#three exclamation points is a BIG deal

[livwritesstuff]

‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday. 

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness. 

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

#over-the-moon in love steve absolutely writes a mean love letter #to those who get steve's sign-off -> ilysm that's an old post #shoutout to the partners of birthday-haters #y’all are doing the most and it is appreciated #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

[adobe-outdesign]

big fan of your reviews! i’d love to know your thoughts on the sizzlipede & centiskorch line, especially gmax centiskorch. (bonus sizzlie plushie attached)

I do love some centipedes, and while we already have the Venipede line, these guys go in a completely different direction with it—sticking closer to actual centipedes instead of turning into, uh. Horses. They also have a unique theme to themselves, with the rings on their body segments working similarly to radiator coils to cook prey. Neat!

Sizzlipede here is fine—I like it's silly grumpy expression combined with its little mustache fangs, and the darker areas on the back help break up the body a bit. However, I do think it suffers a bit from just being a lesser Centiskorch; there's not a lot here that's actually unique to Sizzlipede itself, though it at least looks different enough to warrant some fans. Something about the head area also looks pretty empty to me, like it could've benefited from some horns up there or something. Still, it's fine for what it is.

Centiskorch is basically just a bigger, more thematically fleshed-out version of Sizzlipede, and I really like it. The eyebrow/mustache combo really helps with the head issue Sizzlipede had, and I like how it's replicated on the last segment to reference a centipede's cerci. The solid, glowing rings also really help to get the radiator coil idea across. Other details, like the legs now being able to bend properly and the exclamation point in the, are nice touches. Overall, no real complaints with this one.

And yeah, it's g-max form absolutely slaps, let's not kid ourselves here. Mostly likely based off of the Ōmukade, a Japanese yokai that's basically just a Really Big Centipede, it also has a lot of other nice little touches with it—the "burners" on its underside are now expanded into multiple rings, and the entire underbelly has become a bright yellow with a red upperside, in contrast with Centiskorch's dark reddish-brown uppserside and red underside. As an added bonus, the eyes are now ringed to match:

The body also has little bubble-like markings on it, like how water starts to boil if placed on a burner. VERY cool stuff, and I love the overall look of the body with how thin and ribbon-like it is. My only nitpick is that it's back to having spikes for legs, and I wish it could've had just a little more of a joint there, but that's not a big deal given that it probably moves in a more snake-like manner (in fact, its attacking animation shows it curling up like a radiator coil, which is fantastic).

My only other issue with it is just that's way too good of a design to be locked behind a gimmick to be thrown away. I really wish this line were just a three-stager—or heck, keep it a two-stager and drop Sizzlipede in favor of just having Centiskorch be the base form, seeing as there's way more differences between it and the g-max than its pre-evo. I get that the g-max is a little long for a normal 'mon, but you could shorten it a little without loosing all that much.

Anyway, the point is: these are some fantastic centipedes and I love them dearly, with my only complaint being that the best form is locked behind a gimmick that no longer exists.

#sizzlipede #centiskorch #pokemon #pokemon reviews

[cephalog0d]

"He could smell something warm and full of aromatic spices, which was a good sign nothing had gone disastrously wrong. The door was mostly closed and Damian had music playing, so Bruce couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could faintly hear Damian speaking in Arabic. He caught an exasperated exclamation of “Mother”, followed by slightly tinny laughter from Talia over the phone, but it was much more performative than genuinely distressed, so he decided to leave them to it."

I was finally reading Comfort Food and this paragraph grabbed me by the throat!!! Like adult Damian calling him mom just to cook for his baby brother and they're having a fun/pleasant time?? I NEED the DVD commentary

Biggest Brother Damian does all sorts of little nice and helpful things for his siblings but if you make a big deal about it and call it out he gets real awkward. XD He's like a brownie, he can only do nice things if no one's calling attention to it. (That's mostly a joke, but a little bit true that he's a lot better at actions than words. He is, in some ways, his father's son and not so great at the whole "using your words to express affection" thing, so he just does stuff for them instead. Like making soup! Because feeding people is a great way to show you care without actually having to talk about it much! See also: Damian throwing a granola bar directly at Tim's face when he's been on the computer too long without a break, because they get along better now but they don't get along that well.)

I was thinking about the fact that Dick's life has been totally upended, and how beyond losing his parents he's also lost a whole slew of other things that were familiar and comforting, and then thinking about parallels there with Damian having to adjust to living in Gotham/with Bruce (compared to Tim and Jason who were at least from Gotham already; Cass has her own complicated relationship with her childhood vs her time with Bruce that's kind of a different thing than just a change in culture). And that led to thinking about food, specifically, in that context and here we are!

And the great thing about doing an AU is that you get to choose if/how you want to incorporate canon and in my case I am BLATANTLY IGNORING all of the "Talia is a horrible, abusive parent" canon and letting her actually be a good mom, dammit. (At least within the bounds of her being a somewhat morally ambiguous comic book character. Good parenting is kind of a sliding scale in the DC verse, and particularly in the Bat verse.) She's not a perfect parent, but neither is Bruce (and they share some of the same parenting flaws! Like extremely high expectations for themselves and everyone around them, or weird ideas about what knowledge and training is and isn't appropriate for a child to take part in, or having very strong opinions on What's Best For Damian that don't necessarily align with each other OR with Damian himself and have definitely never been a three-way point of contention at any point during his childhood).

There's been some rough patches over the years, but by this point Damian is on mostly good terms with both of his parents, and while he mostly lived in Gotham growing up (after the point where he actually met Bruce, obviously) he did also split his time visiting Talia in various parts of the world for various lengths of time, depending on what exactly she was up to. (Yes, as he has acquired more and more younger siblings he has started bringing gifts back for them. He says it's because they won't shut up and leave him alone if he doesn't, but you know. Literally no one believes that.)

His phone call to Talia here definitely consisted of equal parts helpful instruction in what to do and deeply unhelpful commentary on the state of Bruce's pantry and what he does and doesn't keep stocked. Or honestly probably a lot more of her dragging Bruce and less actual help. Damian definitely just asked her to text him a recipe and instead she was like "Nope, phone call" and he only complained like twice about how a text would've been easier when she spent like five minutes explaining what not to use instead of actually offering a suitable substitution.

(This story also sent me down a rabbit hole trying to research what type of food different parts of the world consider "sick people food", a la chicken noodle soup in the US, and mostly consisted of me being frustrated that the first page of results was almost entirely the same list of a dozen things repackaged by different sites, and then it devolved into articles with titles about "what country's food will make you sick?" Super helpful, internet, thanks. I did find a big reddit thread that was somewhat helpful, once I skimmed past all the answers that weren't really an answer or didn't bother to say where they were talking about. And it's funny because it was a very minor detail that got glossed over anyway due to the POV involved. Whoops. But I have several recipes I want to make now?)

#fic commentary #ceph writes things #reverse robins #damian wayne

[kelly-thereal]

This is my first creative writing and i would LOVE some feedback, I don’t have a title yet and would also love some suggestions. Pls credit if you spread it anywhere, thanks :)

CW: SA and violence

I spent $1000 on a new treadmill. I stopped trying to bring the price down, but seeing as I would be using it everyday for the next several years I figured it was worth it. I couldn’t stand the looks at the gym from the clinking.

My dad was a marathon runner who routinely out-ran and wore down the rotating strap on treadmills that keeps people running, running, running before the three-year warranty ended. He’d call up the company and say it was broken, and they’d send someone to investigate, and they would always tell him that they’d never seen someone run through a treadmill like this. It takes thousands of miles and lots of intentional exercise and determination to run that much. He would get to trade in his treadmill, though.

I nearly never went running with him. Maybe once or twice when I was home for winter break, but I could tell the clinking of the latch unnerved him. I remember the story of my mom telling me how surprised she was when she saw the latch.

“I was so tired, labor was too painful to even scream,” she explained, bugging her eyes out, “but I woke right up when the first half fell.” I laid my head on her chest and felt safe and warm on our couch, curled into her lap, folded in thirds. “I thought your spine had snapped or something…then I heard the rattling as the rest of you pushed out,” she looked at me and smiled and started tickling me between my latch.

I burst out laughing, and I smiled, and laughed and laughed and cried and begged her to stop. I hated the space between the latch and how sensitive it was from disuse. The area is still sensitive today, never sunburned, never caressed. Sometimes, at night when I feel unbelievably alone, I slip off my overalls and run my fingers over the skin there, the jagged poking bones, the untouched little hairs. I almost feel like someone else is there with me under the covers, knows the latch and doesn’t hate it or love it, just acknowledges it like a twisted ankle or shaved head.

I grew up thinking everyone just hid their latch like I hid mine, beneath the folds of coarse fabric and starchy denim. Every once in a while, I would play tag, or hide and seek, or sardines, and someone would launch at me and feel the empty space below my heart. Instead of the average exclamation of “Tag, you’re it!”, they would look at me with confusion in kindergarten, and then fear until third grade, and then disgust then on. I didn’t understand what the big deal was, but somewhere between the fearful and disgusted stage, I learned that I was alone in this world of connected skin and little belly button holes.

I was terrified of this different part of me, the way kids wake up one day and know that there is something worth hiding about themselves. I couldn’t understand why this part of me was more important to hide, all the adults in my life ogled at it, made sure I knew that there was no reason to hide it but whose clarifications made me realize no one said that about my hands, or my hair, or my nose. No one needed to point fingers and shout mean things, I hated that latch and it’s incessant clinging enough to decide to hide it on my own. My mom heaved a breath with relief.

I started running after the gymnastics unit ran its way through my elementary school and echoed its lessons through the open air of a tiled gymnasium. They pulled out bright pink gymnastics mats for us to crawl over and push ourselves into. Ordinarily, such a precaution would never cross the administrative minds of St. James Elementary school, but a few weeks David was doing cartwheels and his hand slipped on a broken tile and cut his hand so badly he had to go to the hospital. When he had to sit out of recess and kids started to throw things at him, which started with bouncing balls and escalated to pebbles, no one said anything. All you could hear were soft sobs as he raised his cast to shield his eyes and the incessant laughter of his two best friends, Matt and Will, learning for the first time how easily smiles came when you made someone else cry.

You could hear the quiet, too. You could probably smush all the quiet in the room into a tiny bouncing ball and throw it at David with the pebbles. Or you could eat the tiny ball and taste the uncertainty and disappointment. We all wanted to be the Harry Potter who stepped in against this evil, but we went back to the kickball game, or tag, or crafts and were extra-nice to David while he ate lunch the next day with Matt and Calvin again. I even gave him my cosmic brownie.

You couldn’t hear the clinking though. No clank, clank of metal on metal as I walked from beneath the pavilion David shielded himself under to the ivy growing on the side of the gym wall so that Lauren and I could think up a way to climb up there. Up to the roof where we could look at everyone and never be expected to be Harry Potter.

When we were all instructed to do backbends in the gym, everyone started bending their tiny bodies and attempting to push themselves up in the air. They all looked like they were being exorcized from some demon, but I would look weirder, and I just glanced around the gym praying no one would notice if I just layed down on the mat and stare at the ceiling and pretend I was a corpse in a coffin at a funeral, or Jennifer Lawrence sleeping peacefully in that space movie that hasn’t come out yet.

“Good job guys, but I need to see everyone try at least once,” Miss Alexa said, walking by the mats, looking down at me as she continued walking. I know that was her subtle way of telling me to arch my back and clench my arms, but I couldn’t do it, my back would fold in all the wrong places and everyone would remember the clinking that made up our kindergarten gym classes when we ran for the Fitness Gram Pacer test. I closed my eyes as long as I could, hoping I would open them and see the tennis ball stuck in the grate that traps the ceiling fan.

Instead I saw the bright blue of our gym teacher's tight athletic shirt as her whistle wiggled back and forth above my face. Already, I was praying this would be over and I would come to school tomorrow and everyone would have forgotten because the new Zoey 101 episode would air at 4 pm central time.

She smiled, “Come on, Bella.” She was kind of teasing with it in retrospect, but at the time I just thought, She Knows, and started to panic. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, so I couldn’t see what expression Miss Alexa was making as I raised my hands above my head and placed my feet on the ground so my ankles were paralleled with my hips.

“I gotcha Bella,” she said, placing her hands on my waist, but I could feel her fingers trace the inside of my latch and a horrified expression took over her face and I started to cry. Everyone was looking as she ripped her hands away from me and let out a startled scream. My bottom half collapsed to the floor and my back bent. I undeniably completed the assignment. It left me with my head smashed against the mat, with the few ribs I had pointed towards the ceiling, a dramatic downward angle that balanced my upper half so that it was perpendicular with my bottom. Miss Alexa was still in shock, and she quickly stood back up and even took a couple steps back.

I pushed my bottom half down so I could lie flat against the mat. There was silence. It seemed that my fellow classmates remembered, in the back of their minds like a nursery rhyme, that I had a latch. This had brought it back to the very forefront of their minds. I felt shame and humiliation but I could not even breathe, I wanted to scream but it was too painful for screaming.

The torment that followed lasted years and seemed unforgettable to me. I started running that day, when we were let out after school. The constant clicking of my latch slamming against itself like a flag whipping in the wind. It didn’t hurt. Well, it was part of me, so it hurt the same way your body sagged against itself.

I knew I couldn’t hide because the clinking would follow me until I stopped, so I had to outrun them. It was sad, to see no one cared that I ran for my life every morning, recess, and after-school until elementary ended. I saw David, holding his wrist, staring me down as he watched his best friends Calvin after me. He looked at me and spoke to me without opening his mouth. Run for as long as you like, he communicated, no one will help you, and the cruelty will always greet you. I wasn’t even sad, I was just angry I had been born.

Even today, running gives the anger a space to heave it’s growing breath. Everyday, I feel like running a little more. It grows faster than me, but my mom says guys like the athletic types. The challenge is fun to chase down.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At St. James Elementary, they spent one hour each day dedicated to teaching the Catholic mission. We would read a bible story and discuss it in class, with Ms. Tinly dutifully adding her own anecdotes and experience to the conversation. I loved Ms. Tinly, whose bright, coordinated outfits brought color to our gray, dreary school lives. She always added a little twist to each lesson, and when she saw I spent every recess running excessively, she offered to let me spend recess in her room, helping her with whatever tasks she made up for me that day. I rarely took her up on that offer though. By fifth grade I had started to feel the freedom in the little clinks, in the burn of air entering my lungs.

We relearned every important bible story every year, it got very repetitive, but in fifth grade they started adding in the gory details. The blood that dripped from Goliath’s forehead, the baby threatened to be split in half, the way Adam ripped out his rib to create Eve. Deadly morality. Justice seemed more bloody with each passing year.

“Do you have ribs?” Lauren leaned over to ask after hearing about Adam and Eve for the seventh year in a row. She was my best friend, she had come over to my house to watch TV and play in the kitchen and I had gone to hers to cook with her chef sister and swing on her rope that hung from the oak tree in her yard. We didn’t whisper secrets, but we could see them between each other’s cracked floorboards. She climbed the ivy and sat on the roof and watched me while I ran. I could never be angry at her for it. I knew she couldn’t run from the people that chased her, I could see the little crevice carved out for her in her closet when we went in there to grab American Girl Dolls.

“Of course,” I whisper back, even though I wasn’t actually sure. I guessed that I probably did. Ms. Tinly gave us a look that said ‘Knock it Off’, but continued to pace the room.

“But where do they go?” She glanced down at my middle.

I just shrugged. So what if I didn’t have ribs? I was getting so sick of thinking about the stupid latch anyways. It was a part of me, who cares? I could still walk and talk and feel, I was still human. It was starting to seem like the latch would be the first thing people saw, the first thing they thought of when they heard the name ‘Bella’. I didn’t want to be the latch. I wanted to be Bella.

While I was running after school that day, hearing the clink, clink, clink of the latch, I wondered if the mechanical sound interrupted me as much as it interrupted the birds chirps in the morning, the car honks from parents in line after school, the sound of the bell tolling for the end of recess. I wondered if it interrupted my nature like it did the natural sounds of life, or if it was a natural sound of life too. If I was considered living enough to join the symphony. Well, not exactly those thoughts. I was only 11 afterall. But I felt those thoughts with me, even if I couldn’t articulate them.

My mom always showed up late, but today she was on time and she saw me running like a rabbit from a pack of wolves and when I saw her car something broke. Home had been the only place I held onto the little dignity I had left, and they stole that away. I felt like I had no reason to run anymore. The anger was gone, only for a moment, and only in the way that a woman can take away another woman’s rage but never a man’s. When the boys reached me and tackled me to the ground, it was as if they had never thought they would get this far. They rolled off me and sat up while I lay in the dirt, helpless and pathetic and crying already. I never outgrew the latch and I never outgrew the tears that ran down my face in this moment. They stayed stuck on my cheeks forever, tattooed into my skin.

They were not bored for very long, and the minute they realize they’d achieved their goal of outrunning me, which they had been trying for months, they cheered and high-fived, and Chase, who I had maybe the tiniest crush on from the time he gave another piece of his Valentine’s candy to me, he lifted my shirt to shove his fingers in the space below my heart, just by the latch. He grabbed the latch and wiggled it, and though it didn’t hurt, I screamed from the shock. His hands were so cold from the spring air, and that skin was covered constantly, never even sunburned. He ripped his hand back and looked at me in disgust, like my crime hadn’t been my resistance or fear, but rather that the skin was too flakey, too old, too unkempt.

My mom yanked him away from me and grabbed my wrist, dragging me out of the pile of boys. At that moment, I felt more hatred toward her than any of those kids. How could she not be kind to me as she saw me, her child who she was supposed to love more than life itself, crying out? She was not gentle or patient. Once I was on the sidewalk, she picked me up from my armpits and lifted me to stand, then grabbed my hand and continued her pilgrimage. She looked angrily ahead of her, like a soldier’s march to battle.

I stumbled to keep step with her as her coat billowed in the wind. I realized all the parents were staring from their cars, tracking us with their wide owl eyes. Glaring with disapproval, as if this was some game I liked to play. When I looked back on this memory, I realized their assumptions. They had seen their sons tackle a girl and lift her shirt, they didn’t know I never wanted to be chased. They assumed I had awoken some evil in their sons, as if they hadn’t been born into a world that nursed that evil like a little calf.

My mom drove silently, gripping her steering wheel. She played no music, made no small-talk, just drove with an efficiency and anger I had rarely seen in her before. Maybe when I had told a teacher that I was hungry in second grade and told her that I skipped breakfast. The teacher assumed my mother made me nothing instead of assuming I refused to eat her eggs. She had called CPS and there had been a whole debacle. I looked very skinny since clothing had nothing to cling to in my middle, the teacher assumed I had been starved or something. Gossip spread quickly, my mother was already a social pariah, and now they probably thought she had taught me how to be the slut that turned their sons barbaric.

She made many swift phone calls after we got home. I sat by the railings at the staircase while she yelled in the kitchen. I leaned forward and a stair creaked. She whipped her head around and, coat still on and billowing, snapped her fingers and pointed upstairs. I ran to my bedroom and laid staring at the ceiling without crying. I wanted to cry but my body would not let me, I couldn’t even tear up. After an indeterminate amount of time, I pulled the one sheet of math homework from my bookbag and halfway through my mom came in and sat criss-cross-apple-sauce next to me. I couldn’t look up at her, so we sat in silence until I finished my math sheet and had nothing to look down at anymore. I pretended to erase some stuff, but eventually my boredom beat out my fear and I looked up at her.

She held her arms open and I crawled into her lap and she hugged me. Again, I wanted to cry, but nothing budged, so I just pouted while my mom sobbed into my soft golden hair that grew browner every day. I felt her cry enough to make my hair wet rather than having the tears roll off and land on my uniform navy blue khakis. I felt sobs wrack her entire body and she shuddered, over and over again, until she was gasping for each breath between wails. Her fingers twitched where they laid over the gap in between my top and bottom. I wondered if she would have been happier if I was never born. Then dismissed that because what’s done is done.

“You’re-” then she hiccupped and coughed, starting over with, “Next year, you’re switching schools.” I just nodded and she went back to hugging me, but stopped crying and only breathed loudly and stroked my hair for a while.

Then she stood up as I got out of her lap and asked, “What’re you thinking for dinner?” while grabbing the doorknob on her way out.

“Um,” I hesitated, wanting to pick something with the overlap to comfort both of us, but coming up with nothing. “I’m fine with whatever,” I said. She nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

I grew restless from my unfinished run, so I grabbed my shoes and headed out, running laps around the neighborhood until I felt nothing but the burn in my legs.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Public school was different. Although maybe two kids from St. James switched here too for middle school, it felt like no one knew me and nobody cared enough to get to know me. I felt a little guilty leaving Lauren behind, but it was also a relief to not feel her gaze looking down at me from above. I kept my head down most of the time. I was not pretty, but I was smart, and I successfully graduated middle school with high honors.

I was scared of people, to the point of paralyzation. The only points I ever lost in classes were for participation and presentation. After the first few failed tries, most people stopped trying to talk to me, but eventually I was roped into an awkward friendship with a girl named Carissa. We had health together, and would pair up for every single assignment. The first few times she invited me to hang out after school, I resisted, but eventually she charmed me with her assurances that her mom would drive and be there the whole time if either of us wanted to leave. Freshman year was an odd time to still have a mom join you in the movie theaters, but it eased me to know she was there, and that I wouldn’t have to see her home and so she would not expect to see mine.

“Well, she’ll just walk around the mall,” she assured me, “but, like, we can call her if we need anything.”

“Okay, I guess” I was honestly pretty excited, also nervous, ”Like what movie do you wanna see?”

I told my mom and she was so ecstatic that she said yes immediately.

“Unless you want me to say no,” she said, “you can just lie and say I said no if you want.” I was surprised she was encouraging me to lie, but I didn’t want to lie anyway. I liked Carissa, and I wanted to go and make friends like any other teenage girl.

We watched “Murder on the Orient Express” and became so sick with boredom we ended up walking around the mall and chit-chatting the whole time. We went in and out of stores like Claires and Justice with overpriced plastic jewelry, our huge popcorns in our hands until we bumped into her mom. She asked us how the movie was and we both just laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. I was half fake laughing, but my smile was real down to the roots of my teeth.

Carissa and I only grew closer, we were both all-honors students and took classes side by side after freshman year. I had a partner for every project. My junior year, I trusted her more than I trusted myself. I felt like the only thing holding me from completely throwing myself into this friendship, which felt too light a word for the bond we had, was that we had never discussed the latched. She had seen it once, briefly, in the locker room after cross-country practice, but she said nothing, made no facial expression, even though she should have been surprised.

One night at a sleepover, we fell asleep on the couch. When we woke up crusty at some time between 2 am and the sunrise, her hand was settled just above the gap for the latch. She didn’t not yank her hand away or look at me with disgust, she simply raised her hand to rub her eyes and asked for water.

In the morning she never brought it up. I was shocked. It was like I was a kid again, no fear, no confusion, not even acknowledgement. I wondered, for a minute, if she had a latch, too.

She gave youth back to me in every way. The way we laughed together, could read each other’s minds, held the same judgements, the same smarts, the same trust and nonchalance. I had no idea that I would never trust someone like this again.

My grandma once told me a story about a circle of trees that were bonded together by the roots in Hawaii. Youth tied people together like that, we grew together and I hoped that, for the rest of my life, we would continue to grow side by side, not like weeds that split in the summertime, but like these strong sturdy trees.

The summer we went to college, she was the only person I bothered texting, but life has a funny way of pulling people apart. By the time I bought my treadmill, sophomore year of undergrad, we spoke infrequently. I had roommates to chat with and I loved using my crappy fake ID to go to the bar with a group of girls I met the year before, but I knew my most honest conversations would always be reserved for her. The time I felt most myself was on the phone with her or visiting her for brunch.

On one such brunch occasion, I asked her, “Why don’t you ask about, you know,” I didn't want to say it, but it was important, suddenly, to speak with the utmost clarity, “the latch?”

She looked up from her harvest salad, and smiled at me, “If you wanted to talk about it, you would.” It was all so simple to her.

We never discussed the latch again, it didn’t feel necessary. We were already as vulnerable as two humans could get, tied together at the roots. She took a bite from the salad, somehow gentle. She could make anything carnivorous look kind.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some days though, I felt incomprehensibly lonely, and my friends would invite me out to the bar, seeing me drown and not knowing quite how to save me from it. None of them saw the latch, I used the treadmill at home and when someone asked about the clinking, I’d made up a lie about an ankle surgery that needed an implant gone wrong. I don’t think a single person believed it, but no one ever asked further. Everyone wanted to believe it because what was the alternative?

I got pretty, apparently, after junior or senior year of high school, and now guys looked at me like ripe fruit instead of not looking at all. It was scary, but it made me feel powerful in a guilty sort of untapped way. It was like a politician who took one bribe and suddenly, the world had opened up to something terrible and thrilling. Though I had rarely experienced it before, I learned early on that a man’s lust was a thinly veiled threat.

The man who touched my hip, well below the latch, looked like he wanted to consume me. It’s terrifying, knowing that someone wants your body so bad they would kill you to get it. But he had chosen the perfect night to hold this lust, to weaponize it. I had never had a boyfriend, my experience racked up to one kiss in middle school on a dare and once, drunkenly last year I made out with a guy until he slid his hand up my waist and screamed when he hit the gap. He fled the scene in embarrassment. More for himself than for me.

I didn’t care if this one ran for the hills, I felt so unloveable in that moment, I would have let him do almost anything. He paid for my tab and invited me to his apartment a few minutes walk away. We walked out together, but he always kept his hand just nearly on my ass rather than anywhere near the latch. I almost felt like I was tricking him, but he’d realize soon, kick me out, and I would be satisfied that, for a moment, I was wanted even if it was just half of me. He talked about himself and I half listened as I took in the street. A few drunk girls walked by laughing and I felt something like pride when he didn’t look at them because he was looking at me. It wasn’t pride though, it felt more sinister.

As he let me inside, I looked around the apartment. It was clean and sweet-smelling, like a venus-fly trap. He closed the door and grabbed my head to kiss me and force me closer to him. We parted and made the way to his bedroom. I was shocked to have made it this far, feeling like an imposter or a thief for stealing his time. I wanted this one selfish moment, though, so I stayed. I felt like I was playing a video game where I would see how long I could stay in disguise before I was discovered and murdered for my trespassing.

He kissed me again and started to lift my shirt off me, but I didn’t stop him. He leaned back to admire what he considered his work, as if his work of revealing my body was a greater feat than my mother creating it, or my work shaping it.

The latch immediately drew his eye and he looked at it with recognition rather than fear. Then I realized whose den I was in, and when I started to look at Calvin with recognition, he looked up at me and I was the one who was afraid again.

He leaned in again to keep kissing me, and I was so surprised I didn’t push him away. I stood stock still until he started to pull me towards the bed and soon it was as intimate as I had always envisioned the act. He did all the work, but he didn’t seem surprised by this. He took my silence as consent and kept going until his hands were gripping my thighs like he was holding tight onto a chicken leg.

I only started to move again when his hands slipped to my latch. I pushed at his shoulders, he toyed with it, I pushed him again and he continued.

“Fuck!” my voice came back to me, and suddenly alarm and panic came with it. I grabbed onto his shoulders and shook them but he was undeterred.

I started shouting and begging and he continued with the latch, until he lifted a section of it like an airplane seatbelt and I came undone and the pain and terror that seized me was unlike anything I have ever felt in my life. It was too painful to even scream. I was frozen as he grabbed behind my disconnected knees and continued his act with only my bottom half. I tried to kick him, but nothing happened. All I could do was wiggle my arms and look up.

Then suddenly, it was like I was possessed by some demon the latch had been hiding. He had opened Pandora's box and now I knew that the horror came. With a strength I had never had before, I broke off part of the wooden bedpost, roared with a battle cry, and bludgeoned him with it until he fell from the bed and I was blinded from his blood in my eyes. I was consumed with a rage because now I could not run from it. I scratched at the sheets and the pillow until I made my way to where he lay lifeless on the floor. I raised my hands in a fist. I was crying for the first time since his last assault on me, my throat was raw from the screaming, I wondered if I had ever stopped. I brought down my fists onto where he might have had his latch, if he was capable of having one, over and over again, until I shook and I heard the snapping of his ribs.

I climbed back on the bed, and reattached the latch to the best of my ability. I couldn’t feel my legs, they just shook and sputtered and spasmed. I had no idea what would happen and I feared I would never feel my legs again, if he had stolen my running forever. Rage consumed me again and I had no regret for what I had done. I had never killed even a fly before, but this did not feel like killing. It was some emotion between revenge and self-defense

I wonder if he had ever known consequence before. I knew the law would not create a life for me, and there was no life for me without running. I was still crying, creating more tattoo streaks of tears.

I felt a roiling inside of me. I got up from the bed, but my legs gave out beneath me, buckling beneath me. I hoped the latch would fully attach again, but I knew my body was done for. The latch funneled all my food, all my water, and he had broken it forever like a toddler smashing his favorite toy.

I clawed my way to the kitchen. I clawed onto the counter and examined each drawer until I found what I had been looking for. I threw myself off of the counter and returned to the gory scene I had created. It felt almost unbelievable that I could take credit for all this destruction. Women were formed with creation in mind, and I was not entitled to this sacrilegious act.

I took the knife and cut and tugged until it was free from my body. It was painful, but nothing like the pain he gave me. It was painful like jumping into the cold lake water by my aunt’s house up north after a summer day in the sunshine. I made sure the latch was still snug. No matter how much pain it caused me, that latch was part of my body, and it was kind to me. It pumped my blood, digested my food, processed my water, all to keep me alive. To keep my thumping, animalistic heart bumping. For a moment I saw it as beautiful. I wanted to die with it. I took the rib I had stolen from my body and crashed it through his torso, returning the most violent part of myself to its creator.

#creative writing #fiction #writers #literature #pls help

[denimbex1986]

'The Tardis has landed. If you have been following along, you know that Jodie Whittaker‘s Thirteenth Doctor has morphed into David Tennant‘s Fourteenth Doctor, who was also the Tenth Doctor, a re-regeneration unheard of in the annals of the Time Lords. (Someone better informed than I might be aware of a precedent — anyway, it’s rare.) You can’t go home again, wrote Thomas Wolfe, but F. Scott Fitzgerald said you can repeat the past — of course you can.

Indeed, the past repeats gloriously in “Doctor Who: The Star Beast,” the first of three 60th-anniversary specials premiering Saturday that will end in a fourth, with the Christmas Day advent of Ncuti Gatwa as Doctor No. 15 in “The Church on Ruby Road.” (“Wild Blue Yonder” on Dec. 2 and “The Giggle” on Dec. 9 complete this anniversary series.) This is also the first episode of the beloved British franchise to appear under Disney+’s deal with the BBC to become its exclusive international home, outside of the U.K. and Ireland, but so far the House of Mouse seems to have interfered only to the extent of pouring a bucket of cash into a production that sometimes could look strapped for it.

Running the show again is Russell T Davies, who in 2005 brought “Doctor Who” back to life after 16 years, during which time the character had survived in novels, comics, radio dramas and a single TV movie. Christopher Eccleston played the Doctor for the first revival season; but Tennant, who took over the role that Christmas and kept it until the dawn of 2010, was the gift the Doctor and Davies had been waiting for. And arguably — there will always be argument around “Doctor Who” — they were never better than when Catherine Tate, a hilarious comic actor with a talent for breaking your heart, joined them as the Doctor’s human traveling companion and very best mate Donna Noble. And she’s back as well. Exclamation point! Life could not be better. Let their fierce chemistry recommence.

Yes, yes, I hear you say, but didn’t the Doctor bury Donna’s memory in order to keep her head from exploding when she absorbed a lethal dose of Time Lord mojo? And if she remembers him now, won’t she die? Of course, this sort of science fiction can always rewrite the rules, as desired, or discover a new one. Canon is useful only insofar as it doesn’t get in the way of the story, and Davies’ sensibility is more attuned to poetry than plot, which is just a tool to make you feel big feelings. But you should be concerned for them. I mean, I was.

After a worrisome, cheap-looking, afterthought of a prologue, in which Tennant and Tate, speaking to the camera, fill in backstory for the benefit of Disney+ subscribers new to “Who,” we dive into the episode proper, which looks fantastic, begins fast and gets faster. No time is wasted bringing our main players onstage, to a busy London street. We are reminded that Donna, before she became an adventurer in time and space, had a habit of missing things, and she does here, as a spacecraft blazes across the sky and lands with a bang in the distance. And she feels that something is missing from her otherwise happy life, but she can’t say what it is.

The Doctor also will meet Donna’s daughter, the not arbitrarily named Rose (Yasmin Finney), and meet again Donna’s husband, Shaun Temple (Karl Collins), last seen at their wedding back in 2010. Ruth Madeley plays Shirley Anne Bingham, a droll science advisor from UNIT, which guards the world — well, London at least — from extraterrestrial and paranormal threats. (It hasn’t always succeeded.) The resident alien is the Meep (voiced by Miriam Margolyes), making its screen debut — the episode is based on a story from a comic in Doctor Who magazine — which presents first as something like Gizmo the Gremlin, and then as something more like a Gremlin after it’s been fed after midnight.

In his quantum way, the Doctor is always the same person but different — except here, where he is very much his old self again, only 13 years older. I have love, in different degrees, for all successive Doctors. (The Doctor, calling himself “the one in the skinny suit,” ticks off his subsequent regenerations: “After that I wear a bow tie, after that I’m a Scotsman, after that I’m a woman.”)

Similarly, each showrunner — including Steven Moffat and Chris Chibnall, who followed and now have been followed by Davies — brought something different to the show, while it always remained fundamentally “Doctor Who.” (Some fans would say otherwise.) But Davies is the architect of the 21st century series, which never seemed tired or strained under his watch, as it sometimes later could. His blend of comedy, tragedy, suspense, romance, terror and farce is quite exhilarating, and with Tennant and Tate, he has two players who have his music down. It’s going to be hard losing them again — I’m getting a little teary just thinking about it — but it’s already on the schedule, and come Christmas, there’ll be a new Doctor to sing this song.'

#Doctor Who #Russell T. Davies #The Star Beast #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #David Tennant #60th Anniversary #Ncuti Gatwa #The Giggle #Wild Blue Yonder #Rose Noble #Yasmin Finney #the Meep #Miriam Margolyes #Ruth Madeley #Shirley Anne Bingham #Shaun Temple #Karl Collins

[sardonic-the-writer]

━GOOFING OFF

━Tw: None

━Notes: To take your minds off of things <3

━Song: "Birdhouse In Your Soul" By They Might Be Giant

"Honestly Jack, you need to give Chase a break."

A set of eyes flickered over to you at your words, glinting mischievously in the late evening lighting.

"Yea, but then how will I drive myh fans crazy?"

"That's the point!" You threw your hands up with a fake pout one of them grazing a hanging light above. "Don't! Let these poor egos of yours finally have peace!"

The European youtuber known as Jacksepticeye finally turned to fully look at you, playful smile in place as he readjusted a stray pencil from behind his ear.

Both of you had been sitting at the kitchen countertop in his house for a while, going over what you dubbed as "septic ego lore". Papers were scattered over a cool to the touch marble surface, spread out with no rhyme or reason. It was cluttered, but things were staring to fall into place.

Normally Jack did this kind of stuff with people on a team dedicated to it, but tonight he had asked you- his best mate and loud ass neighbor -for your help.

I mean, it was hard not to accept a plea from a pouting irishman on your doorstep. He even pulled out the fake bambi eyes to make you laugh.

You were astounded by how much shit he was planning on putting some of these characters through though.

"Brochacho-" You went to sling an arm around his shoulder, laughing to yourself when he made a face at the nickname "-you need to realize that yes, angst is good! Lore is great! But please, you're gonna come out looking like a sociopath when you continue with all this!"

"Ye jus vaugly guestered to everything on ta table." Jack deadpanned. You snorted at his less than amused expression. Reaching up to slightly ruffle his hair you were met to a slap to the wrist. Pulling away while fake crying you continued.

"How about I cut you a deal then, mister evil mastermind."

One of his eyebrows raised a bit. Jack tried to look disinterested but you have been known to pull some pretty good ideas out of nowhere from time to time. So he was invested.

"Go on."

You grinned.

"Alright. So. You take, uhhhh, these characters and put them through as much suffering as you want-" You reached over to push a stack of papers towards him, names of septerate egos on them. "-and I take these characters n do some fluffy shit with em!"

You pulled a stack or two towards you, shooting a pair of finger guns at Jack with a wink.

"I'm ready to get my serotonin on! Booyah!"

"Ye jus' grabbed Antis profile."

"Shit. Switch with me real quick would you Jackie boy."

After a quick (and slightly embarassing) exchange, you awaited his answer with a wide smile. It only took a moment of him biting his bottom lip for a sigh to escape Jacks mouth.

"Fine. Bu' you can't complain when I traumatized one of em."

Pumping your fist in the air with an exclamation of triumph, you held your hand our for him to shake. He took it lightly.

"Knew you'd make the right choice my boy!" This was said in an old timey accent while you busied yourself adjusting an invisible bowtie, like a prospector in those ancient black and white movies. It made the person shaking your hand laugh.

"Don think I didn see ye deliberately grab Chases file though (Y/n). You're not tha slick."

"Awwww shut up you leprechaun."

"I'm going to put in a noise complaint to the landlord about you if you call me that again."

You lightly punched him in the shoulder, the both of you breaking out into big smiles.

"It's not my fault I'm loud. I'm just a free spirit!"

"Tell that ta ye guitar solos at three am."

"As if your screams from playing Phasmaphobia durring the dead of night dont keep me up either."

He flipped you off with a hearty giggle, taking his backwards baseball cap off and smushing it overtop your own head as a silly gesture. It mussed up your hair and blocked your vision so you tilted it up slightly while Jack snickered.

"This is mine now McLoughlin. I hope you know that."

"Fook off ya goof."

#jack #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye #jack x reader #jacksepticeye x you #jacksepticeye x reader #jse #sean #sean x reader #sean mcloughlin #septic ego x reader #septic ego #septic egos x reader #septic egos #youtube egos #youtubers #youtuber x reader

[linguisticdiscovery]

In a 2006 study on exclamation mark use in two online communication platforms, linguistics scholar Carol Waseleski found that women exclaimed in 73 per cent of the 1,700 examined posts, nearly three times as much as men (27 per cent), confirming the assumption that ! is a mark of online female writing. But this was not because women are more excitable. Of all the ! messages, 32 per cent fell into the ‘friendly’ category – for example, ‘Hello everyone!’, ‘I hope this helps!’, ‘See you there!’ or ‘Congratulations!’. Two-thirds of those friendly posts were written by women. Only 9 per cent of exclamation texts signposted strong emotions such over-effusiveness (‘Thank you so very much!’), sneering (‘Big deal!’), and aggression (‘You stupid jerk!’). Of this handful of emotional posts, half were by women, half by men.

~ Florence Hazrat, An admirable point: A brief history of the exclamation mark, pp. 151–152

Grab a copy of this most exciting book here!

#gender #exclamation point #punctuation #language #linguistics #writing #langblr #lingblr #!

[winterrose527]

“you came”

“You called”

jonsa but rlly anything if it does spark you

Wreck My Plans

The beeping was steady and annoying, even as it reassured him. He was annoyed by its very presence, let alone the sound, the fact that his heart skipped a beat waiting for it every time. 

He had stopped stretching. Every time he moved one muscle, seven others reminded him that he had neglected them as well. So he just sat there, hunched forward, as though he was helping.

“Jon.”

Only she could sound so frustrated and relieved and accusatory and sympathetic with one syllable. Only he could be impressed by something as inconsequential as the way she said his name.

“You came,” he greeted her.

“You called,” she stepped into the room. 

Her heels clacked on the linoleum floor, her silver sequin dress catching under the bad fluorescent lighting. Her fair skin looked nearly iridescent, as opposed to all the sallow faces he’d seen as he walked back to this room.

“I didn’t think I’d… sorry,” he shook his head. 

He had called her in a moment of weakness, before he remembered that they’d only been on three dates. That this wasn’t her problem, that he wasn’t. He had thought he’d hung up quickly enough that her phone wouldn’t even register it. 

“You didn’t think you’d what?” she asked, stepping more fully into the room and walking towards the bed. 

Her heels kept time with the beeping, an exclamation point at the end of a sentence he never wanted to read again. She turned from the bed to him, and stepped closer, in between his legs. Her fingertips pressed to the hollows of his cheeks. 

He sighed, closing his eyes, “I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.” 

Tonight was going to be more than a fourth date. It was her birthday and she’d invited him and she hadn’t really said it but it had felt like a big deal. So far, he’d met her best friend Myrcella, the pretty blonde who was dating her older brother. She’d been the reason he met Sansa, actually, she was so busy talking to Ghost that Sansa had kept him company. Other than that, though, he hadn’t met anyone else in Sansa’s life and tonight he was supposed to meet the most important ones. 

They hadn’t really talked about what he was meeting them as, if he was just going to be another party guest, or what. It hadn’t seemed like it though. She’d been too embarrassed about the venue, a place her other friend Marg had rented out for the night, too specific about how she had plans with just the girls for dinner but that if he got there right around 9 then that would be perfect. She’d repeated 9 at least four times, so he’d gotten the hint that it was less around and more on the dot.

The other morning they’d been in bed and he’d almost asked. So when you introduce me am I… but he hadn’t known how to finish that sentence. It felt like more than three dates, more than a casual invite, but he’d been wrong before. He’d gotten so much shit from his last girlfriend about his need to ‘label’ things and how people weren’t property, which was less of a political statement and more an allusion to the fact that she was sleeping with other people.

Sansa was different from her though in just about every way, and he knew how close she was to her best friends and her family, and he couldn’t imagine that she’d invite him to meet them even casually if it didn’t mean something. 

He felt that so strongly, that when he’d been calling her earlier, it hadn’t been to explain why he wasn’t going to make it, it was to ask her to come here. He’d thought better of it immediately, but the urge had been there.

In that moment he felt like he needed her to be there and it felt like she cared enough about him to show up and it had been so long since he’d felt both of those things at once that he’d just given in.

Her knees bent and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She couldn’t be comfortable, not like that, but she stroked his hair as though she was. He pulled her to him, so that she was resting on one of his legs, and then he buried his face in her neck, breathing in lavender and that hair oil she’d made him try and her. 

“You get to ruin my birthday,” she told him, her lips at his ear. “Because if there’s something happening in your life important enough for you not to show up for me, then I want to show up for you. Just stay on the line next time, long enough to tell me where you are, and I promise, I’ll be there.”

He felt tears come to his eyes and he gripped her tighter. 

“Do your friends hate me?” he asked. 

“No, they think I’m psychotic,” she told him. 

He pulled away from her and asked, “Why?” 

Those blue eyes looked down, her lower lip pouting out, “I might have overreacted slightly about you not being there.” His stomach twisted and she let out a deep breath, “It’s just I’ve been let down before and I just forgot for a second that you’re different.”

“I forgot too,” he told her. She looked up at him and he explained, “That’s why I hung up… plus I really didn’t want to ruin your birthday.” 

“I don’t really care about my birthday all that much,” she told him.

He smirked and gestured to her, “This is what you look like when you don’t care?” 

She blushed and he stroked his thumb against the warmth of it, her voice little more than a murmur when she said, “It’s possible I was dressing up more for you than the occasion.” 

He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, shaking his head.

She stroked his cheek, “I’m so sorry, Jon. How’s he doing?” 

“Nice of one of you to remember I was here,” a gruff, annoyed, amused voice cut in. 

Sansa nearly fell off his lap with how quickly she whipped around. He caught hold of her though in spite of his surprise.

“How long were you listening, you old creep?” he asked, his heart leaping with relief.

“Long enough to know you ought to introduce me to the birthday girl before I die in here, what are these damn machines?” Mormont asked, jostling about.

Sansa giggled, her hand going out to stop him from unplugging anything, “It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m Sansa Stark… Jon’s girlfriend.” 

#omg haven't written Jonsa in so long #sorry that this is a little sad #jonsa #my rotten soldier #also in case anyone is wondering she knows where he was because she tracked down Sam who told her

[wyverian-lady525]

Is it possible for you to write a story where Kyle's family invite the rider( fem pls) and her family to a dinner and then rider brings Alwin , Reverto and Cheval and introduces them as their family? If you can't it's fine

I can definitely try!💖

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

“Family” Introductions

You get invited to Kyle’s house for dinner. However, when you bring your family, it raises some questions.

“You did WHAT?” Kyle shouted at his father, much to the snickering amusement of his three brothers. The oldest currently being out on a hunt.

“I thought it would be courteous to invite her for dinner. She is your friend after all.” His father said, not understanding why his youngest son was throwing a hissy fit over this.

“But they tease us all the time. Why didn’t you ask me first?” Kyle whispered the first part while glaring at his brothers before addressing the question at his father in a normal tone.

His father merely shrugged.

“Stop fighting this Kyle. Y/N and her family will be coming to dinner tonight and that is final.” His father stated in a tone that told the young hunter not to argue. Kyle was going to throw a little fit regardless, but one word caught his attention.

“Family...?” He whispered in confusion.

“Dad...all her family is dead! Who are you talking about?! The whole island?!” Kyle was beyond confused, shocked, and angry all the way around. 

But...now the surprise visitors made more sense.

When you arrived that evening for dinner, Kyle was shocked (and a bit horrified) to see three familiar faces. Alwin, Cheval, and...ugh...Reverto. Kyle was actually expecting someone like Kayna to show up, but he isn’t too surprised with these results either. However, it does make things a lot more bizarre for everyone else.

“Woah! Y/N, I didn’t know you had a brother!” Obviously, Levi’s exclamation makes sense. Out of your three guests, Cheval is the only one who looks like he could be related to you. They know Reverto isn’t because, well, they know him, and Alwin is a wyverian, so that wouldn’t make much sense.

“Or...is he your boyfriend?” Isaac added cheekily, causing the other brothers to giggle as Kyle fumed. You and Cheval both turned bright red as the two of you quickly corrected the situation.

Meanwhile, Kyle wanted to smash his head between the door and the wall.

This was off to a great start.

Eventually, after some quick introductions, everyone was seated for dinner. However, Kyle didn’t feel hunger, he felt dread. His father sat at the head of the table, with family and guests scattered about as such. Kyle still hadn’t gotten the confidence to look Reverto in the eye and figured someone would speak up soon.

He must be physic.

“So...this is your family, Y/N?” It was Kyle’s oldest brother, Aeon, who raised that question. But it was clear everyone was thinking the same thing.

This is kind of weird.

But you nodded like it was no big deal. Alwin and Cheval were respectable guests, kindly thanking the man of the house for welcoming them in for dinner. And Reverto was a respectable hunter. Still, this obviously wasn’t what everyone was expecting.

“Like, how the hell are you related to her?” Levi pointed his fork accusingly as Reverto, the one person he actually knew. But the hunter just laughed at the obvious confusion.

“I guess you could call me like an uncle. We’re not physically related or anything, but we have this wicked bond. I would’ve taken the fatherly role, but that was already taken, so I’ll go for the next best thing.” Reverto said with a grin, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle your hair. Upon hearing his explanation, Alwin hesitantly cleared his throat, causing all eyes to be on him.

“Y/N’s grandfather was a close friend of mine. I promised to watch over her as if she were my own child.” Alwin praised, taking the place as the father. The wyverian than turned to his left and placed a loving hand on your shoulder, causing you to beam.

Everyone than looked at Cheval expectantly, who was in the middle of eating when everyone stopped to stare at him.

“I...well, I saw myself in Y/N. Being a few years older than her, I couldn’t help but feel like an older brother.” The redhead explained sheepishly, and Kyle almost wanted to laugh at the bewildered expressions on the faces of his family.

“So...that makes Kyle the boyfriend, right?” Robin added, causing everyone except Kyle and you to laugh.

“I dig it.” Reverto said through his laughter, making you both scowl at him. Cheval just sat there like, “this is awkward”, and Alwin looked mortified.

“Not on my watch.” The wyverian said in a fatherly tone, causing everyone to laugh even more. If anything, that just made you embarrassed as you hid your red face in your hands, Kyle not far behind you.

However, Levi wasn’t really laughing, and still looked confused.

“I...must be missing something. How is this a family?” He asked, and the laughter subsided as a slight bit of tension filled the room. Thankfully, Reverto, the one bridge between riders and hunters, spoke up.

“You don’t get it dude. Family is more than just blood. It’s about being with those who treat you kindly, comfort you, support you, and are willing to protect you no matter what.” He explained, causing everyone to either look ashamed (some of Kyle’s brothers) or nod in agreement.

For once, a family dinner started to feel more like family.

“I’m very proud to call these boys members of my family.” You gushed, moving to hug Alwin, who sat closest to you before giving Cheval and Reverto a smile.

Kyle was extremely worried for this dinner, especially after he saw your company. But after Reverto’s words and everyone meeting, things seemed to calm down and play out nicely. Hunters, riders, humans, and wyverian were all able to sit at a table and eat dinner together.

That, by itself, was something truly special.

#monster hunter stories 2 #monster hunter stories #mhst #mhst2 #kyle #kyle x reader #mhst2 kyle x reader #mhst2 kyle #monster hunter stories 2 kyle #cheval #monster hunter stories cheval #mhst2 cheval #reverto #monster hunter stories reverto #alwin #monster hunter stories 2 alwin #mhst2 alwin

[xian-1502]

Introspective post: On a similar note, j hope my inability to be normal about affection and shared things hasn’t made him feel bad at any point. As mentioned prior, quite a big 5 fan. I just have my moments where i play stuff off, or react brashly, but i’m like “colon three” internally for lack of better terms. Like “wow, this epic super big deal of a guy has the same interest or traits as lil ol me (dramatic)?” But i just go, “dude come on./Be original./I changed my mind about X actually” and i hope it’s funny but he responds like “oh…” and i kinda feel bad but i commit to the bit. Which i probably shouldn’t. On my journey to being a hasthtag#reallover, this chapter has no place in the final publishing. I gotta get over myself and give people the honesty and transparency they deserve and would like to hear. So grand. I think to punctuate this post, i will conclude with the fact that i’m SUPER nervous for his birthday (and also thursday for other reasons) cause i hope the bath water is right, all the flowers and rosemary are just nice, the gifts are nice, the product smells nice, i actually do a good job, and it’s like all it’s meant to be (uber idealistic). The gifts, bath, and good job are super important though. Been thinking about that last one lately, cause like, woah. I’ve been treating it all casual and cool, but i’m super in my head about it. Cause like, I can watch all the videos i want, and theorize all about it in my head. But actually doing it, and doing well is a whole different ballgame, and im not confident in my ability replicate or create that kind of good experience. But 5 said he believes in me, and if he believes, that means it’s real, and tangible, and possible, and therefore it will be done. y’know what they say, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. And just to let you in on a little secret about 5, john 18:6. He’s KIND of a big deal. Oh this is about a massage bee tee dubs, just want to clarify that. exclamation mark!

Dude…

#Spotify

[fmdjoosung]

hiya i’m demi and this is my Baby sung, aka choi joosung, stage name sun, main dancer of candy. her stage name sums up at least three quarters of who she is, but there’s more info under the cut. you can also read more about her on her pinterest, bio, public profile, private profile, and claims. if you’d like to plot, hit this post with a like. if you’d like a random starter, reply with an emoji. and if you’d like an event starter, reply with a word and an exclamation point!

personality

my fave part of sungs profile are the sims 4 traits so i’m copying them here: cheerful, creative, romantic, bookworm, music lover, childish, dance machine, slob, squeamish, family oriented, good, insider, outgoing, proper

to expand more on this, sung is excitable. she takes an inch and gives a mile, which can be nice in some situations, but especially as a child it caused her to push potential friends away by being Too Much. as she’s aged, she’s learned to tone this down, but it’s still a work in progress

the claps and bursts out when laughing type

the sends you personal holiday and birthday cards type

sends you 30 texts in a row type

loves reading, scrapbooking, cats, pop & coffee shop music

adores pink and yellow and will be wearing one and/or the other whenever possible

likes anything Cute, clothes or otherwise

in many ways, a pretty traditionally feminine type of girl. she likes being ~pretty, has been cooking from a young age, likes playing homemaker, is very emotional, like jesus the amount that this gorl can cry... you’d think she’d run out eventually, but Nope

tries to be optimistic when possible. brains aren’t always that nice, and sung deals with those struggles too. but she’s a big advocate for talking about your feelings and feeling your feelings so they can be expelled and go away healthily. she tries to observe that as well, but she’s not as good at talking about her deepest non happy emotions, and tends to curl inward in those times. every other emotion level Will be shared and worn on her sleeve though, even to strangers lmao

very physically affectionate. she’s not Particularly careful about gender divides with this, and it applies to anyone she considers a friend, which honestly doesn’t take much

she comes from a very traditional and devout catholic family, though, and it’s framed a lot of her ways of thinking. especially when she was younger, she had mindsets like the ‘love you, but not your lifestyle’ and needed to break out of that when she was exposed to more queer people through the industry. she also has decently strong opinions on things like over-drinking, smoking, sleeping around, and can be a little judgmental over those things

for the most part, she doesn’t ever intend to start arguments. she wants to get on with everyone. one of few times she’s full on cold to someone is if they’re an ex of a close friend who treated them badly, because she’s very loyal and ‘if you hate them i hate them’ type of friend

also unfortunately het. i’m as disappointed as the rest of u

background

sung was born with a fraternal twin to parents that owned an itty bitty restaurant together. and it’s very bob’s burgers they barely scraped by

but when sung was about ~9, her dad caught some luck, and was always away from home doing business meetings for the shop. then by the time sung was 10, the whole family packed up to start building a chain for their restaurant

sung already struggled making friends before moving, but moving made it a bit worse. she became an idol fan as an escape, and started dancing because of it

when she was 17, her family settled down in seoul as a new permanent location, and sung saw it as her opportunity to be the idol she’d dreamt she could be over the last 6 years of dancing

her luck wouldn’t be the Greatest, though, as she’d fall into a scam for a couple of months

she developed higher standards for checking for scams, started training at a real company, but had to find out through an article online that the company had shut down

her parents wanted her to give up, but up to that point, she’d only auditioned for smaller companies because of the higher success rate. she presented a plan to audition for only the top five companies, and they eventually agreed to that

however, it still took a year of auditioning for bc ent to accept her

and when she was accepted, she didn’t train for long at all before being put on candy shop, then straight to debut

career/image

sung’s public persona isn’t very different from who she is. like with most idols, she has to put on a happy face even when she’s not feeling so hot, but beyond that, who she is, is what the public sees

she’s a sunshine/vitamin archetype

her appeal as an idol according to the public has three main sections. at the top, personality, then second is her looks, and third would be dancing

though she really enjoyed candy shop (as a fan of healthy competitiveness - mostly against herself) it introduced her to the public and made her aware that what she’s most proud of, her dancing, falls behind looks, which she’s always worried people will value her for over who she is. while i think personality wins over looks, i don’t think sung sees it that way, and it’s a sore spot for her

being in candy in general is great for her, tho. she adores the music, the styling, the image, some of the choreo. then again, she’s also gone viral twice with candy (shy shy shy, and a dance the night away fancam) so it’s inevitable she’ll have nice feelings towards it lol

in her future career, she’ll have focuses mostly on modelling and choreography methinks, so if anyone would like a choreographer, hit sung up

plots

sung’s fave group of all is lily so anything around her being starry eyed. maybe it makes for a nice successful fan connection or your muse doesn’t fit sung’s expectations and it breaks sung’s rose tinted glasses

she’s also a fan of idols and the idol world in general tho! she has favorites, but even if she isn’t a big fan of your group, she probably knows your choreography. could be your muse thinks she’s a bigger fan than she is because of clips of her dancing to their songs, or she genuinely is a big fan, or them doing challenge videos together a lot

negative plots are great since they’re not all that common with a sung type! men who’ve done her dirty, people she’s been judgmental to, people who get turned away by her overwhelming and sudden affection, or maybe the practice room monster she turns into rubs someone the wrong way at one point

late 2019 to right now, i have in my head that sung would be dating, but i’ve left what this time looks like as an open plot. so, this could be multiple relationships one after the next, or a three year relationship. if someone wants to take up a current plot, i have this Thot... hear me out. so she’s dating this person for some amount of time and for some reason, they break up real time in-verse and because she felt the most in luv w this person over anyone else she’s dated, it hits hard, and she makes decisions that breach her morals (aka full sleepin w someone when up to this point she’d have been a ‘technical’ virgin to appease her own religious rules) this could all be talked about more in depth in dms since this is getting quite long, but it’s the first storyline i have in mind for sung personally

piggybacking off of that with a smaller one would be if somehow someone is close friends with an ex of sung’s and thinks poorly of sung for moving on so quickly, since i think it’s been like... max two weeks for almost every guy she’s been with before she starts dating another

#famedintro #this time i fr wrote it like none of yall kno her #so i'm using the tags to say if u go with a starter i will probs base it on whatever connection they had pre-revamp #also would u believe spinning a wheel made this decision for me #there were 12 diff options of what to do w my famed existence and a 50% chance to keep everything the same n this is what it chose

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Ruined King

So I’ve been playing The Ruined King: A League of Legends Story lately. It’s got some good points and bad points, and makes for in total a not-bad game. I’ll start with the good, since the bad is mostly some quality of life issues.

The Good: The story’s pretty good thus far; not sure what’s going to happen when I get back to more of the main story, but there’s been enough “Oh shit” moments to be engaging. The mechanic for side quests - purchasing from rumourmongers rather than just seeing exclamation points light up over questgivers - is actually pretty cool, as is the bounty board. The combat, while outwardlly simplistic, has some interesting mechanics, and honestly is simple enough to be appealing to me when I’m not having a great day while still being interesting enough to feel fun. The voice acting is good - they did the Pillars of Eternity thing where they went for quality rather than quantity for voice actors, so there aren’t a lot of different voices but the ones that are there do the job really well. I mean, we also have Laura Bailey and Liam O’Brien in the party and Matt Mercer as primary antagonist so you know it’s going to be good. I swear, Liam can actually make those “edgy samurai” battle cries sound something more than just cheesy rubbish. As for character design ... mostly good, particularly with Illaoi (though because it is a League of Legends game, some of the female body types - particularly Sarah Fortune - are a little ... erm ... T&A). And honestly, I’m a sucker for “BIG MUSCLEBOUND DUDE who’s actually just a big sweetheart who carries around little fluffy pets.

The Bad: So remember what I was saying about side quests? Well, the major flaw in this game’s design is making the side quests so separate from what you’re doing in the main game. The best game design has your main path lead to mildly branching side quests - TSW was the best example of this back in the day, where you’d be on your main story quest and end up picking up whole masses of extra quests that you ended up doing on the way nearly by accident. It’s a “way leads ever on to way” bit of design that’s admirable when it happens. Unfortunately, The Ruined King doesn’t have that; there are whole areas that you only end up finding if you’re a completionist freak who pokes their nose into everything while completely ignoring the main quest line. A little frustrating, and I can see a lot of places where they could have improved on that, just by moving a few bits specific to the main quest so that you get a “Well, as I’m here” sort of vibe, rather than combing the entire map for those rumours you just bought. And speaking of combing the map, the lack of a fast-travel mechanic is really annoying in a map like this; I mean, there are gondolas to get from one district to another, but having to lope across the map to find one can be a pain. There’s also a thing where ... okay, you have three party members to a working team, and each has some specific abilities that can help get through various bits of dungeon - Braum smashes walls, Fortune notices things no one else does, Illaoi can read Bhuru runes, and so on. And the cutscenes suggest that everyone in your team is with you, even though you can only pilot one of three, and only three participate in combat. However, you can only change squad members at specific rest points, and there aren’t all that many on any given map. If you’re going to set up your map to require the abilities of all party members, you need to be able to let them swap members anywhere but combat. This prevents having to go through a map, find bits that you can’t do without Specific Party Member, go back to the last rest point which might be two maps away, swap for the character you want, and then go all the way back again.

So yeah. Summary is: good game, but some quality of life issues. Not exactly deal-breakers, but it’s the sort of game that you deal with better on the replay or when you’ve more or less spoiled yourself with a walkthrough because it’s the only way you’re going to find anything.

#Thess plays video games

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 174: 3x15, 8x22

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

May 8, 2022

3x15: Time Is on My Side

Written by: Sera Gamble

Directed by: Charles Beeson

Original air date: May 8, 2008

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean discover a doctor who, back in 1816, became obsessed with finding the secret of eternal life by taking people's vital organs. Meanwhile, Bobby finds Bela and Dean leaves Sam to confront her.

Features:

Organ theft, some pre-season 4 demon torture, Doc Benton, chasing immortality, Rufus’ introduction, Sam hunting alone, Bela’s backstory, the maintenance of eternal life, Sam’s eyes almost getting scooped out, the Ma’lak box precursor, Bela's deal coming due.

My Thoughts:

I forgot about the monster plot of this episode and I was initially so annoyed that they were doing a monster of the week episode right before Dean’s deal came due. Honestly having the A-plot be an immoral immortality plot is perfect and really showcases the differences between Sam and Dean’s ethics in an interesting way. Dean is very black and white when it comes to what makes a monster, whereas Sam lives more in the grey and is able to see nuance. Dean’s problem with letting Doc Benton teach him the formula isn’t that it would be letting the Doc get away with it - it’s that it would turn him into a monster, whereas we know that Sam has felt unclean and monstrous his entire life anyways. 

Watching Dean’s scene with Rufus is kind of depressing post-series-finale. All of Rufus’ pessimism comes true. 

The thing I’m most salty about right now is that Bela never came back as a demon. They’ve already set up that that’s what’s going to happen to Dean, so we know it will happen to her, and Dean literally said “I’ll see you in hell” to her. What a missed opportunity. 

Notable Lines:

“Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us...there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.6

IMdB Rating: 8.5

8x22: Clip Show

Written by: Andrew Dabb

Directed by: Thomas J. Wright

Original air date: May 8, 2013

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean try to figure out how to cure a demon. Crowley starts killing victims that Sam and Dean have saved from previous jobs. Castiel and Metatron begin the trials to close the gates to Heaven.

Features:

Tommy from Wendigo, Dean giving Cas the silent treatment, the discovery of the Bunker’s dungeon, weird with three exclamation points, Cas’ shopping trip, how to kill a demon, a Nephilim I completely forgot about, Handy Annie, Jenny from Shut Up Dr Phil,  Sarah Blake from Provenance, Sam’s martyr complex getting the fuel it needs.

My Thoughts:

I didn’t remember much about this episode except for Sarah Blake (I really thought I remembered her living though), but this is a great episode! Crowley is really an excellent villain in this, he makes everything so personal and that makes the stakes way higher. In contrast, Abaddon has a great aesthetic, but her motives are too generically evil to make her a good villain. The only real qualm I have with this episode is that it makes no sense as an excuse to bring her back. Cutting her up and burying her in separate pieces was such a cool way to deal with a monster that they couldn’t kill that it’s a shame to bring her back to be unceremoniously stabbed by a new, stronger knife. Also, they should have summoned a weaker demon to cure. They already know that Abaddon is way stronger than the average demon, it’s way too big a swing for their first demon cure. Society if Meg or Ruby had been alive to be cured. 

The pacing is kind of weird with the Heaven trials, although I’m not sure there’s a way around that - if we met Metatron earlier it would mess up the timing of the Hell trials. It’s so weird to remember that there was briefly a Nephilim. I wish the moral dilemma of killing her had been explored more - as foreshadowing that the Heaven trials are not as straightforwardly righteous as they seem at first glance. 

Cas and Dean’s argument in this episode is honestly so understandable and human, something I feel like we can’t say 90% of the time that they’re fighting. Dean is hurt after having been vulnerable and it blowing up in his face. The last time they spoke he told Cas he needed him, and now he’s telling Cas he doesn’t, so Cas feels like he’s worthless because he can’t help. Also insanely brutal to watch this fight where Dean says Cas always thinks he’s doing the right thing immediately after watching The Man Who Would Be King.

Notable Lines:

“Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing.” “Yeah, you always do.”

“If anybody else – I mean anybody – pulled that kind of crap, I would stab them in their neck on principle. Why should I give him a free pass?” “Because it’s Cas.”

“You don’t understand. I NEED pie.”

“There was a time when I thought I could lead our people, but I was mistaken. I spilled so much blood. And I've tried to atone for my sins and I did penance. And I betrayed my friends to protect our secrets, but I've just failed.”

“I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused – the one thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 9.2

IMdB Rating: 8.6

In Conclusion: Today’s theme is the clock hitting midnight.

<< Previous Day  |  Next Day >>

#Stackednatural #supernatural #spn #3x15 #Time Is on My Side #8x22 #Clip Show

[valorxdrive]

The Red Chocobo was out cold for three days straight. When he finally awoke, he was a little groggy. Lifting his head up slowly, it took note if it's surroundings and was surprised to see it laying on a soft bed of leaves. His wounds were gone as well! He had half expected to be locked up for the human to attempt taming him. Soon, he locked his gaze upon the strange human boy. A human different from any other. The bird stood up slowly, before making his way over. He got very close, leaning his head down to observe the boy. At this range, Sora would be able to see battle scars from countless prior life and death struggles upon his face and beak. After a moment, the bird seemed to approve of what he saw in those blue eyes. "Kweh." The bird lightly nuzzled the top of his spiky hair for a brief moment. For the proud avian, this gesture alone was significant.

A scant moment later, the bird turned away to walk off towards the woods. After a few steps, it paused and looked back, before motioning with a wing to follow.

Sora's time since the grand battle was spent more in leisure. Allowing for his powers through the usage of healing and earth magics to mend what damage the world bravely sustained. Even now, the content, determined thrum of this World's heart was definitive proof that it recognized the efforts being made with this Keyblade wielder, allowing their strengths to be more easily melded. Beyond that? His attention had been ensuring this mysterious Chocobo's recovery was a smooth one.

Outside of using the Gummiphone to contact his companions on current status, right now he's been spending a good deal of time weaving his strength back together. What better way than plenty of good meals in tandem with plenty of rest? His own ad-hoc abode made use of big leaves alongside his campsite. Yet, little did he know that one of these days one of the center points of his thoughts would be rejuvenated, allowing their presence to approach a whole lot closer than any time before.

Once that shadow encompassed his figure, the shimmering warmth of this Red Chocobo's feathers being faintly ticklish to a supportive kind of welcoming, his attention immediately shifted, peering up towards their stalwart figure as a smile immediately found itself etched onto his features. "Hey, you're doin' a-okay!" The exclamation was going to make him bounce from his seating, that was until a moment of... tenderness was shared between the two.

There was only a faint span of time for reciprocation. Between part of his face blurred by feathers and his eyesight full of beak, the gesture leaves him briefly speechless as enough time was made to barely brush the side of their neck. In a conversation of Hearts, the sentiment was seamlessly expressed, the sort that made his Heart of Hearts further confirm this is exactly why he does the things he do.

To connect. To know that wonderful value of life and to become a force that appropriately values it.

"It was no problem at all. You've fought to protect your home, and that's one fight I'll never let anyone take on alone."

Once they began their trek to some wayward part of the forest, initially he was prepared to leave them handle their own devices. That was until a guiding wing prompts for this journey to be made by the both of them. Curious, the campfire was quickly ushered away by a cool breath of blizzard exuded by the palm before he hops up to join by their side. Aligning their pace to where his new ally could take the lead, exchanged glances were being made between the Chocobo and the hidden path ahead.

"You'd like to show me something, huh? Well we've stuck this far together, let's keep going then."

#Anon #| Bottle Mail #And so the tale continues

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

078 of 2023

Have you ever seen the movie Hard Day’s Night?

No, not interested.

Do you look like your mom?

I look like a mix of my mum and dad. I have the facial featires of them both.

Are you happy with your life at the moment?

Yeah, very much so. Which I wouldn’t say last month because of some health issues.

If you could would you change something about yourself?

Yeah, I would get rid of that neurological disorder.

Do you like to travel?

I love to travel.

What country do you live in?

Belgium.

Do you have a younger brother or sister?

Yeah, younger sister.

If so do/did they really get on your nerves?

Nope. We’ve been always getting along.

Have you ever felt like life was out of your control?

Yeah, when I had that incident in 2021. My whole life fell apart in one second and it took me a year to rebuild it, and still not everything is done.

Do you have any piercings?

Eight in total.

What is your favorite vegetable?

Cauliflower, broccoli, carrot, bell pepper, Brussels sprouts. No particular order, except for the first one.

Do you like the snow?

Nope. I hate snow.

Have you read the Bible?

Yeah, out of curiosity.

What year did/will you graduate?

2010.

Have you ever seen the show 16 and Pregnant?

No and I’m not interested.

If you do could do today over, would you change anything?

No. It was perfect at work.

Name a person you wish you didn’t have to deal with today.

There wasn’t such person.

Do you like cinnamon on your apple pie?

Very much so.

Do you clap or cheer when at a concert?

I don’t go to concerts.

Do you use a comb or brush?

My hair is too short.

Cottage or Shepherd’s pie?

I don’t know either.

Do you eat the crust of your sandwiches?

I rarely eat sandwiches at all, but no.

When you’re sick, do you actually still feel hungry or have an appetite?

I rarely have any at all, no matter if I’m sick or not.

When you were younger, did you ever do that exclamation point that looked like an upside down triangle and had a really big dot?

Yeah, I still do it sometimes.

Do you think things will change for you in the next few months?

Yea, I’m gonna get older. Hopefully my hand will improve, too.

Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years?

I’m married already.

Who was the FIRST person to text you today?

My dad, as usual.

If your best friend needed somewhere to stay, could they live with you?

No space with three people and two cats, but we wouldn’t leave a friend in need anyway.

Tomorrow is?

Friday, 20/01/2023.

Do you know how it feels to be cheated on?

Yeah, I do. My first ex was cheating on me just to make me feel worthless. I must admit he succeeded in that.

Do you have any alcohol bottles in your room?

In our living room there’s the whole cabinet of different kinds of vodka and jenever.

What’s bothering you right now?

I’m having trouble staying awake.

Ever been so drunk someone else had to carry you?

Yeah lol. When I was a teenager and we were drinking in that forest on the other side of my street. At least they didn’t have to carry me too far.

Do you have any plans for the weekend?

No other than groceries and chilling out. I have weekdays for travels.

Have you ever gotten burnt by a cigarette?

Yeah. Quite a few times.

Do you know anyone named Matt?

More like Mathias. It’s more common here.

#survey #q&a survey #random survey

[qozxe]

Health update!!! I don’t get all the details until my next oncology appointment on July 10th, but this is FANTASTIC!!! Jorge and I opened the email together and collapsed into happy tears together, I’m so glad my medicine is working 💕

#health update #cancer #my oncologist is also very monotone and stoic so #three exclamation points is a BIG deal