO slow. One day I’m like, “It’s kind of weird when you come to class high because it is OBVIOUS.” I guess nobody really cared though. I started to keep my gravity bong in the trunk of my car in my backpack. We would go to Lesbian’s house or Lesbian’s new girlfriend’s house during lunch and smoke a bowl. Sometimes we’d bring the pitcher into Stinker and fill it with water so we could smoke on the side of a road in one of the neighborhoods.  Oh boy, we sure liked her. She was 14 and told us that she loved cocaine and acid. She was the first girl I asked on a date but then when we got there I lost my nerve. I had to ask her like 4 times how old she was because I kept not remembering or understanding that she was a 14 year old sophomore. Then we’d get the munchies and eat cup o’ noodle or like, rice krispy treats. We never had to go to last two periods sober! We were just fucking high. We would smoke about every weekend and then it progressed to most lunch periods, then to every lunch period. Just the way I liked it. Oh, and after school too. My parents would ask when I’m coming home, I’d always tell them I went out to shoot some hoops. I used to play a lot of basketball in my childhood.
We’d walk in the high school and be like “WHO SMELLS LIKE WEED??” “OHMYGOD IT’S US!!” We go to a party once and the cops bust it. We had just showed up about 5 minutes before the cops arrived. We had not done anything but were talking on loading up the pipe when the club goes on lock-down. There are 300 people in the home! We do not open the doors. We do not look out the blinds. All the curtains are closed. We act like it’s a fucking earthquake and duck to the ground. A bird just took a shit on my head, because I parked on the opposite side of road and got me my first ticket when the coast is clear to leave. When we get in the car, my car is like “Hello. This is Onstar.” I’m like, “GREAT. THEY’VE TAPPED MY CAR AND ARE TRACKING ME NOW.” Our regular provider refuses to sell to us after that. We’re like… “We will take our business elsewhere then.”
           Once we’re drinking back at my place. We pick up some Smirnoffs from a provider downtown. Me and Lesbian start downing shots. We see how many we can take in a row. We take 10-11… IN A ROW. This is about 20 minutes after cracking the bottle. Next thing I know, I come into consciousness in my shower and I have clothes on.. in the shower. I walk in my room and she is on my bed passed out. And our sober friend is nowhere to be found. I say, “EW, WHY DID YOU PUKE ON MY BED?”  She says, “I didn’t puke dude.” I say, “YEAH YOU DID. THAT IS YOUR PUKE.” She says, “No you were laying on that side of the bed and you puked.” I’m like “There’s water all over the floor and coming out of the light fixture downstairs.” No wonder I reeked of vomit. She’s like “GOOD JOB YOU FLOODED THE HOUSE.” I try to ask her to fill in the blanks for me the next day at lunch in the drive thru but she isn’t good at filling them in. Me and her try ecstasy together after a gay pride event in Garden City. It is 45$ but we get 3 for $40 cause that’s all I got. We have to drive to Kuna after the event to pick up. She tells me she loves it. She is 11th grade and I am 12th but is taking summer classes to graduate a year early. She is grinding her teeth and talking nonstop. I am on the toilet and seems like I can’t stop urinating. I am on my bed trying to come down during the peak and I feel like I will never sober up. I couldn’t fall asleep until 1 pm the next day and we popped it at 11:30pm. She tells me at lunch that she told everybody she took ecstasy. All her 11th and 10th grade friends. I didn’t enjoy her talking about it but still felt a little happy buzz from trying it. Her ex-girlfriend was PISSED. So, that’s always fun to laugh on. I almost flood the house another time, but this time I was closer to drowning. I got too drunk at her house and puked again. The last thing I remember is everyone walking to sleep the upstairs. I am alone in the basement with a mattress. I last remember puking, then my drunk incompetent self thinks, better take a shower to clean up. Next thing I know, I am arisen to pounding on the bathroom door my friend is yelling at me across the locked door, “Angela!!!Angela!! You are choking on water!! You are going to drown.” This was probably one month after the first time. I guess I walked upstairs and decided to take a bath. At least I didn’t flood her house.
           I then see less of my other buddies and more of another woman. I meet her due to lesbian’s new girlfriend. I take it as a bad omen that on the night she became interested in me romantically, was the worst night in all of our lives. We go to a birthday party and are taking “bong rips” in the backyard. A girl from our school looks like shes itching for a fixin cause she staring us down through the window, giving us the major stink eye. I’m like, “Does anyone else see Mak just twitching in the window?” We only stay a bit but when we get back to the friend’s house, we go to get settled. I take the floor and let this new girl have the couch. I am getting settled for bed. I put on my jammies and start folding my day clothes and unfolding my blankie and pillow. I look over and she is staring at me smiling like a fool. I don’t know what she is staring at, actually find it rather odd. Oh well. The very next day we wake up all happy and refreshed and ready for another fix. It is the weekend, after all. My friend had just turned 18 so we drive to the smoke shop and buy a $10 tub of Pope and a personal bong that we name “Dory.”  She is browsing her web and she is stopped in her track by a text that her cousin was in a serious wreck that very night. I ponder on what very moment this happened. Maybe it was the moment she smiled at me. She is in intensive care at the ER hooked to a life machine. I didn’t even know they were related. I sympathize but there is little else I can do. We just met her and aren’t familiar with her much. But we do try to be patient with her. This new girl invites us to her house, they have a shed we can smoke in out back and are renting the place from a landlord. She stays home from school feeling ill one day and a few nights later we pick her up from the hospital visiting her cousin. The outlook does not seem positive. She is still in coma. They are asked if they will pull the plug because her brain is so damaged they do not believe she can ever be saved… Her cousin was in my graduating class and we were set to graduate in 2 months.
That night, instead of attending his birthday party with the cake strippers and dancing kids, she was in the car with a girl and two boys driving down the freeway after drinking at a party. The driver was speeding and ran into the freeway barrier. I guess he was on the freeway going west. I guess he decided to exit the freeway at Curtis but didn’t slow down enough and was zooming back onto the freeway on the on-ramp when he crashed. I just know I never drive like that, no matter if im a lil tipsy or not. She was passenger. He got an innumerous sentence some months later. She said one thing she knew was that her cousin would do ecstasy A LOT and she wondered whether they were rolling on “E” when it happened. She would always say well hopefully it was instant and she had no pain. The driver was sentenced to vehicular manslaughter. His name was Scotty. We continued on our routine. That night the lesbian’s new girlfriend provides us with a liquor hookup and we get some strong whiskey. We park on the side of her street by a fence and decide to take shots. The new girl did not feel like drinking, but she would toke. The rest of us got nice and toasty with our warm whiskey and a little drunk. Then a black man from across the street walks out of his house and starts toward us. We start flipping out and although I am a little intoxicated, I turn on the car and put my foot on the gas for the first time. We must avoid this confrontation at all costs. My feet feel heavy and I go really, really slow bout 7 mph. Operating the vehicle is a lot of work. I round the corner and park on the other side. We chill it for a minute to give him time to go back inside and get settled.
At this point, I couldn’t care less whether I graduated high school or had to retake last semester. Everyone else was planning for college and I wasn’t feeling that. I was truant all the time. I would get up and walk out of the building whenever. I didn’t do my own senior project and paid someone else to write it for me, skipped presentation day, but went to make-up day and just skimmed by graduating. Once I bought Adderall off Monotone Melissa and read the entire history book preparing for the final. I still got a high C, but would have gotten a LOW F, had I not. My GPA fell that semester after meeting her probably from a 3.9 to a 3.6 and my High Honors dropped to an Honors. I began to realize that these things really don’t matter much. We attended graduation together. She wanted to go to hear her cousin’s name be called. Since her cousin wouldn’t be walking, I did not walk, but sat in the back with her. I told her when I could I would get my truck driving license, save up and build us a cabin in the woods. I feel like I have things figured out. A plan set in place. Every day was so bright. I felt utterly important. I felt this was serious. I guess I really didn’t have it figured out.
           They send me into the mental hospital. I hadn’t seen them in that year and that is how they welcome me home.  They put me on Zoloft and tell me “You will be back.” I stay dead silent my entire time there. I do not speak to a single soul. I get out in 15 days and get my first real job. I am working my first real job real professional like. They pull me aside one day and tell me 20$ is missing from my till and that because I was two hours late I have to have a week off. I agree although they never change the tills and there was no way I lost 20$. I then miss another day and am fired out of the blue. So much for a “job.” I quit smoking marijuana when I worked, but once I was fired I had nothing else to do. I resumed using. I spent 2 years looking for a job and had around 30 interviews and no…… job. I got another job and it wasn’t the same. The supervisor was breathing down my neck. I had to walk out. The old boss calls the cops on me when I come to the store one day. I still don’t know why. Then another employee called the cops on me claiming I was stalking her. She made me look like I was insane to the cops.
           I began to start seeing my ex-girlfriends friends from high school. I began to commemorate with them due to her being back in town and asking for rides every which way.. to see *insert name* to see *insert name* or the boy she is rooming with locked her out, etc. We stay a few nights in her friends’ apartment. Her roommate moved out who was the main tenant and she was left with the place for a short time longer. I’m liking these kids because they are just a hoot. Spontaneous and all. They also enjoy drugs like myself. They are speaking on a plan they have in place to leave Boise when the lease runs out on city bus and be bums/couch surfers around Portland. I drive them to the bus stop but they come back soon. One of the kids is addicted to Ativan and whines all day about how he needs to pick some up, or that he is in so much pain if he can’t have any. I wish to go with them and I hope to and take the car to accomplice them but that is a dream of mine that I never am granted permission. My mom won’t allow it and I definitely cannot take her sedan. I began driving them to donate plasma and I sign up myself, turns out to be an excellent source of small increments of money – just enough for a quick fix of drugs. I have encountered some boo-boos from the biomat. Bruises on my arms, missed placements of the needles. We’d usually make a date to go give plasma, find a hook-up for some marijuana, pick up lunch and light up. Later on, they stop allowing me to donate plasma, god knows why, but they are telling me I am being “erratic.”  
I have an apartment at this time. it had always been a wish of mine to have my own place and my mom was kind enough at the time to purchase me a room. It was in Downtown Eagle, right next to where they give horse rides on the carriages. I worked a lot at that time applying for jobs and hoping to be employed so I could continue living in an apartment, but I had no such luck. I had interviews at Teleperformance, Chili’s, Subway, Moxie Java, drove newspaper for a short time, basically went through Craiglist every day for months and months and sent in applications at any place that was hiring. No luck at all. Mark and Zelle. Mostly they need me for rides. The Ativan addict Mark attempts to break his own wrist with a baseball bat so he can get a prescription for Oxys, I drive them because I have nothing better to do. One night they start stealing all of this junk from peoples’ cars to sell for drug money. I think they get four longboards, two skateboards, a graphing calculator, 2 marijuana pipes, a FM transmitter, an iPod, a laptop, five bottles of whiskey from a car with cases of liquor just chilling in the back seat, 2 credit cards, some dishes, a large Indian window curtain, and a old woman’s hospital diaper. They also liked to steal money out of donation boxes. One time he grabbed like 25 bucks from Ronald McDonald Children Donation Box with a stick and some duct tape that he had also stolen from a construction site trailer. He also put his hand in a Dutch Brothers tip jar while I was distracting the barista talking about This Month’s Special. I said, “Well, then if that’s this months, then what is Next Month’s Special?” She went to go check. Once at Hype Park Street Fair, an old guy gives Mark a beer and we are underage (19/20) He gives me the beer and says I can have it if he can drive. I get surprisingly drunk off this one beer. I hadn’t drank much since my girlfriend left (No providers.) When they find the whiskey, I drink so much while a sober driver is driving us through the hills. I hadn’t drank in a long time. I also moon the neighborhood when we are turning around. I almost fell out the window.  Every time I hear that song, “All About That Bass,” I think of that moment. We take some acid tablets and pop some mollys and go see a dubstep concert, Flux Pavillion. My favorite shit ever. I was so damn high, I started writing some sick poetry when I got home.
The cops later come into contact with them about a theft they have committed, and they shift the blame on me where I am taken to court on Petit Theft. Nobody really knows if we stole from them or not, it was Sonic (flipping crazy) and the cashier saying it was me with them, driving, whilst in the police report it was listed as a car other than mine. I was not the only person they chilled with. They said it was me and two other dudes when they were given my picture from the biomat as “evidence.” I do not recall this event at all and I had to give up $75 to this case. I’d never even had two males in my car at once. They decide one day to steal from Melissa’s parents and I had to drive them to do this. I don’t agree with it but I do not try to stop them. I read through some girls’ messages who I was hanging around and they are talking on killing me on Facebook Messenger! *Insert little gun emoji.*
After losing my religion, I smoke a hit of meth because it was traumatizing. I decide for myself, I need to really just be alone and I hope to be alone forever. I bring up suicide for a second on the phone with my mother and ten seconds later there are cops forcing me out of my car and I am asking if I can please leave, I really can’t go in mental hospital again! I tell them I was only about to go home, and I was just selling a previous generation iPhone to a woman who contacted me from a Craigslist posting, because I had picked up the iPhone 6. They won’t let me go. I ask them where they are taking me once 6-7 obese men in uniforms drag me into the cop-car. They tell me we are going to the Emergency Room. Oh goody! I make sure to let them know Hell is real and they will be attending for what they have done to me. I begin to despise The Police. The Police and about most everyone. I have my first nightmare during my second stay at this hospital. It is a blood hound and it is going for my throat.  I lost about 50 pounds when I was with my girlfriend and kept it off for 2 ½ years. I then go to step on the scale and realize in ingesting the Seroquel dose, the pounds packed back on in 3-4 months (monthly injections.) I can’t believe my eyes. All I knew is that it made me feel like crap. I stop the dose, thinking this must be trash medication. I go to research online and see that it is a medication blacklisted by the military. Meaning they do not use it because it causes more harm than help. I really was the happiest person in the world before they dosed me. It changed me completely. It depresses me knowing I will never be that person again. They start packing on the labels. Depressed, anxious, psychotic, schizoaffective, bipolar, mood disorder, autistic, that I am scary when I am either avoiding them or just being quiet. I think they have used every possible term in their book. I can honestly say I have not felt the same since before that dose. I used to feel good. Now most days I feel terrible like there is no cure from the damage the dose caused.  I lost the weight 2.5 years later after walking 1,000 miles and working my ass off. But it is not just that, I am in pain all of the time.
           Around the same time, Monotone Mellissa’s parents have chosen the mental hospital route. Her ex-boyfriend had just shot himself (suicide) while his parents were away. They start her on a fresh dose of antipsychotics (Seroquel TM) the same junk they set me up on. They let me think they will get me on disability if I consent with the dose. I tell them I’d rather prefer to not be medicated as it is against my beliefs. They tell me “WELL, WE DO {believe in medication.}” and joke about putting me in a gag when I cry. They warn me of no side effects and let the drugs destroy me. I never got the disability I was promised. (I needed to find a way to get out of my living situations quick and easy and disability seemed like the best possible option. Although I was never previously disabled.) I think I received a bill once of $36,000 for being trapped in a room at a mental health unit for 28 days once.
           My lease is up, and I have to move in with my mom. She loses her job and has to give up her rental and decides to move in with her brother. I do not wish to live with my mom and her brother, but I decide I will mostly just ignore them. Usually I would just wake up get in the car and go. I meet a chick on the internet to get some weed because I had since deleted all of my old weed dealers they were starting to trip me out. I preferred smoking alone at this point anyway. As long as I didn’t need to be at home, I didn’t care. I pick up this chick. We get a sack and I drop her off. She tells me she is doing temp work for Albertsons and I should smoke her out during her break. We need another bag, so we are looking through people. She calls her friend and I go drive to pick her up. She seems normal-ish. We pick up another chick to get a bag and she says that she was on the news because she had hit something with her car and then ran and they were trying to find her. We get a bag and I take them home.
On the night of my arrest, the cops tell me someone from the gas station called the cops on me. I blow a .17.  I had not been to the gas station in around 3 hours when the cops picked me up.  Two months later, I am arrested again. I blow a .081 and a .083. They tell me I have to pay $3,000.00 that I don’t have. I didn’t even have money to survive then. They tell me they are going to take my license for a year. My car was the only place I could call home. I come back to my mom’s house from jail and decide I can’t survive without my license in these conditions. I overdose October 23, 2016 on 90 magnesiums and when that does nothing. I take 30 Hydroxyzine pills and 20 Risperdal which I was prescribed when forced into mental hospital but would never take.
Now, it has been two years since my first DUI on August 24, 2016. I have not drove. I have not smoked weed since December 31, 2016.  I have walked around 1300 miles.. just in order to leave my parents house. When I started probation in February 2017, the orientation gal told me everyone could get off probation at half mark, “if they have completed everything necessary.” I ask around and see how long others are on probation. Most 6 months unsupervised. Me? One year. I see what is required of me immediately, Victim’s Panel, Alcohol/Drug Assessment, 2300$ court fines. I complete my assessment and Victim’s Panel. At court the attorney told me I had one year supervised and one year unsupervised. On my mandate, it says two years supervised. I ask my Probation Officer around the 6 month mark, if I can get off supervised probation. She then goes to tell me I am on supervised probation for 2 years! Oh goody! I then come back to her at the one year mark in February and she lets me know… “Oh, actually, whoever did your alcohol assessment said your drug problem was so severe that you had to spend ONE YEAR INPATIENT in the WALKER CENTER.” (I talked to him for thirty minutes basically told him I drank two beers and went home and I smoked weed occasionally.) I’m like “So, you’re telling me all this now? At my mid-probation mark?” I mean, I’m in awe that I have to stay a whole year according to her, but I’m like, my life is already wasted now, so go ahead and shove my body in there for a year. I mean, my body has been in worse places. I spend three hours one day, calling the Walker Center. They say their longest inpatient treatment is 30 days. With outpatient after. I call trying to get BPA, they deny me immediately and then my P.O. tells me “Recovery 4 Life” Pro-Bono for inpatient. She says I have to complete all this before I can get off probation. I pay off my fines as soon as possible so they will stop being assholes. I am told in court that I will have my license suspended for one year until November 16, 2017. I ask my PO around October how to get my license back since the suspension is about up. There she tells me I have monetary holds on my account that I have to pay before I can get it reinstated.  I go home and ask google how much the holds usually are. It says 30-200$. Next time I am in probation I ask her how to pay the fines. She tells me my holds are 1150$. Great. I have no way to pay the fines and they don’t drop until July 2020. I call insurance because my mom starts talking at me that I can’t drive until March 2019 after some of my “rear-ends” have dropped because my insurance will be “ASTRONOMICAL” I did not even know what car insurance was. I thought it was like 50$ a month if it was anything at all. She tells me she was paying 300$/mo. on me. I didn’t know what for. I call to get an estimate and only one insurance company will insure me, Nationwide. 470$/mo. I start to work. There is nothing out here where we just moved. So anywhere I walk to, there is basically just farm land. I can’t make it to the city, but I have thought on doing a walk-hike to Seattle or Portland and not come back, that is if I cannot get my drivers license and car back. I have to complete probation first before I can leave Idaho for good, so this is why I am trying my best to finish up these classes as soon as possible. I have worked 54 hours a week every week for 7 months and every penny I have has gone to court fines and my license hold. I finished paying my court fines and my license hold, but now I either need to purchase a new car and my mom will not let me get one for anything less than 1500$. Meaning she has to come along on the job with me. I checked and I suppose I have taken about 15 of these classes and 15 of my DBT classes…..but Julie only told me I needed to do 10. Oh well.
I suppose I will end my story here. I wrote this mostly for myself. Like I say, I wrote this story the first or second week of class after hearing a woman tell her very sad story. It was alright on my read through so it appears to be good enough for me to turn in. I’ve had to delete some parts, but overall brings me back a lot of memories.. good and bad. Overall, I have come to the conclusion that my life is meaningless torture and nothing good will ever happen here on earth. The vision I had is lost and replaced with something terrible. Thanks for the class. I have my notes. I can use them if I need to refer to them in the future. Hopefully, I can make it out of Idaho.
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ghost-town-story · 5 years
Text
Man Can I Hold a Fucking Grudge
So let me set the scene
There’s this guy from high school that I absolutely HATE with a BURNING passion.
Reasons why:
1. He’s super smart. But he’s super smart in that way that shoves it in your face and implies “I’m better than you, ha.”  2. He is oh so obnoxious. 3. I’ve had to deal with him for 7 years. From 6th grade to senior year.  “Oh Lilly,” you might say, “just get different friends! Don’t hang out with him!” Sweetheart oh I tried. My friends all hated him too. But alas, he was friends with my brother’s friends, and also we did theater together (luckily he was an actor while I was tech, but still. ugh). 4. The burning point of contention that is the one major incident I can remember reflecting back from my junior year in college
So for my final high school show, I got the first two days of tech week off from school to go do theater stuff (Officially it was just supposed to be for the kids flying/their fliers, but me and the light boy also took off cause our tech director liked us and okayed it). So Monday, I’m there from about 8-9 am to 9-10 pm. Longass day. So school ends and all the rest of the kiddos trickle in from driving to the theater
Now for some reason we hadn’t been able to hang the backdrops until about half an hour before kids got there, so they were still in the middle of hanging them when kiddos arrive. No problem, you just can’t walk across the stage, so kiddos will have to find an alternate route to the house. This alternate route is the elevator.
This elevator goes from the green room, to the house, to the stage. Not many kiddos use it since, ya know, there’s stairs, and usually we can go across the stage. Another thing to note is that the exit to the house is a dimly lit hallway with a door that leads to the actual house (for dumbass proof purposes I’d imagine). Third thing of note: The elevator door to the house is on the opposite side of the door to the green room and the stage.
So for some reason I’m down in the green room when kiddos start arriving (probs to hang up mic lists and tell kiddos “hey don’t walk across the stage”) and so I get in the elevator to go back up to the house. And since it’s the only access point to the house atm, people keep crowding in until the elevator is packed. One of these people is the Asshole™ himself. So I’m by the control panel and I’ve pressed the button, so when we get to the house, I’m at the very back, just waiting for people to get out. People file out, as ya do. Until this Asshole™ says “No guys, get back in, this isn’t the right floor.” 
Dude. Buddy bruh. Ya fuckin time-wasting waste of a smart person. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO SMALL CHILDREN WHO DON’T KNOW THEIR WAY AROUND THE THEATER. We’re trying to run a tight ship here since it’s TECH WEEK and this is the only way to get to where we need to go since the stage is off limits. Other people are waiting downstairs for this elevator. WHY ARE YOU BEING A COLOSSAL DICK????
“No.” I’d hope, if there’s one lesson I’ve imparted on the theater people I’ve left behind, it’s that YOU LISTEN TO YOUR SOUND TECHS. That shit expensive yo, and they probably know how to work it/put it on/keep it on better than you. So I’m stuck in this crowded elevator with an asshole causing trouble and smalls who don’t know where they’re going. And I tell that asshole no. “We’re on the right floor. Keep going, get out of the elevator, go to the end of the hall and you’ll be in the house.” And bless their young hearts, the smalls listen to me and get out (possibly because I sounded crabby, but really Asshole™, what the fuck were you thinking???). 
And as I finally get to exit the elevator, this Asshole™ actually has the fucking nerve to say, “It was just a joke. Chill.” 
Bruh. Yeah, sure, it’s a joke, but it’s not a funny one. It’s obnoxious and inconsiderate of all the people who are trying to actually get to where they need to go and do their shit. 
So long story short fuck this asshole, but you may be wondering “okay wtf does the title have to do with this? You’re holding a grudge about this and randomly thought to share it?”
Yes and no. There’s a reason I was reminded of this.
My senior year we also did Twelfth Night in the fall (Shakespeare comedy is about all you need to know). And Asshole™ played this character called Malvolio. 
Spring of my junior year of college. I’m in an Intro to Shakespeare class (can I say easy-ass A cause our theater director is teaching it). And what do we read but Twelfth Night. Now I already don’t have terribly fond memories of doing this because we set it in the 80s, but I’m reading it and I get to Malvolio’s part and I literally start seething with hatred at this character because I remember this Asshole™ playing him in high school.
So man can I hold a fucking grudge lol
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