#and on weekends I just don’t go anywhere except to the damn grocery store | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wireddless · 3 years

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Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [2]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: Here this is! The rest of the story is in the works and hopefully will be finished in the next few weeks. I only expect this to be about 12-20 chapters long, depending on how much my friend and I edit this. This chapter mentions what it’s like to experience ADHD, as it’s not common within the writing community. I myself have struggled all my life with it, and only wish for it to be more represented in the writing community 💕

Summary: After getting settled into the Academy, Five and the Reader make a quick journey for some groceries. Things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings: Drug use (Marijuana), descriptions of mental disorder (ADHD), Mild gore (not terrible, you’ll know when you get there.)

Word Count: 2432

(Y/n)’s head rested on Klaus’s meditation floor pillow, the rest of her body on a pile of miscellaneous blankets from the linen closet. The high was really setting in, she was now feeling it in her body. Not half an hour after getting settled into the academy, Klaus offered to smoke (Y/n) out. And by god he did.

(Y/n) never had stuff this good before, and certainly not out of a rose petal joint. She could expect something as extra as a rose petal joint from Klaus, but she didn’t. It was really fucking pretty though, she’d admit. Klaus was sitting against the reading pillow at the foot of his bed, laughing with (Y/n) about something said in The Twilight Zone that sounded outrageous when out of context.

Mixed with the smoke of lavender incense, the remaining smoke from the weed lingered, allowing them to get higher without needing to smoke more. (Y/n) had taken an interest in how spiritual Klaus was. She herself was agnostic, but found Klaus’s overall method very tantalizing.

A record played in the background, on a suitcase turntable Klaus bought from a department store like two years ago. The Moody Blues, if (Y/n) recalled correctly. The song was slow, and physically felt good. Like laying down, but in the air. Of course she was also extremely high.

The song was reaching one of its many peaks, and (Y/n) swore she could feel the electric guitar supporting the vocals. Klaus filled his pipe with another bowl of weed and took a long, deep hit, before passing it to (Y/n).

“Mine already?” She gasped. The mere sight of the pipe being handed to her sent a euphoric feeling down her body. She sat up and took the pipe and grabbed a lighter from a bowl of them to her right. Inhaling, she held the flame over the bowl. The smoke felt terrible, but she held it in as long as she could. (Y/n) let out a long exhale, clouding up the room even more. She could feel someone at the door.

“The house reeks of weed, just to let you know.” Five spoke, leaning on the doorframe. His harsh words earned a chuckle from Klaus.

“It always does, stop trying to make (Y/n) feel bad.” Klaus took the bowl back from (Y/n) and took another hit. She ignored Five, and let the music in the background hold her attention. The song was called Nights in White Satin. She’s heard it before, but never appreciated it.

“Klaus where do you get your vinyls? I haven’t found a Moody Blues album anywhere I’ve looked.”

“Oh, I just snag them from Luther’s room.” He started. “After he and Allison finally figured their shit out and fucked, they moved in together just outside The City. They didn’t have enough room for his entire collection, so he took a box of them and left the rest. It’s really convenient if you ask me.”

“Seems like it.” (Y/n) hummed. She looked over at Five again and stared for a second. “You’ve time traveled right?”

Five tilted his head like a confused dog. “Yeah, why?”

(Y/n) spoke again, “Have you seen, firsthand, how large a dinosaur's cock is?” Before Five could even begin to think of a reply, Klaus sat up and chimed in.

“You know, that’s a really interesting question.” He complimented (Y/n)’s thought process. “Five, how large is a dinosaur’s dick?”

“I have never seen a dinosaur‘s Penis!” Five spoke, flustered.

(Y/n) hummed in response, amused. “Why do you think there aren’t like, fossils of dinosaur dicks? Like did scientists think it was inappropriate?”

“Because it’s made of muscle and tissue, those don’t fossilize, bone does.” Five groaned. Klaus and (Y/n) snort, their bodies scrunching up in laughter.

“Bone.” Klaus said in a pause between his giggles. Hearing the word makes both of them laugh even harder.

“I live with children.” Five muttered and walked away.

Klaus and (Y/n) continued to giggle like little children who stole their preschool teachers keys.

The reek of weed slowly started to fade. Five definitely had a contact high, but he didn’t mind too much, as he was still beyond functional. In a quick blip, he found himself in the kitchen, looking to make himself a quick snack. Upon opening the cabinet, he found no bread.

“Damn it.” He released an angered sigh, holding back the urge to kick a hole in the cabinet. The air around him constricted, and in a blue flash, he was back in Klaus’s room.

“Holy shit!” Klaus almost jumped out of his skin when Five blipped in front of him, and (Y/n) sat up quickly, not expecting him either.

“We’re out of bread.” Five spoke immediately, not even waiting for the two in the room to adjust to his presence. “I’m headed to the store, do either of you want to come?”

“Oooh I can’t.“ Klaus frowned. “My stomach hurts. But (Y/n) can go!” He looked over at (Y/n). “You can go right?” She nodded, not minding Klaus speaking for her.

“Yeah, it’s a little stuffy in here.” She lifted each hand up and down, keeping the heels of them on her leg. Five looked down at her and scoffed.

“Well come on then.” He walked out of the room, not waiting for her to get up. (Y/n) scrambled up and followed after him.

“See you in a bit, Klaus!” Her voice carried through the hallway as her feet hit each stair quickly. Five was a fast walker, she noticed, not taking any time to wait for her. Asshole.

Five’s car was in the alleyway next to the house, hidden from the peering eye of those walking along the street. (Y/n) grabbed the passenger door handle, and as she was about to open it, Five spoke.

“You might want to get in the back seat.” His voice became muffled as he plopped into the driver’s seat.

“What why-“ Before she could finish she caught sight of the tons of disposable coffee cups. “Ah.” She shut the door and got into the back instead. She awkwardly tapped her foot as Five put his car into gear and pulled out into the street.

The drive to the market was quiet, except for the putter of the engine, and gentle taps of the rain landing on the roof. Five found a parking spot rather quickly, it being a cool weekend and all.

“Just stay in the car, I’ll be right out.” Five grabbed his keys and slipped out of the car and walked through the parking lot to the market. With no music to focus on, (Y/n) tapped her foot quietly, trying to ignore the slight panic caused by the lack of stimulation.

The rain only slightly calmed her, but it hardly did anything. Her hands came together and the snapping sound of her knuckles cracking filled the car momentarily, before falling silent. Her eyes darted around, looking at the soaked ground, then at the gray sky, then to the cars driving by on the freeway.

(Y/n)’s ADHD had gone untreated for years. When her parents passed and she was placed in her aunt and uncle’s custody, they took her off all medications. She had become quite used to the inability to wear certain fabrics, the anxiety caused by lack of or overstimulation, always moving some part of her body, or the dirty looks she was given when she overspoke when trying to make friends.

The sound of the door opening quickly shot her out of her thoughts. She was about to greet the person getting in, when she realized that it wasn’t Five.

“Shit shit shit shit!” He spoke under his breath, clearly panicked. (Y/n) was completely still, except for her hand, slowly creeping to the big silver wrench next to her. She was losing time as he quickly attempted to pull the panel off of the area next to the ignition.

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the wrench, and she quickly pulled it towards her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She inhaled as deeply and as quietly as she could, before speaking.

“Hey asshole!” The man in the driver seat jumped, not expecting someone to be in the back seat. He turned and looked at her before reaching in his pocket to attempt to grab something. (Y/n) lunged forward, attempting to hit him with the wrench, missing him as he fell back against the door, his hands whipping out a gun of some sort. Fuck.

She was lodged between the front and back seat, not able to move back in her panic. She was close to tears, but could hold them back. Her hands slowly raised, showing she wasn’t going to hit him.

“Ok, n-now put the wrench down.” His gun was still pointed at her. She slowly lowered her hand with the wrench in it, earning his trust. But now was the time to think fast. Before she let go she aggressively grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it up, giving her an opening to swing the wrench at his face.

A sickening crack and the loud scream of the man filled the car as she broke his nose. She wasn’t done though. She ripped the gun out of his hand, tossing it in the backseat before grabbing this man's head by the hair and slamming him into the steering wheel. A series of small honks from the car echoed in the nearly empty parking lot until she was done. Her hands were covered in the blood from his nose, a slight splatter on her shirt as well.

“Oh my god.” He was unconscious. (Y/n) managed to slip back into the backseat, no longer fearing for her life. She quickly stepped out and ran around the car to the driver's seat. “Oh my god.” She opened it and pulled the man's head back, resting it on the seats headrest. She had never really done anything like this before, so she was beyond skittish. Her heart and mind felt like they were going a million miles an hour, and she barely had a clue of what to do. “Oh my god what do I do?”

It took a moment before common sense truly hit her and she checked for breathing and pulse. Her first two fingers could pick up a heartbeat, a rather strong one as well. Her fingers moved to his Cupid’s bow, checking his breathing. She concluded that he was just knocked out, but she was still panicking.

“Hey!” Five’s voice made her jump. She quickly peered over the car and saw Five walking towards her with a few bags. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.”

“I know but something happened!” Five walked around the front and she stepped to the side, revealing the unconscious man below her. Fives eyes widened, surprised to say the least.

“Now the question is; what happened?” Five looked at the man, and then her once again.

“I-I was in the back of the car like you told me and this guy just got in and he tried to steal the car!” Her hand was shaking frantically. “He tried to-“ the word took a moment to process, her fingers showing that she was searching for the word. “Hotwire the car! He didn’t even see me and tried to rip the steering column cover off to get to the wires and everything!” (Y/n)’s voice shook. She was about to cry.

“Ok, ok, that’s a start. What did you do?” Five looked to her for more answers as he leaned down to check the man's vitals for himself.

“I grabbed the-the wrench and I tried to hit him with it but I missed and he pulled a gun out on me.” (Y/n)’s body slumped on the car, needing any support she could get as the adrenaline left her system.

“I don’t see a gun.” Five looked all over the man, not finding the weapon, before his gaze landed on it in the back seat. “Oh, go on.” He stood up and leaned on the vehicle as well. The grocery bags, now forgotten by his feet.

“So I made him think I was putting the wrench down, and then I grabbed the gun and threw it in the back seat, and- and then I hit him in the nose with the wrench and it got his blood all over me,” She gestured to her messed up shirt. “And then I,” her voice broke, the weight of what just happened now settling on her. “I started hitting his head on the steering wheel, and- and I couldn’t stop.” She was full on panicking now.

“Well you got the job done.” Five looked down at him again. “I think you broke his nose.”

“Oh my god I did?” She started panicking more now.

“Yeah, yeah but it’s fine, you didn’t kill him.” Five attempted to comfort her without pulling her into an embrace. He was awfully bad at it though. “Let’s just get him out of the car and go home.”

“We can’t just leave him here!” (Y/n) glanced down at him. “That’s fucked up!” Five scoffed and replied.

“Trying to steal a car is fucked up. He’ll be fine.” Five scooped his arms under the man and effortlessly pulled him out of the seat, dropping him on the ground next to the car, before grabbing the groceries and getting in himself. The groceries landed on the passenger seat with a plop before Five stuck his head out. “Get in the car.”

“Fine.” (Y/n) took one last glimpse at the man she assaulted before getting in, slamming her door shut in unison with Five.

“You got blood on the steering wheel.” Five sighed and wiped it off with a tissue from the box he kept in the center console. As Five pulled the car back out onto the freeway, he spoke. “I didn’t know you had that in you, back there.” His Mazda came to the set speed, giving him the opportunity to glance at (Y/n) through his rearview.

“I didn’t either.” (Y/n)’s voice was quiet, and shaky still. Brow furrowed, he spoke again.

“Well, you did a good job.” He chuckled, knowing she’d be fine. “Klaus would be proud. Now let’s get you home so you can get cleaned up.”

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faraway-in-headspace · 3 years

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I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states: Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states: A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states: That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states: Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

#infinity train #chicken choice judy #mine

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brainsforbabyjesus · 3 years

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A match made in heaven

"It wasn't easy. They couldn't stand each other at first. But when we were done with them: perfect couple." —Cupid

(remember how that cupid said John and Mary were a heavenly arranged marriage? Because I sure do)

The Union of John and Mary Winchester (AO3)

Say you're John Winchester fresh home from Vietnam, and you're alright.

You're fine actually.

You're not like some of the other men you came home with. You can sleep almost every night. You don't yell at your co-workers over trivial things. You don't have to sit in that one spot at the diner. You can talk to customers like a regular guy. You only drink on weekends and you always show up on time to work on Monday.

Everything is great. You're home. You have a job. You're safe. And local enigma Mary Campbell is pretty and charming and she smiled at you that one time when you walked by her on the way to the grocery store.

You talk to her a couple of times. Your conversations are topical; socially appropriate for two strangers passing by on the street. It's nothing special. But.

But it's not awful.

It's...

It's...nice.

She seems nice.

A nice girl in a nice town talking about nice things.

Then you get to know her a little better and she's...she's...nice full of it.

The more you talk to her the more you realize she's the one, you're gonna marry that girl one of those hippy dippy bimbos that go off about the cops being bad at their jobs (one day you'll think that too but not yet), about how there's no honourable wars between humans. And what is that supposed to mean anyway? As if she would know the first thing about being in a fight for her life, about saving people.

You start taking a different way to the grocery store.

Except.

You can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot. Maybe she had a brother who died overseas. Maybe her dad was a dirty cop that gave all cops a bad name in her eyes.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

A week later you bump into each other outside the post office. You start out talking about the weather, twenty minutes later you're sitting down to have lunch with her while you talk about your favourite music.

It's nice. She's nice. You were right. It was all a misunderstanding.

You start walking together to the grocery store a few days a week. You talk about simple things; the weather, town gossip, movies that are coming out. It's simple in a wholesome small town kind of way. And after everything, don't you deserve a little bit of simple wholesome small town life?

This could be your life. Simple conversations with a nice girl in a wholesome small town. You don't have to think about anything you did before. You could just be the nice boy from town who marries the nice girl and live simple lives together. No fears. No pain. No more worries beyond phone bills.

Wouldn't that be nice? It sounds nice.

The more you talk to her the more the small town fantasy falls apart.

She's beautiful weirdly standoffish about simple things. She won't talk about her family. She won't talk about what she does in her free time. She won't talk about why she needs so many weather reports. She won't let you meet her folks.

And she's given you some mildly unsettling hints about running away from her family like she's being held prisoner.

But it's worth it.

It's all a bit more than you can chew.

Sure, she's nice but nice isn't worth whatever heap of crazy problems shes carrying around. You know you're lucky that you're not carrying around your own. You don't need someone else's.

You tell her that you love her you can't make it to your next walk to the grocery store together.

You don't see her for a week.

You can't stop thinking about her.

Two weeks.

You can't stop thinking about her.

A month.

You can't stop thinking about her.

It's...it's weird. She keeps popping up in your head. She thinks cops are idiots and that soldiers are wasting their time and now that you think about it, she never really seemed to laugh at your jokes. And she likes The Beatles. She's just another silly girl complaining about curfews and screaming at boy bands.

But.

But...

You can't stop thinking about her.

What if she's in trouble? Those hints about her home life, what if they're the only way she can ask for help? Maybe she's not just another silly girl complaining about a reasonable curfew while living under her parents' roof. Maybe her home life is horrific (you're right but you won't remember that) and she needs to get out.

Maybe she needs to be rescued.

You could do that. You've fought a war, been to hell and back. You could rescue one pretty girl from a bad home life. You're a good man. It's the honourable thing to do.

You ask her out for lunch the next day. She tells you she doesn't have time she's missed you and says she likes your jacket. You say you didn't missed her too and tell her you like how she's changed her hair.

She tells you to quite talking to her she's free all week and would you like to meet for lunch again?

You tell her no yes and ask if Wednesday is good for her.

It's not good for either of you.

You meet on Wednesday for lunch. You talk about your job. She talks about music. It's...nice. She's nice. You smile at her and she smiles back. It's the worst lunch date you've ever been on all picture perfect. You're a good man having lunch with a nice girl.

If you just plucked up the courage you could have this forever. You deserve that don't you? Nice meals with a nice girl who smiles at you and wants you to get lost to be with you.

You meet for lunch every day next week. You hate ever minute of it can really see yourself with this girl five years down the road. Hell, ten years— no, a life time.

On Friday your boss asks what you've been so busy doing all week at lunch break that you turn up late for work every afternoon. You tell him about her. You tell him that you don't have a damn clue why you keep seeing that girl that she's the one. That you're going to marry that girl.

Everyone at work says it's a bad idea congratulates you. They ask you why you're giving a ring to the woman you keep fighting with how you'll pop the question.

You're not really sure why the hell you're doing it how you'll do it, but you'll know when the time is right.

You buy a ring on Saturday.

You come to your senses on Sunday. You don't really know this girl. You don't really get along with her. You're planning an entire life around a woman you've known for a couple of months.

You'll return the ring on Monday.

You go to sleep early. Well, you try anyway. You're up half the night. You want to sleep but...but...

You can't stop thinking about her.

You pour yourself a drink. Just to get to sleep. You won't make it a habit.

You wake up the next morning. Now that you've had a good night's rest you realize how big a mistake you were about to make.

You return the ring.

You don't return the ring.

You ask her to marry you in the impala and Mary cries because you died, you died! Her dad is a psycho and he snapped your neck! and says yes and you can't stop holding each other like you might die at any moment (you already did that but you don't remember).

You're engaged but you don't even like her. You're engaged to the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes. You don't know why you asked her how you got so lucky. The way she looks at you...

But the way she looks at you.

The way she looks at everyone after her parents died in that house fire. You watched her set the fire; listened to her talk about demons and drove home with an empty gas can in your trunk. It's an act of god that really makes you appreciate your life. Makes you want to run for the hills start a family.

But—

But...

But it's not grief hiding in her eyes. It's guilt. It's something altogether different.. It's...it's...

It's a tragedy.

Terrifying.

There's something in her eyes that makes your dumb animal brain scratch at the walls trying to get away.

She's terrifying.

Why didn't you notice that before? Why didn't you notice the knife in her boot? Or the gun powder on her hands? Or the way she's always looking over her shoulder?

You leave in the middle of the night. You've got a bad feeling that you haven't had since you were overseas. There's a little prickle at the back of your neck (it's the ghost of fingers snapping your bones but you don't remember that). It screams: danger! danger! danger!

You get as far as the first intersection before you stop. You stare at the green light. You should go. You're supposed to go. Now is the time to go. But.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You turn the car around. You walk back inside your house. You strip down and curl up beside your beautiful fiance.

You stare at the ceiling all night.

What if she kills you in your sleep?

You can't believe you almost left over an itch on your neck. You're so damn lucky to have her. You want to bring her home to your parents. She's the good American country girl that everyone wants to bring home to their parents. But you can't. Neither of you can. You share the same tragic past: parents dead too young to ever see their grandbabies.

All the more reason to start a family now.

The next morning you tell her you love her. She says she loves you. You drive to the nearest church and make it official.

You love her.

And she makes your skin crawl.

You're married for two weeks and it's perfect you can't stand her.

You can't stand her.

Why the hell did you ever get married?

You can't stand her.

Why did you think it was a good idea?

You can't stand her.

You argue. You fight. You leave.

Good.

It was a mistake. You should have never gotten married to her. You've got nothing in common and all you do is fight with each other.

Months go by.

You can't stop thinking about her.

And you can't stop phoning her. Why can't you stop phoning her? You don't want to be anywhere near her. You don't want to hear her voice at two in the morning. You can't stand her.

You keep phoning.

You can't stop thinking about her.

It's a Friday night when she tells you she's pregnant.

You go to her place home the next day.

She says I want a divorce sorry. She says it'll be better now that you've started a family.

You say is it even mine? you're sorry. You've always wanted a family.

You don't think about the months that went by. You don't wonder what she did in between, who she was with. You don't. You're starting a family. You're going to be a father.

You've always wanted to be a father. It'll be...it'll be...nice. Fulfilling. A reward.

You deserve a reward.

A reward for being a good man, a good soldier. You'll be a good father too.

And then it all falls apart. Monsters are real and they want you dead. They want your family dead. Your wife is in danger. Just say yes. Say yes

Say yes.

You say yes.

You say yes and oh god. Oh god, you see it all reaching back millennia and the brief flash of a future that ends in screaming and blood. You see your boys (you'll raise three, or you'll try to anyway, but you don't know that yet) and they say yes and die screaming trapped inside monsters that want to burn the world.

Everyone is going to die. You don't have a future. She doesn't have a future. Even those boys who don't exist yet, they won't have futures either. You're all going to die screaming in fire and blood.

The day your son is born is the happiest day of your life. You don't mind the crying and spit up that comes after. You don't mind the sleepless nights.

You're always tired even when you do sleep. You pour yourself a drink most nights, but just one. Just a night cap to fall asleep after a long day.

You have a nice house in a nice part of town.

Your neighbours have phoned the police on you three times in three weeks, they're worried about all the yelling.

You have a pretty wife.

But you fight with her. You fight all the time. Everything she does grates on your nerves. When she looks at you, you know she can't stand you either.

You have a beautiful child.

And when he looks at you with those eyes, you wonder. You were gone for months. You can't remember if the timing matches up.

It's all worth it.

You leave. You come back. You leave. You come back.

It's all so perfect.

You start drinking on Thursday nights. It's almost the weekend anyway. Besides, you always show up for work on time.

You fight. You leave. You come back.

You can't stop thinking about her.

Night caps and Thursday nights turn into a few drinks every night but it's fine. You always show up for work. Eventually.

You watch your son playing in the yard. You can't imagine how this could get any better you could leave.

You could leave right now.

You can barely believe how fast time flies by. You've been together for years now and you hate it. But it seems like a blink of an eye and your son is he even yours? has gone from a chubby baby to a precocious toddler who's too quiet always laughing.

Why is he so quiet?

It's your anniversary.

It's not.

You can't even remember when you met her.

You can't remember why you got married.

There's so much you can't remember.

Why can't you remember?

It's your anniversary and you make the time for date night. Neither of you are planning on making your lives worse better but nine months later you've got another bundle of joy in the house.

You keep fighting. About everything. About nothing. You can't stand her. You can't stand each other.

You slam the door as you leave.

Why did you ever go back?

Why do you keep going back?

You don't even like each other.

You can't stop thinking about her.

You have a drink on Friday night.

It's the weekend. You deserve it.

You have a drink on Friday night and you wake up at home in bed with your wife on Saturday morning.

Except.

Except it's a week later.

You feel like shit. You stumble out of bed. Your son quickly closes his door as you pass by. You drag yourself into the bathroom and turn the shower on. You can't remember the last week no matter how hard you try.

Your beautiful wife is making breakfast. She smiles at you. She doesn't look happy. You smile back. You don't feel relived to be home.

Your son hunches over his pancakes and won't look at either of you smiles and asks questions about trucks.

You want to leave. You want to leave so badly.

You sit down and eat breakfast.

You pour a drink. You pour another. You keep pouring until your legs stop working and you can't leave. But who cares? You lost your job weeks ago. It's not like you have to be somewhere tomorrow.

Your second son is a joy. A perfect baby. How would you know? You've been half in the bag since he was born. Maybe you should have a third.

Those early weeks drag race by. You're passed out asleep in the living room when you think you hear someone screaming. You get up. It's probably nothing but you've had this itch on the back of your neck for years and you've never been able to place why.

You go upstairs.

It only takes seconds for your whole life to fall apart; burst into flames right before your eyes (and this time you'll remember).

You send your kids out on their own. You should make sure they get out first but you can't leave her behind. You can't stop thinking about her even now.

You go back in. There's nothing but an outline, a suggestion of her in flames.

You're a good man, you have to—

You have to—

There's nothing but flames.

You spend the night in a crappy motel (you'll spend the rest of your life in them, but you don't know that yet). The cops come. You try to explain. You can't explain. You don't know how to explain so that they won't take your kids. They're all you have left of her.

The cops hint that the neighbours think you did it. You don't give them anything. There was a fire. You don't know how it started. It's true but not the truth. The police seem satisfied. They write down some numbers and addresses of charities. They leave.

You're on your own with a baby and a four year old.

And you can't look at them without seeing her. You can't hear them without hearing her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

(you will though, just long enough to think about someone else. She won't tear your head apart but when you're with her it's like having a pretty wife and a beautiful son and you'll never be there long enough to argue, but you don't know that yet)

You can't stop thinking about her.

You bury her. What's left of her. Ashes and teeth. That's how they identified her body, the teeth.

You buried her.

She's dead.

She's dead but you can't stop thinking about her.

You can't stop thinking about her.

#supernatural #john winchester #was an abusive father #but also super heaven brainwashed #and I am so here for the implications that john was *like that* because of multiple cupid brain wipes #john was always doomed to failure as a parent because his obsession over mary was always going to come first #also if you want to layer on the creepy heaven brainwashing trauma issues #sam is more often compared to john and john drives him away #dean is more often compared to mary and john trains him to stay #which makes john's whole you have to think of your family first mantra he ingrained on dean a whole extra level of transference #'you must stay with me and my proxy forever'#but also maybe you should just kill proxy me if i can't do it #bye bye dean/proxy mary #gonna go die now and hang with your other abusive father figure

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aliteralgrizzlybear · 4 years

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I remember seeing a post that says "a lot of people from cities say/think they're from small towns and they're wrong" and it bugs me a bit -- not because they're wrong, but because +at least in the US) there's a lot of overlap, and this ignores the broad middle category of Small Cities, which are a mixture of the worst of both worlds:

Buses exist, but they don't work, don't run on time, and usually cost more than you can afford. This means that you live in the same amount of area as a big city, but you still have to drive or walk to go anywhere unless you want to be an hour early or late and have a curfew of When Buses Stop Running, which is usually by dusk, and also usually includes weekends and holidays.

No maintenance of city services. Water and sewer companies that are contracted under a city don't do their jobs until sewage is literally flooding into the streets. Roads don't get fixed, or they get halfway fixed before the money runs out, and then there's a bulldozer and a bunch of traffic cones sitting out for 6+ months blocking a major through-way. Buses, despite being inaccessibly expensive, only get fixed when they break down to the point of not being able to move, and are never cleaned beyond a quick sweeping. That overwhelming smell of piss in the seats of the 5? It's been there since 1993. It'll be there until 2030, because there's no ventilation. Roads would be better off if they were dirt.

There will be more than one grocery store: there might be three! You will have to drive to all three grocery stores to find anything you need beyond the most basic staples of food and hygiene, because they're all supplied by UNFI and UNFI is constantly fudging one store's order so they can fulfill another, and they're all "who gives a fuck about this shithole town anyway?"

Everyone still expects you to grow old and die there. That sounds like the worst possible fate, but the wage difference between what you get at a shitty part-time job and the minimum income needed to move away, even just to a different small city, may as well be billions of dollars, because you can't make that happen.

Oh, jobs. There are jobs. They exist. Would you like to work at one of several fast food places, one of the three grocery stores, The Mall, the GameStop (which is the only normal store in The Mall that hasn't closed down five times) the "adult store," or as part of a pyramid scheme? In all cases, your job will short you on your paychecks, be run by that creepy guy who has definitely wanted in your pants or bullied you or both since high school despite him graduating years before you, put you on part time and schedule you just under full time hours and making sure you're constantly understaffed so that you get maybe one five minute break in your 5 hour and 45 minute shift and a totally different schedule every week that you only get to find out by driving back on what may or may not be your one day off, labor laws and basic human decency be damned. Also get used to the army recruiters dropping by and asking you if you want to do a job that Totally Won't Traumatize You And Force You To Commit Murder.

Just like actual small towns, there's nothing to do except "hang out" or go to a bar if you're old enough. There might be two more bars than you'd expect to have in a small town. They are all owned by one guy. They are all exactly the same.

Yes, there's a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of town. It's a desolate thing.

Just outside of your small city are the farms. Beyond those are forests and highways and... more farms.

There is some kind of public works attraction because someone thought making an old-fashioned carousel, or a big modern park, etc., would bring in tourism. It cost the city so much money. It's practically derelict.

The last census counted potentially more than 50,000 people. That's a lot of people! You will only see the same hundred or so people the entire time you live there. There are no events where you can meet more people. You still only hang out with the people you knew in high school. If you're straight, you're either married or you've run out of people in your dating pool. If you aren't straight, you're desperately trying to move to a less small city so that you don't kill yourself before some right-wing Christians get the chance.

On that note: your city was planned with the idea that 10,000 people living there was a few decades away. Now there's more than 50,000 people. Enjoy the wonder of a big city traffic jam on your rural and neighborhood roads, every single day. Also enjoy power outages whenever the weather requires air conditioning or heat, whenever the wind gets high, during nearly every thunderstorm, and whenever an electrical transformer explodes because it hasn't been maintained in 30+ years.

Everyone talks shit about the other towns and small cities that aren't the one you live in, knowing that people in those places talk shit about yours in exactly the same way.

There is a doctor's office and a dentist, and even a specialist or two beyond that -- possibly more than one office of each. You will not drive as far as the people in neighboring small towns to get to them. They will be just as overworked and unhelpful for you as for the people coming from out of town.

#personal #mine #feel free to add on #I wrote this back in March and never posted it because Other Things Took Priority #but here

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boeing747 · 4 years

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(Revised) A List of Objects:

I am the kitchen sink that’s been dripping for months, but you haven’t bothered to call your landlord about. I am a spool of white thread and needle that you’d bought at the grocery store, tucked into a drawer and forgotten about. Resting on top of the shirt you’d meant to mend. I am your old car resting curbside next to your Mother’s house; leaky breaks, cracked windshield, blown transmission, key scratch across the drivers-side front door. You keep meaning to fix it, or sell it, or send it to scrap. I am the busted blinds in your bedroom, trailing sunshine across your face in the morning.

A Second, Unrelated List of Objects:

A pile of coins, about fourteen dollars worth if converted to USD at the current exchange rate (16/06/2020). An oyster card, unburdened of its original purpose and expatriated to the metal mesh coffee table. Two separate brands of cigarette papers. A pair of glasses, an empty coffee-stained mug, two mismatched wedding bands, an open pack of NSAID pain-relievers.

The Things that fill the Spaces between us:

The square kilometre area of the Azov sea. Forty five minutes on the subway and fifteen on a bus, other times. Occasionally, well, it’s a question of physics isn’t it? The answer to which, as far as I can tell, is that no two things ever really touch. (Except sometimes they do.) Two years ago you lived next door. We travel through time and space like this. First the Past (which doesn’t exist, as agreed by Philosophers), and then the Present (which surely does). The distance, if I choose so, can also be defined by how long it takes individual neurons to go from impulse to irrational decision. Which I suppose is still traveling in it’s own way, still time and space. The scale is as infinitely small as it is large.

Bathroom Sink Catalogue:

A stick of deodorant. An old mug, inside which: Two plastic toothbrushes, two tubes of toothpaste, grime. A spool of dental floss. Mouthwash for sensitive teeth. Organic liquid soap. Two dried drops of blood.

What I Remember About your Parent’s House:

That time your mother had made us dinner that week-night because I’d stayed over late studying with you and I don’t remember which test we’d been studying for but what I do remember is your mother getting The Call and how even though I barely knew him I felt tears well up in my eyes as we sat there, around the table. I remember sitting there, without any fond memories to remember him by and thought about the tidal wave of re-definition of objects and spaces that runs through the threads of our lives and memories.

What I remember about your Mother’s house:

Grilling in a torrential downpour with your Garage door open. Throwing up in the overgrown rose bushes at the wake that she’d held there for him. Keying Andrews car. Several awkward dinners before your Mother decided to move the TV so it’d be visible from the dining table. The weekend I spent making one thousand little paper cranes for Julia like we’d decided while you laid on the bed and stared up into the ceiling, feeling real damn sorry for yourself.

What You remember about My Parent’s house:

A Short timeline of things that happened to Andrew’s car:

0, as we understand it: Raw Potential? Space Dust? The Holy spirit? 1999: Assembled. 1999: bought by a young mother of three. 2003: sold to Andrew. I asked Andrew one time if he knew what happened to the lady who’d sold him the car for that cheap and he’d shrugged and told me that he’d never really thought about it. Timely oil changes, well kept interior. 2010: The first time I’d sat in it. 2011: Andrew gets rear ended by a teenager. 2012: Fight of the century: My Apartment keys versus Car Paint. 2013: we bought the car but still called it Andrew’s car. I was trying to reclaim what you did as mine, to reinterpret the space and time and context. We keep calling it Andrew’s car. 2019: I throw a rock at the windshield. For the few milliseconds of impact, it’s your car. It’s your car even though I’d paid half. The leaky breaks aren’t my fault, how would I lie about that. 2020: it’s at your Mother’s house. You call it your car, I call it Andrew’s car. I have a hard time breaking habits. It doesn’t go anywhere. The Future:

The Potential Careers we came up with for our Future Child that one night:

Pilot Engineer Painter Astro-physicist Journalist Doctor

The Conclusion I am Choosing to Draw:

Let’s say everything is a fruit. A house can be just akin to an apple. You seek out a home too early and it turns sour, too late and despite a beautiful exterior, it’s rotten to the core. The same goes for rings and people and whatever else you want to think of. Every single thing has a point in time in which it is bitter (usually this point comes either before or after it is sweet. Although some things exhibit all properties at once; those are the special things.)

(Addendum)

A non-comprehensive list of Objects in our Home: Kitchen sink. A needle and a spool white of thread. My button down that I’d accidentally ripped at work. Your car. The busted blinds in our bedroom, the ones you keep telling me figure out how to fix, but I never do. I tell you I enjoy feeling the sunshine trailing across our bodies in the morning.

#my writing

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etraytin · 4 years

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Quarantine, Day 58

A comedy in one act:

Dramatis Personae: Me, a gentlewoman and a scholar, a loving mother and wife, a voyager exploring this island earth Ring Phone App, a phone app

Act One: (ME walks through the front door, destination, anywhere) SFX: LOUD BUZZING NOISE from phone (ME pauses in the doorway, looks at phone) Ring Phone App: There is motion at your front door! ME: ... (ME refrains from throwing phone over the horizon) (Repeat ad infinitum)

So I helped my mother in law configure her new doorbell camera the other day, that's fun, right? It is kind of entertaining that I can be sitting in the bathtub or in an entirely different town and watch the kiddo going in and out the door on his many adventures, but every time I go out the door it alerts, and every damn time I think it's a text message and stop. It's downright Pavlovian.

I went out only one time today, to pick up the groceries at Harris Teeter. MIL placed a grocery order from them several days ago but unfortunately checked out prematurely, and unlike the Walmart app, the HT app does not appear to let you edit your placed order. If they do, it is not at all clear how and the FAQ is unresponsive. I tried to call their support line, but was informed I'd be on hold for 25 minutes, so we just got most of our groceries at Publix instead. I am not sure why the more expensive a store is, the shittier their pickup service seems to be. Walmart is always super-busy, but they've got that shit down to a science. I have ordered 300 dollars of groceries from them for pickup during this pandemic and bam, in and out. They open your trunk, put in the stuff, give you your eggs and bread for the front seat, and you go. Kroger is okay, they have pull-through lanes and you can't check in from the app, but it's all right. Their biggest problem is that they don't indicate what items are out of stock on their app, so about half my fairly short list was unavailable, with no substitutions available. Kind of a bummer.

Harris Teeter, on the other hand, is its own thing. They don't have parking spots, they have a lane in front of the store so you can wait in line for however long, then get up to a little speaker and press a button so they know you are there and you can contaminate your fingers all at once. Then you pull forward an awkward amount, because it seems weird to just sit at the button when cars are behind you, but you can't pull forward enough without being back in traffic, and you get out of your car and open your own trunk. Harris Teeter apparently believes their intercom button is not germy, but the gate latch for my minivan is basically the Blarney Stone on St. Patrick's Day. Then you get back in your car, then the person comes out to tell you what they did not on the intercom, which is that your order is not ready and come back in 15 minutes. Then you get back out of your car and close your gate and go and park for fifteen minutes. (You may already be in a chancy mood after spending the entire trip to the store on the phone trying to explain why Plandemic is a bullshit piece of bullshit that really deserves to be deplatformed and that YouTube is not a government entity so making a first amendment argument is specious, but this is optional.) After fifteen minutes, you go back and wait in the line again, open your gate again, get your groceries, close your gate, get back in your car, sanitize, and try to back out of the line around the person in front of you who is still waiting in that awkward post-button place in line. I was very nice to the workers, though, because it is not their fault that pickup at their store is extremely stupid or that their groceries are stupidly expensive. Anyway, the Amazon guy showed up while I was away and I knew because the doorbell told me.

Sauerkraut and sausage for supper again tonight, twice within a month! I'm so very pleased. I even did up real mashed potatoes this time, which really are so much better than the flakes even if they are a lot of work. I don't care what we cook for any meal tomorrow because I have a whole box of leftovers in the fridge. While I was cooking, the rest of the household watched Sully, chosen from my MIL's DVD collection as being one the kiddo has not seen and that is not likely to give him lasting mental scars from historical evidence of the harm man can do to man. Lots of historical documentaries in the collection here. I did not watch because I am already scared enough of airplanes, thank you. Kiddo is up to 600 words in his fanfic as of today, is making more effective use of autocorrect, and is accepting constructive criticism on his tendency to shift tenses within the same paragraph and sometimes the same sentence. We're making progress! Also Pikachu appears to have framed Bendy for unspecified heinous actions; what a twist!

Not too much new information on the whole father-in-law thing, except that the visit today was very good and the evening phone conversation was better than yesterday. Those are both encouraging signs, as it would really suck even more if he were freaking out these whole two weeks in the rehab center. Kiddo has learned several origami forms now and made him a waterbomb with a peppermint candy tucked inside as a present. Today we worked on cranes, which I have not made for a long time. We're both getting better at them. There's some traditional folklore that says if you fold a thousand origami cranes, you earn a wish. If I could fold that many cranes, of course my wish would be for this virus to just disappear. It wouldn't end our problems, it wouldn't even end most of them, but it would make these choices much less agonizing. Plus my sister and her family are in town this weekend and we can't even visit them and it sucks so much. We're going to be in the same town on Mothers Day with our kids for the first time ever and we can't even get together for lunch or something. Ugh. But we have to be careful.

#quarantine #ring #harris teeter #origami

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bobby-singers-library · 7 years

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A Whirlwind Romance Chapter 3

Chapter1 Chapter 2

A/N just real quick this chapter does have smut in it!

Every Saturday night the Harvelles had their patchwork family over for dinner, the family included Jo's parents, Ellen and Bill, Bobby and his adopted sons Dean and Sam, and recently it also included their friends Ash and Charlie. Ash worked at the Roadhouse doing Jo's old job as bartender and waiter, while Charlie worked as a mechanic with Bobby and Dean at Singer and Son Auto. So far Sam was the only family member not working at the garage or the bar, he had been the most ambitious of the kids and actually went to college, graduating with honors as a lawyer. He had recently moved back to their hometown and was working for a local law firm. He kept saying he was going to get an apartment, but for now he was sleeping on Deans couch.

Jo was helping her mother put dinner together before everyone arrived. As Jo was pulling the rolls out of the oven her phone began to ring playing I Will Always Love You By Whitney Houston. Her eyes widened, damn Crowley, she knew he had messed with her phone the night before while they were out to dinner, but she didn't realize he had changed his ring tone to the most embarrassing song in history. Jo made a dash for the phone where it was sitting on the kitchen counter, She picked it up but she could already see her mom watching her with wide eyes. Jo gave a nervous chuckle, “Never leave your friends alone with your phone, right?” she said to her mom before answering the phone.

“Oh my god, you prick,” she said as she answered the phone, the only response was Crowley laughing on the other end at her greeting, Jo sighed and walked into the dining room and away from her mom who was trying to pretend she wasn't listening.

“You didn't like my ring tone, sweetheart?” Crowley said smugly.

“No, it was terrible,” Jo laughed despite herself. “So whats up big Daddy?” she asked.

“Just wanted to see what you were doing, I'm bored, we should go out.” he replied.

“I would if I could, but at the moment I am getting ready to have family dinner. I've just been helping mom in the kitchen, but we should only go for a couple of hours, you want to meet after then?”

“Sounds good to me, any ideas of what to do?”

“I have no idea, I'll probably want to just veg out to be honest.”

“We could do that, how about you come to my place? We'll watch a movie.”

“Perfect, text me your address, I'll pick up some ice cream on the way, any flavor you like?”

“Anything is fine, get some mini m&ms too. If we're having junk food we might as well have the good stuff.”

Jo laughed, “No problem, I'll text you when I'm on my way. I think I just heard the door so everyone is probably here so I should go, I'll see you soon.”

“Alright, luv. See you soon, and if Robert is there give him a kiss from me.”

Jo snorted, “Yeah I'm sure he'll love that. Bye.” Jo hung up on Crowley as he was still laughing. She knew she had a dopey grin on her face as she looked down and the phone. She turned around to head back into the kitchen only to find her mother, father, and Dean standing in the doorway looking at her. “Are you kidding me? Don't you people have better things to do then listen to me on the phone?” She crossed her arms and frowned at all three of them.

“Why didn't you tell us you have a new boyfriend?” asked Bill gruffly.

“Yeah, you could have invited him to dinner tonight.” Said Ellen.

Jo laughed outright at that. “Oh sure, invite a guy I only met last week to dinner, with you vultures? No way.” Jo pushed by them and went back into the kitchen.

“What's that suppose to mean?” asked her mother sounding cross.

“It means that every time I have brought someone over here to introduce you, you all have scarred him away. It's happened what, three times now? I'm not risking that this time.” replied Jo as she gathered up the dishes to take to the dinning room.

She pushed past the three of them again and started setting the table. Her father and Dean both slunk in the room to help her set up while her mother sent her a glare and went back into the kitchen to start pulling things out of the oven.

About an hour later everyone was sitting around the table, pleasantly full. There was a lull in the conversation and Jo had started to believe that her parents were going to let the matter go. She forgot about Dean.

“So, Jo has a new loooover,” sing songed Dean to the room. Everyone turned their eyes to Jo, she could feel herself turning red.

Jo shot a Dean a glare, “We are just friends, you asshat. Not that it's anyone's business.”

“Please, your phone played I Will Always Love You when he called.” replied Dean.

“That was his idea of a joke, and how do you know that, you weren't here when he called.” Snapped Jo.

“Your dad told me.” Dean snarked back.

Jo sent a glare at her dad was was looking at the ceiling, trying not to face his daughters death glare.

“All of you are a bunch of freaking gossips.” Jo turned her glare on the rest of the room.

“Honey, we're just curious about it, especially when you get all cagey and won't even tell us who this person is.” said her mother in her 'be reasonable' tone.

Jo rolled her eyes. “I met him last weekend, his car was broke down so I called Bobby to come get it. Turned out he was heading to the same knife show as me so I gave him a ride. I like him, so we've been talking and hanging out all this week...Happy?”

“Joanna Beth! No, I am not happy, you picked up some weirdo on the side of the road? How could you?” Ellen said angrily, her voice rising with each word, “We have been teaching you stranger danger since you were three, you would think it would have sunk in by now!”

Charlie had a pensive look on her face, “Last weekend, the only car we got in last weekend was that Mercedes.”

Jo looked away from her still fuming mother, “Yeah that's his. It's a pretty thing.”

“Pretty?” Deans eyes were wide, “That's an almost 200 thousand dollar car!”

Jo opened and closed her mouth a few times, “No shit?” she asked, “Huh, no wonder it's so nice inside.” she commented.

Bobby cleared his throat and everyone turned to look at him, “So you seeing him tonight?” he asked with a casual air.

“Yeah as soon as I'm done with this interrogation. He sends you a kiss by the way.” Jo grinned at the old man.

“You tell him to stop trying to kiss me, I ain't that kinda girl.” snarked Bobby. Jo just laughed as the rest of the table stared at Bobby like he'd grown a second head, “I have a book for him in my truck, when you go take it to him, tell him I expect a call in the next few days to talk about it.”

“No problem Bobby.” Jo smiled at him.

Ellen had a pissed look on her face, “So Bobby gets to meet him but your parents don't?” she asked is a pissy voice.

Jo sighed, “Mom, Bobby worked on his car, that's how they met. Whatever they have going on now has nothing to do with me.” she shot Bobby a wink.

“Ain't nothin' going on. We just like the same books is all. And he's a terrible flirt.” groused Bobby.

Jo nodded in agreement, “He is that!” Jo turned to look at her Ellen again, “Look for now he is just a friend, I'm hoping for more, but for now, that's all. And I'm sorry but after what happened with Gordon, I'm not in a rush to bring anyone over here to meet you people.” Everyone at the table except Ash and Charlie (who hadn't been part of the family at the time) looked ashamed of themselves when Jo mentioned Gordon.

“Anyway, I have places to be. Bobby is your truck open so I can grab that book?” Jo stood up from the table as she spoke.

“Yeah, kiddo, I didn't lock it.” He gave her smile.

“Great, I'll see you all later.” Jo walked out of the house, ignoring Ellen calling her name. She grabbed the old book out of Bobbies truck before getting into her own truck. She pulled out of the drive her tires squealing on the pavement. She gave a brief wave to her mom who was now standing on the porch with her arms crossed, looking upset. Any other time Jo might have knuckled under, stopped the truck and got back out to listen to her mom lecture her, but tonight she was tired of it. She knew the next time she saw her mom she would pay for it, but for now she just didn't want to deal with it.

She pulled out her phone to check the address for Crowley's place before she stopped at the first grocery store she came across to grab the junk food for movie night. She made it to Crowley's apartment building fairly easily. He was in one of the newer high rise buildings downtown. She found a parking spot and headed to the main door. There was a nice lobby and a set of elevators. She walked over to them and pressed the button. She got in and pressed the button for the top floor. Her stomach gave a lurch as the car started rising, she hated elevators.

She exited the elevator into a short hallway with just one door. She hefted the bag of groceries higher and walked to the door to knock. Crowley answered quickly, as soon as he saw her he smiled. She noticed right away that he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of his usual suit and tie. It was a surprising change, but a good one. She smiled widely at him about to say something before she noticed that he did indeed have tattoos, she could see the edges below the sleeves of his t-shirt. Her eyebrows rose, she couldn't tell what they were from just the edges but they were colorful.

Crowley noticed her staring at his arms and laughed, “At least come in if you are just going to ogle me.” he joked.

Jo startled, “Oh, right, sorry.” she walked in the door he was now holding open for her, “Where do you want the snacks?” she asked.

He placed his hand in the small of her back and led her further into the room. It was an open floor plan, so they walked into the sparse living room which flowed into a very modern and sleek kitchen. Jo couldn't help but notice that there wasn't anything personal anywhere. It looked more like a hotel room then someones home. She unpacked the ice cream while Crowley watched. When she found the tube of mini M&Ms she tossed them at him. He caught them easily and started to open them.

“I've been wanting these all day.” he grinned at her, then proceeded to eat some of them.

“Happy to help.” she smiled back, then turned to put the ice cream in his freezer. “So what are we watching?” Once she was done she turned and walked back towards him.

“Horror movie?” asked Crowley as he walked over to the large sectional couch in the living room, in front of it, mounted between two windows, was a huge flat screen TV.

“Sure, I like horror.” Jo plopped down on the sofa next to him while he grabbed the remotes off the coffee table. There was some space between them as he got the TV set up on Netflix and started looking through the movie options.

“Old or new?”he asked.

“Lets go old, so we can make fun of it.” answered Jo as she relaxed further into the cushy couch.

“Wonderful.” he replied “ I love doing that.” He shot a grin at her.

“Oh, I would never have guessed.” she replied sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes at her and went back to searching through the movies, “How about Drag Me To Hell?”

“It's not that old, but sure, could be fun.” Jo kicked off her shoes and folder her legs under her.

Crowley started the movie and they proceeded to rip it to shreds as they watched. Both of them telling the characters what they should do then mocking them for their bad decisions. They both laughed at the end when the main character was dragged to hell despite trying the whole movie to get rid of her curse. After the movie they got up and ate ice cream in the kitchen while discussing what they thought would happen to the main girls boyfriend now that he had the cursed button. When they were done with the ice cream they sat back down on the couch with glasses of wine. This time they were pressed close together as they sat.

“Want to watch anything else?” Asked Crowley as he angled himself so he could look at her, their legs still pressed together.

“Meh, whatever.” Jo leaned her head on the back of the couch but turned to look at him. “Whatever you want.” she smiled softly at him.

“That is a dangerous thing to say.” he grinned at her, then flipped the TV to a music channel and turned the sound down low.

Jo smiled and scooted herself closer so they were pressed further together, “Ooo I like a bit of danger. Are you ever going to show me your tattoos?” she poked at his arm where she could see a glimpse of them under his shirt.

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” he teased.

Jo chuckled “I would have to take off my pants to show you mine.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows,”You naughty girl. I would never have guessed.”

Jo outright laughed, “Mine is on my right leg and hip, goodness the dirty mind you must have.” She ran her hand from where it was on his sleeve up to his neck and gently brushed at his hair.

“Where are you planning for this to go?” he asked her suddenly seriously while looking into her eyes.

“Well, I did already ask you to marry me.” she grinned.

“That is true, we are practically engaged, aren't we luv?” he leaned further towards her.

“That should at least warrant a kiss, shouldn't it?” she murmured with her eyes already half closed.

“Definitely.” He took her glass of wine and set it on the end table with his then closed the gap between them to press his lips to hers.

She pressed closer and angled her head more, she could feel the rough scratch of his 5 o'clock shadow and couldn't help but let out a little moan, making her lips part. Crowley used this to his advantage and deepened the kiss. She felt his tongue press to her lips, so she opened for him. She reached her other arm up to wrap around his shoulders to bring them even closer. He leaned in more, so she allowed him to press her down to lay on the couch with him over her. They kissed deeply and pressed close to each other for several minutes before the broke apart to take several deep breaths, while gazing at one another. He leaned down and kissed the side of her mouth, then her cheek, then another just behind her ear, making his way down to leave kisses down the long column of her neck. She ran her hands through his hair, encouraging him with small pleased sounds in the back of her throat. She ran her hands down his back and tugged at his shirt.

Crowley chuckled, “You just want to see the tattoos don't you, sweetheart?” he said in a low voice next her her ear, his cheek pressed against hers.

Jo giggled and rubbed her cheek against his, liking the scruff. “You caught me, this is all a ruse to see your ink.” She could feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckled at her.

He leaned up and off of her, kneeling between her legs. He grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head one handed. Jo sat up to run her hands over his lightly haired chest then up over his shoulders and down the colorful inked dragons that decorated his upper arms and shoulders.

Crowley raised his eyebrows at her, she just grinned back at him and leaned in to kiss him again. After a moment she pulled away again, “So, are we going to make out on this couch like teenagers, or are you going to take me to your bed, so I can show you my tattoo?” She gave him a flirty smile.

She laughed as Crowley practically jumped off the couch to stand, he reached a hand out for her to take. She put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to his bedroom. The first thing she noticed was how huge the bed was, a California King, at least. The bedding was all crisp white, to the right side was a walk in closet that was open, she glanced a lot of suits inside. To the left was a set of french doors that led to a patio. The curtains were open and she could see the street lights in the distance.

As they reached the bed Crowley pulled her to him and kissed her again. He only pulled away to remove her shirt, then his lips where back on hers. She felt him unhook her bra and she gladly let that drop as well so she could push her bare chest to his as they kissed. She moaned as his chest hair scratched against her sensitive nipples. He groaned in response, then wrapped an arm around her waist to lift her and lay her down on the bed.

“Lets see if I can find this tattoo.” He grinned at her and unbuttoned her jeans then pulled them off and dropped them on the floor. He ran his hands up her legs from ankle to hip. She smirked at him then pulled her right leg over her left so he could get a clear look at the tattoo that was high up on her leg and hip. In stark contrast to her pale skin was a black ink tattoo of of an old fashioned pocket knife with a wooden handle (like the one she often carried with her he noted) behind it was a sprig of flowers in bloom.

“I've always meant to get it colored, but I haven't had the time.” She looked down at it as well.

Crowley ran his hand over the ink, it was just slightly larger than his hand. “It's beautiful as is, but I could see it in color as well.” he smiled at her, “I like it, it looks like your knife,”

Jo grinned, “I showed the artist that very knife and this is what he came up with. For a whole year now this has been my little secret, now you know too.”

Crowley scrunched up his eyebrows, “You didn't tell anyone you have a tattoo? Why?”

“Because I knew it would get back to my Mom if I told any of my friends or family, they are all horrible gossips.” Jo laughed. She moved her leg back down and sat up, Crowley's hand remained on her leg over the tattoo. She brought her hands up to the button of his pants and unbuttoned it. She grinned up at him and slowly lowered his zipper. Crowley was breathing harder and staring very intently at her. “It hardly seems fair that you're wearing pants and I'm not.” she said as she pushed his pants down, leaving him in only a pair of dark red boxers. She could see the outline of his hard cock through the fabric, as she ran her hand over it she couldn't help but be surprised and pleased with how big he was.

Crowley reached down and grabbed her hand, he pressed a kiss along the side of her hand before dropping it and crawling onto the bed with her. They both scooted around on the big bed until they were laying properly, Jo tugged him until he was on top of her pressing her into the bedding and kissing passionately. As they kissed they worked their underwear off so that nothing was separating them, as soon as her panties were gone Crowley had his thick fingers pressing into her wet center. She moaned into his mouth then pulled away to pant. He buried his face in her neck to lick and suck the soft skin there, leaving small marks. She could feel his heavy cock rubbing against her hip, she reached down and took a hold of him, letting her hand squeeze him then feel his length from root to tip.

“Where were you hiding this thing?” she asked breathless. She could feel him chuckle against her neck.

“You just weren't looking close enough,” he murmured into her ear, he curled his fingers inside of her and pressed his thumb to her clit.

“Oh, Fuck. Crowley.” she moaned as she orgasmed around his fingers. “Oh god, please want you in me.” she begged as she squirmed around and clenched her inner muscles around his fingers.

“Anything you want, luv.” he kissed her mouth, then pulled his fingers out of her so he could lean over to his night stand for a condom.

Jo ran her hands over whatever part of him she could reach while whispering for him to hurry. He ripped the condom open with his teeth and rolled it on with shaking hands. He leaned back over her, grabbing the back of her left knee to pull her leg up higher, and slid into her with one stroke. Jo threw her head back and moaned as he filled her up. Crowley leaned down to kiss her, pressing her knee towards her chest. Jo wrapped one arm around his neck to encourage the passionate kissing and ran her other hand over his back, her nails scratching lightly. She wrapped her free leg around his waist and squeezed her inner muscles around him to encourage him to move.

Crowley pulled away from her mouth and cursed at the feeling of her clenching him tight. He started to thrust shallowly into her, grinding his hips after each thrust. Jo was panting and moaning and encouraging him any way she could. After a few minutes of this slow torturous fucking Jo couldn't take any more, “Please, please just fuck me?” she moaned into his ear before biting at the soft skin below his ear. She could feel him grin against her neck before he pulled back to look at her.

“As you wish.” his voice was wrecked, and even deeper than usual. She moaned at the sound of it, then let out a half shout as he thrust hard into her.

“Yes!” she gasped out and pushed back against him. The room was filled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and moans as they ravaged each other. Jo's nails scratched his back as she arched and came again while calling out his name. As he felt her clamp down on him he shuttered and moaned her name into her neck as he came. They laid there and panted for a minute. Jo realized she had clamped her hand in his hair, she released it and proceeded to pet his hair as they caught their breath. He moaned happily and snuggled further into her neck, making her giggle as his breath tickled her.

After some time passed he sighed and leaned up to pull out of her so he could clean up. She watched him walk into the bathroom before willing herself to move so she could get under the blankets. Just as he came back she had settled under the cool cotton sheets. He grinned at her and joined her in bed. He wrapped her in his arms and they fell asleep together for the first time.

A/N You can find this on my AO3 as well!

#Crowley #supernatural #fanfiction

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archivesdiveronarpg · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations, ERICA! You’ve been accepted for the role of NICK BOTTOM. Admin Bree: We had two fantastic applications for our Nikolai, but Erica, it was your interview and small details that ultimately tipped the scales. You captured his personality beautifully in his dialogue, as well as his little nuances such as his fidgeting, his complaint about his ass hurting, and his red car and motorcycle. I especially loved, “Cars screeched to a halt to admire his work. People screamed in awe at how fabulous the craftsmanship was. And best of all, he wasn’t dead” - you presented his eccentricity perfectly in three succinct lines. Congrats Erica - we can’t wait to have Nikolai on our dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Erica

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | You guys pretty much know my activity. I work Monday-Friday and have weekends off, and my goal is normally to get at least one reply out through the week, even if I can’t always do that, then try to play catch up on the weekend.

Timezone | EST

Permission | Yup!

In Character

Character | NICK BOTTOM, Nikolai Borisov

What drew you to this character? | Beyond Sebastian Stan, the whole arsonist career was a big reason. It’s so different from what anyone else does, and I would be delighted to have the chance to be as creative with it as I’m sure Nikolai is. Another thing is he seems like he’d be so much fun to play, and I absolutely need someone like that to mess around with, to bring something upbeat to the table rather than someone so serious. He seems like quite an explosion on our saddened Verona and I’d love to strike the match.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | One of the great things that I feel like I got from his bio is that he doesn’t seem to have a master plan he’s trying to achieve, beyond setting the city aflame, basically, and perfecting his craft as best he can. He isn’t trying to take over an empire, nor is he trying to save one, so I feel like a lot of his development, good or bad, will be strictly to mess with him specifically. Some ideas that aren’t set in stone at the moment are:

LOONEY TUNES | You will never be able to convince me that Pavel isn’t the roadrunner to Nikolai’s coyote, meep meeping his ass into the sunset while Nikolai gets burned with his Acme products. I just want to see how his relationship with Pavel progresses, or anyone else who has the rare opportunity to get on his bad side (seeing as I don’t think he really has one normally.) It definitely sounds like it could be a good time and I insist there be lots of these two in particular, but just lots of shenanigans in general, to be honest.

YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN A WARZONE, RIGHT? | As was demonstrated by the colosseum upset, all three sides could have a use for Nik’s particular talents, even though he doesn’t really have much interest in any of them. But with his streak of falling in with the wrong crowd, it’s hard to tell which way he might be pulled toward, who might sway him or appreciate his work the most. I’d like to see how he fares in this feud that just keeps getting bigger.

DUDE, WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME FROM? | I don’t think Nikolai thinks about his past much, and I don’t think he’d know how to answer anyone if they asked about it. How did he get this way? Was he born from hellfire, spreading across the world like a plague/cure, depending on whom you asked? I want to dive deeper into this son of a blacksmith and lady of the night, and how that affects who he is now.

In Depth

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Nik’s leg bounced up and down with a jittery energy as he thought. “The streets,” he said, nodding as he considered it more. “Yeah, definitely the streets. Where you feel like you can go anywhere you want? Go as far as you want for as long as you want? You’ve got the wind against your helmet as your motorcycle flies past the people stuck at home. Yeah…good times.” He slapped out a beat on his thighs that was surprisingly not a mess, despite the quickness of his hands and the distant look on his face. It was hard to tell if he was even paying attention anymore until he spoke again. “Is that the only question?”

What does your typical day look like?

Nikolai smiled, his fingers flicking a lighter on and off. The flame was dangerously close to his jacket, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know. It always changes.” He probably went through three different sitting positions before he answered again, his lighter gone and back in his pocket. It was hard to tell where it went with the way his hands moved everywhere at once. “I get up, I go out…I stay out.” Nikolai opened his mouth, closed it with a thoughtful expression. Then a light bulb seemed to go off and it was open again, words spilling out in a rush. “You know what I like to do? I like to drive. Have you seen my car over there?” he asked, pointing to a bright red sports car. “That thing flies. I go between it and the bike, drive them around and see what there is to get into.” He rubbed the back of his neck, tapping out another beat, this time with his heel. “Now we’ve gotta be done with questions, right?” His brows furrowed at the accusation of being in a hurry to get somewhere. “No, my ass just hurts from sitting so long. Doesn’t yours?”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

It was the first time Nikolai laughed during the interview, and hopefully it was the last. The startling sound came from nowhere, and died just as abruptly, leaving a smile behind as he shook his head. “It’s fucking entertaining is what it is. I mean, you’re telling me these guys are still uptight over something that happened eons ago?” He paused, seemed to think it over. He frowned. “I guess I can see why they’d hold a grudge. Sometimes someone just gets under your skin and…” he stopped, squeezed his hand into a fist like the annoyance was there to feel his grip. Eventually he released his hold on the phantom and waved his hand as if to say never mind. “But that’s besides the point. The point is: I don’t really give a shit.” Nikolai shrugged. “We all know—“ He stopped, laughed that unsettling laugh like he had a secret no one else could know. “We all know they’re gonna turn the city to shit, but it’ll rise. Like a phoenix from the ashes, it’ll rise, and goddamn, it’ll be beautiful.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It’s a bit chilly out. Why don’t we heat things up?

No, no, scratch that.

Wait until his chestnuts roast on an open fire.

What the shit, it’s not even fucking Christmas.

Nikolai groaned, connecting the last wire so that his detonator would actually fucking work this time (last time’s attempt resulted in him almost getting a new haircut.) The faint sound of Buster Poindexter’s Hot, Hot, Hot played through his earbuds, his iPod snug in his pant’s pocket while he meticulously worked on his latest creation. If all went as planned – and it damn well better – the rigging would set the whole ten story building crackling in under a minute.

How, you might ask, Nik thought as he gathered his materials and made sure not to leave any evidence behind. Why, that’s simple. Because I’m a fucking genius, that’s how.

Sucking down his third juice box, he strolled through the building’s basement like it was just another day. Well, mostly, it was just another day. This was his fourth outing in St. Petersburg this month, and a lot more fun than the first three that consisted of burning an empty grocery store, making sure some poor sucker couldn’t drive anywhere, and lighting up a church full of poorly dressed sinners. But this time…he thought he might’ve outdone himself. A ten-story building that belonged to some curmudgeon he could’ve cared less about? It was the perfect testing ground for such experiments, for such masterpieces.

He only went as far as he had to, the bare minimum to keep from getting blasted (the explosion should mostly be internal, if he didn’t account for shattered glass, and go up, not outward, which would hopefully allow for him to be closer.) That was the plan, of course, but this shit always had a way of backfiring.

Ha.

Nik pushed the sunglasses down from the top of his head so that everything was covered in a partial darkness. Just a couple more minutes, and he’d be able to smell the smoke, feel the wave of heat that came barreling toward him. It was quiet except for the sound of cars honking and driving down the street. The flap of birds’ wings as they flew away, sensed a storm coming. The slurp of Nik’s juice box as he sucked up the last of his drink.

5…4…3…2…

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Like a down-on-their-luck musician, it started from the bottom and rose to the top, glass glittering down like rain as the explosives went off, one after the other. Cars screeched to a halt to admire his work. People screamed in awe at how fabulous the craftsmanship was. And best of all, he wasn’t dead.

Taking a deep breath, and one last moment to appreciate his latest success, he nodded and turned to leave.

Nik made his way through hidden alleyways and abandoned streets to get back to his car, parked far from the crime scene after his last close call with the police. It was tough to drive fancy cars and be a fireman. It made it all too easy to find him sometimes.

A fact he remembered quickly when he saw someone standing by his car.

But they weren’t dressed in the normal uniform he was expecting to run from. No, she was dressed in expensive furs to keep the chill away, hair done up all fancy like she was going to a ball. She stood at attention as Nik walked to his car, a bag full of questionable items in his hand. She hardly paid attention, bright green eyes glued to him, nervous as she tugged her coat tighter.

“Borisov?”

“Maybe,” he said, eyeing her since he had the cover of sunglasses to cover his scrutiny. “Who wants to know?”

Who wanted to know? Well, in that moment, with that very transaction, Nikolai Borisov’s first paying client exploded onto the scene.

And that’s how you do that.

Extras: I have a mock blog for him at totallynotajackass, where I’ve put some graphics and reblogged some things. As for further headcanons:

Cars/Motorcycle – I definitely see him with a motorcycle that he likes to drive everywhere, and I absolutely see him as someone who enjoys the thrill of street racing. Nice cars that go really, really fast? That have engines where it sounds like they roar to life and screech against the street? Nikolai is definitely into death defying stunts, and what better way to get his heart pumping than speeding down Verona’s streets at night against some of the fastest drivers out there?

Drums – probably not a surprise, but he was never taught to play anything like the piano, and he sure as hell never bothered learning. But the drums gave him an outlet for his constantly moving hands and feet. Turned out he wasn’t horrible at keeping a rhythm either.

Burns/Scars – also not a surprise but I see him with burns everywhere. A lot on his back where he’s tried to get away from ones that went astray and didn’t get to walk away like a cool action movie star. Who needs tattoos when your body is littered with striking remembrances of your creations?

#accepted #accepted: nick bottom

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babaleshy · 5 years

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I am going to get a cane soon. Originally, I was going to use one of my dad’s but it’s not of the appropriate height for me to properly use when my leg/hip/back/butt/etc. makes it difficult for me to walk after my period ends. So I checked Etsy just to see if nice canes for actual use exist and behold! They do! In this Etsy shop! My parents understand my need for a cane and are willing to actually help me get one! I have my eyes set on the werewolf one. :D

As you can tell, I do not mind the idea of using a cane at all. I feel no shame, I feel no embarrassment. It’s something I need, and because of the age I live in, I not only have access to canes of the height that I need, but ones that aren’t bland and boring, either. What a time to be alive!

And what a time indeed. Despite the fact that I’m okay with using a cane if it helps me get around without me fearing I’ll collapse or having quite as much pain walking during my period or when it ends, I fear using it in public.

Why?

Because there are able-bodied assholes out there that actually assault people just for THINKING or feel CONVINCED that the disabled person is faking it. And with the amount of assholes in this area, I fear that kind of bullshit. And we also have white supremacists in this area, so I don’t know if any of those particular assholes are the kind to preach about “superior genetics” or whatever who think disabled people should suffer and die.

I’m glad my husband and my two friends understand my fear and are willing to make sure I’m okay, but this means that I cannot go into Kroger if I’m out with my dad to get one or two small things. I need my dad to go in with me, or if my dad (who is also, btw, disabled) doesn’t feel well enough to go in with me, I have to schedule it so that my husband can accompany me if it’s something I need to look for, myself. The thing is, my husband is perfectly okay with getting what I need when he’s done at work. BUT I LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET OUT OF THE HOUSE SOMETIMES BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE BEING COOPED UP HERE.

I grew up cooped up in the house I grew up in because my mom worked, dad was freshly injured and disabled from the goddamn steel mill doing what they did to him and nearly killing him, and we couldn’t afford to really take me anywhere outside of Blockbuster on Fridays when my dad made sure to save up his energy to take me and my little brother out somewhere. I latched onto friends so I could go to their houses so I wasn’t stuck in my own home, I looked forward to a trip to Blockbuster, then Kroger, then Burger King every weekend because we were going out and doing things. I looked forward to trying to catch my dad on a good day so we can go and visit my baba and deda because I loved being with them NOT IN THE HOUSE I WAS STUCK IN and sometimes even going to my tetta’s, too! I looked forward to road trips to go upstate for the weekend to visit my aunt and her family and play with my cousins. Stuff like this did not happen all the time (except for the Friday trips to Blockbuster). I wasn’t disabled, in pain, or anything! I was a little kid with a lot of energy and a high metabolism in that stage where I needed the parental attention and asked lots of questions when my parents saw me as a burden because we were freshly impoverished and I didn’t understand. They still didn’t like how annoying I was.

When I got to Pittsburgh, I was TERRIFIED of exploring just the downtown area (it’s not a big city) unless my roommate or classmate went with me until I got more used to city life and being independent (I had a huge culture shock and had a hard time functioning in any way for the first couple of years of college). But when I got the hang of it, I didn’t stay in my dorm for very long. I didn’t stay in my apartment for very long when my husband and I moved in together until my brother died and I went into a deep depressive episode for about three years. I wanted to walk everywhere, explore, chill in my favorite hangout places, go to interesting stores and go to the museum.

And now, because of bedbugs and skyrocketing rent, my husband and I had to move back in with my parents, and I’m back to square fucking one. I had a taste at what it’s like to have a life and I want that back and I can’t. Now I’m stuck here because living in the middle of nowhere means there’s no walking anywhere without someone thinking you’re up to something unless they know you personally. There’s nothing to do around here. There are no job opportunities. And being stuck in this house with parents who blindly support the American regime means bad news for my mental health when one of them likes to drag you into conversations you clearly state you want no part of. My mental and physical health tanked. And I’m having severe trouble bouncing back.

Now I need a cane, making me fear going out in public in this hopelessly right-wing-into-oblivion area. (My parents like to claim this place is full of democrats trying to ruin this area except I see NOTHING implying anyone’s a democrat in this area whatsoever. So if they exist, they’re so damn few of them that I never see them. And that’s just democrats. Any other true leftists kinda have to lay low or get fucking shot.)

So while I’m glad I have a wonderful array of options for my style of a walking aid that I plan to use when I’m in pain or when I go on a bit of a hike at my mother-in-laws, I have to fear being seen by ableist shitbags as a “faker” because that could land me getting assaulted just so they can pat themselves on the back inflating their ego and they get to bitch about me on social media to masturbate that rock-hard ego even more. And they might even bitch about faking for disability money when a) it’s not that much to begin with and b) I’m not eligible for receiving disability anyways! That’s hard to fucking get, and knowing how hard that is to get, I’m not even gonna bother applying for it because my condition is directly tied to my reproductive system causing me problems, and we all know that any pain in the reproductive system involving a uterus isn’t taken seriously. At all. By anyone who can do much about helping us.

I, nor anybody else, should have to prove why we use walking aids, need a wheelchair, use the blue parking placards, use the disabled bathroom stall, the elevator to the second floor, the motorized scooter at the grocery store, etc. Nobody owes anybody an explanation as to why they are semi or fully disabled. Nobody needs to tell you what ails them and how/why it happened to them. It’s none of your business. It’s not anybody’s business.

#personal #rant #I need to break this goddamn cycle somehow

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samanthasroberts · 6 years

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8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

If you’re anything like me, you spend most of your time on the computer because it’s way easier than real life. Literally everything in a computer is easier than its analog counterpart. Email is better than snail mail, YouTube lets us watch people get hit in the balls without having to endure whatever asshole is currently hosting America’s Funniest Home Videos, and word processing programs let us type without revealing what grammatically inept morons we are.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

I’ve worked exclusively with computers for well over a decade, because I’m clumsy and therefore a danger to myself when doing real-people jobs, and I get frustrated easily with repetitious tasks. Whether it’s flipping burgers or making a brick wall, the act of repeatedly picking things up and moving them is a pain in the ass.

In The Real World …

You could select an object and then just copy, paste, repeat. A job at Taco Bell would be a lot more bearable if you made one taco before lunch and just pasted it, hot and fully wrapped, over and over again for every customer.

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Stores would save a bundle simply reusing the same product over and over, and you could save even more buying one of those build-your-own six packs and just pasting the good ones forever. Even more practically, you could make copies of your more valuable organs for when you inevitably destroy them with all of the cigarettes, Big Macs, and vodka you copied over the years.

The cut function might be even better. You’d never have to do any heavy lifting again. You could just cut and later paste things wherever you want them to go. Imagine a world in which strained backs are a thing of the past. Carrying loads of laundry up and down the stairs would be as easy as walking up and down the stairs — which is a challenge for me because I’m terribly out of shape, but you get the general idea.

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

Destroying evidence would be as easy as cutting an object, then cutting another. Just like the joke that was originally here but accidentally copied over, it would never be seen again. Those hundreds of beer bottles from that binge you pasted over the weekend? Cut and then lost seconds later when you copied that McNugget into the full 20 you now need to fight the hangover.

#7. Saving Progress

Do you have any regrets? I do. I’m divorced, I’ve gotten speeding tickets, and I once got hit in the junk by a piece of wood that flew out of a table saw. So I have some experience with looking back on moments and reflecting on how it would be super to have not done that, because I still cry when I pee sometimes. (Divorce is rough, folks)

On the other hand, I have zero regrets with any video game I play, because I save as often as possible, whether it allows quick saves or has save points. For example, there is no regret for your character in Alien: Isolation when you accidentally attract the creature with your running and it kills you, because you saved the game and can go back and not do that this time. Unfortunately for your underwear, that doesn’t undo the racing stripe you just forged in terror turds.

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great if we could save the day when we get up in the morning? Or just before a big interview? Or before asking the custodian if he was propositioning you with his eyes or just has a weird tic? All that regret could be undone with a reload. It would be like Edge Of Tomorrow, except you don’t have to get shot in the face or run over to undo your most recent screwup.

“Shit …”

Had an awesome relationship, but fucked it up over a stupid misunderstanding? Reload. Blow through a red light? Reload. Got drunk and put peanut butter on your genitals to make friends with the dog? Reload, but gross. You can reboot your life, but you can’t scrub a soul clean, pervert.

#6. Piracy

Before anyone screams, I know, piracy is bad. It can and has murdered the careers of indie developers and writers, because rather than paying for their product, people just shared it for free, and free doesn’t buy food and WiFi. On that note, a lot of people are A-OK pirating things from big companies. Raise your hand if you paid $7,000 for that copy of Photoshop you use to replace celebrities’ heads with dicks. I thought so.

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

Now that we’ve cleared that up, think about a world in which the poor and downtrodden could have lobster mac and cheese because someone made some at a fancy (possibly schmancy) restaurant, then made a bunch of free copies to share. That wouldn’t even impact the restaurant, because it’s not like Ol’ Hobo Gus was going to eat at the Four Seasons but “fuck it, free lobster mac.” And what if simple things that add up in life could just be duplicated from what the Haves have to make life less shitty for the hardworking Have Nots? Trips to the food bank would be a snap, and you could drop off Costco-sized boxes of Q-tips or actual fresh food instead of that canned garbage that people who can’t afford a can opener are always offered.

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

Granted, some people would take advantage of this and use it for Teslas, Blu-ray players, and 96-inch TVs that would go perfectly in my living room. Now, these pirated copies will probably have some built-in problems just to fuck with the thieves, but honestly, that’s an extra layer of hilarious I think the real world could use right now.

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

Bookmarks are already a thing. Remember those pieces of poster board you shoved into your pre-Kindle so that when you went back you didn’t have to remember what page you were on? That’s actually exactly how we came to use the term “bookmark” for webpages.

In The Real World …

Condescending history lessons aside, the basic idea behind bookmarks and shortcuts would be amazing in the real world. Imagine being able to snap right back to where you were in line after running to the bathroom, regardless of how many dick nerds stole your place for the new Star Wars movie.

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

More practically, you could make a shortcut to the responsible groceries you always “forget” when shopping. A shortcut to where you parked at a mall or concert could save valuable hours of your life that could have been spent doing something other than wandering and crying quietly.

#4. “Invisible” Setting

One of the main reasons socially inept people like myself evolve into Howard-Hughes-like hermits who collect cats and cereal boxes until A&E has to intervene is the fact that it’s hard to go anywhere in society without socializing. Leaving the house almost always means someone is going to say “hello” or make eye contact, and that is just too damn much human interaction for some of us.

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

This is why chat programs have an “invisible” setting. Because sometimes you have shit to do and don’t want to be bugged by employees, former friends, or that mall Santa who’s been following you for years.

In The Real World …

Just think, you no longer have to feel guilty as you try to avoid eye contact with a homeless person despite the wad of cash in your pocket. You could get that cucumber and variety box of condoms through the self-checkout without feeling watched. Go on, I won’t judge.

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

It would also make life much more bearable for the self-conscious in the world. I’m someone who can trip over nothing on a linoleum floor, so walking down a concrete sidewalk with seams has caused more than a few completely unnecessary stumbles when people were looking. There’s nothing I can do about that, because there’s no therapy for clumsiness, but it would be awesome to fall because your feet are stupid and not have witnesses.

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

If anything on this list is a superpower I would bathe myself in toxic chemicals to get, this is it. The best part of watching a movie, listening to a song, or playing a video game on a computer is the ability to pause it at any time for any reason.

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

The ability to pause life would make time management meaningless, since procrastinating would only consume non-time that you’d essentially have an endless supply of. Impromptu naps could happen at any time with no repercussions. No matter how crazy/important/fast-paced your job, you could just drop everything and run to the can at any time (but still wash your hands, stinky).

Work in fast food? You could spit in some asshole’s food for being rude, and literally no one would be able to tell. Not that I endorse that kind of thing. You could also rob a bank just by waiting for someone to open the vault and walking in. But I recommend just using it for napping and meeting deadlines at the last minute, unless you’re a terrible person.

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Search engines are more than just a convenience in the modern world. They’re necessary to find a job, a cookie recipe, or personal information about that person you have a crush on and can’t seem to get a lock of their hair to sniff. But in the real world, it would become the single most indispensable tool anyone ever devised.

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

You’d never lose another set of keys, or your phone. You wouldn’t have to ask anyone where the condoms were at the store (see: invisibility, self checkout), and you could “image” search that person you kinda recognize and knows your name so you don’t look like a dick when they say hi. Combine it with the bookmark feature and you could dominate on Jeopardy or emotionally brutalize the stupid on Wheel Of Fortune.

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

If you were ever lost in the wilderness, you could look up which mushrooms you could eat for fun, and which ones you could eat for food. Or maybe search where you are and not get lost in the first place.

You could also become the world’s most hated “um, actually” guy by immediately debunking the bullshit everyone around you spouts. But hey, self-righteousness is it’s own reward, right? It’s what fuels Facebook.

#1. Muting/Blocking

If you’ve ever used Twitter, these are indispensable tools for not being bothered by people who insist on “debating” you by spamming up your timeline with endless tweets, blowing off those “See Why I faved You” religious accounts, and, most importantly, keeping unruly dicks from so called “movements” from sea-lioning you with bullshit questions because you happened to share an opinion they disagreed with.

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

You could permanently avoid people you’ve had a falling out with. Or you could block or mute other things, like tabloids in the checkout line or anything on daytime TV that isn’t Twilight Zone reruns.

Even better, women could mute or block catcallers. Imagine a world in which cutting shitty people out of your life was as easy as clicking a button. Of everything in this list, this is the one that would allow people to take back their lives from assholes and do some real good. Hell, how much heartache and pain could we all have avoided in the ’90s if we could just block Columbia House?

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

As with blocking on the Internet, people will call you a coward and claim that they won life if you block them. And just like blocking on the Internet, they’re dead fucking wrong, because your life now contains one less annoying cow pie of a human. And we could all use fewer human cow pies.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/04/08/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/

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adambstingus · 6 years

Text

8 Software Features That Would Make Real Life Awesome

Wouldn’t it be great if we had the same conveniences of a computer in reality? Here are the features I think we could use the most.

#8. Copy/Cut/Paste

In The Real World …

“Or you could give me a Ctrl+Z to undo working here …”

Though carrying a complete bedroom set on a clipboard might prove to be tricky.

#7. Saving Progress

A better bowel loosener than Metamucil or a draft notice for Ted Nugent.

In The Real World …

“Shit …”

#6. Piracy

Fact: Only two legitimate copies were ever made, both in 1997.

In The Real World …

True, but would we really want to have to sit through this PSA before every meal?

#5. Bookmarks And Shortcuts

In The Real World …

Although autocomplete will lead to awkward questions as to why you went to the strip mall while your husband ended up at “Mammary Lane.”

#4. “Invisible” Setting

Even if you’re not a shut-in, there are some people you’d rather not interact with who can’t seem to read the “get fucked” look in your eyes and insist on speaking to you.

In The Real World …

That virgin olive oil isn’t going to stay that way for long …

On the downside, shoplifting would be super easy. But come on people, don’t be assholes.

Pirate that shit.

#3. Pausing

Like that much needed change of underwear and vodka shot after this.

In The Real World …

There’s a reason we called this the greatest superpower of all time.

#2. Search Engines

Way more than whatever the fuck this is.

In The Real World …

Otherwise known as the University of Phoenix of game shows.

#1. Muting/Blocking

The new universal symbol for “asshole.”

In The Real World …

Wouldn’t it be great to never again have to hear those annoying people working the kiosks in the middle of the mall?

No! No one wants your stupid copper head-octopus thing, and you smell like a cologne ad from the 1970s.

“You can buy 15 puppies for just a penny!” “Must … ignore …

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/8-software-features-that-would-make-real-life-awesome/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/172738198392

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carolinesgrandadventure · 7 years

Text

Everything is going great! | culture shocked

That is a big, fat lie.

This post is long overdue. In which I talk about what’s been happening these past two weeks in Vietnam and try not to lose my mind retyping x3 a post that I accidentally deleted x3 because I’m working on my phone and the Tumblr app is very glitchy.

A guide because this post is so long: Basics covers my homestay famiy and daily schedule. The City covers my thoughts on Hanoi. Challenges describes my misfortunes of travel and lessons learned.

Disclaimer: This post might seem a little over-dramatic. Let’s begin.

Basics

I share a homestay with one roommate, Frankie. My host family is friendly, comprising of a professor father, accountant mother, a 13-year-old host sister (our main translator), and a 10-year-old host brother. We live in a 5-story tube house in an back alleyway of a network of alleyways. It is so tucked away that even my local Uber drivers get lost trying to find it!

Frankie and I share a room with two hard mattresses on the floor, two mosquito nets, two fans, one shower toilet bathroom, and no AC. Despite Hanoi’s heat and humidity, it hasn’t been too much of a problem to sleep without AC. However, those mattresses are incredibly uncomfortable despite supposedly being good for the back.

Taking a shower has become my favorite time of day. What I mean by a “shower toilet bathroom” is a bathroom the size of a small walk-in closet containing a sink, shower head, toilet, and drain with no dividers. One must take care not to get the sink or toilet wet while showering. This type of bathroom is incredibly space efficient, but one must be okay with a wet bathroom floor for the next several hours after showering. There’s also no hot water, but it’s refreshing to take a cold shower after a long, humid, and sticky day.

Everyday I wake up anywhere between 6:30-7:00 a.m. usually because of loud jack hammering from the active construction site next door. Whether I’m rudely awakened by construction, cats meowing, babies crying, or motorbikes, I always am delighted to enjoy a breakfast prepared by my host mother. At around 7:50, Frankie and I leave the house and walk to the bus stop where we take a short 10 minute ride to our classroom at Hanoi Medical University. We then attend class more or less 8:30 a.m.-4:00 p.m., our exact schedule varying day to day. Our local instructor and country coordinator are both members of Vietnam’s Institute of Population, Health, and Development. They have been very informative, teaching us about Vietnam’s health challenges and system. Some interesting topics we have covered include the prominence of traditional medicine, the health differences between rural and urban Vietnamese populations, and the inaccuracy of government reporting. One of the main takeaways for me from these past two weeks is the issue of development on health outcomes in Vietnam. Many rural populations have poorer health outcomes than urban populations because they lack equal access to healthcare due to the limited number of clinics and resources (among other things). After classes end, I’ve done everything from shopping to getting a massage to going back home to study (read: nap). I return home by 7:00 p.m. to have dinner with my host family, which is always fun to see what we get to eat. After dinner, my host family, Frankie, and I chat for a while. Sometimes the neighbors come over to chat, too. The neighborhood kids enjoy running in and out of the house to say hello and stare at Frankie and I. The parents like coming to practice their English and bring their kids to force them to practice their English with us, too. In school, grammar and written skills are prioritized, and, as a result, many Vietnamese’s English speaking skills are not as developed. I admire their desire to practice speaking English with native speakers because I’m scared to do so with Chinese speakers… It’s quite a lot of work to communicate with people who do not speak the same language because even though you don’t understand, you make an effort to understand by processing the many context clues available. When Frankie and I get upstairs to our room, it’s often 9:00 p.m. or later and I am exhausted. I’ll take a shower and then try and do some work before falling asleep. I haven’t really been successful in doing homework after dinner… (hehe yikes) Last weekend our host family took Frankie and I out to the night market in downtown Hanoi to eat ice cream and walk around. Personally, I expected more of the night market, but it was still nice to walk the streets around the lake without motorbikes and cars whizzing by. We also paid a visit to the Vietnam People’s Air Force Museum.

Ice cream at Kem Trang Tien in Old Quarter. I got a yummy “rice flake” flavor.

Frankie and I also made spaghetti for our host family, the one American dish they occasionally cook at home. My host sister sprung this upon us saying, “Ok, you can make us spaghetti tomorrow night, right?” And Frankie and I were just like, “Oh, okay.” I don’t think we had a choice; it turns out our host mom had already bought the spaghetti noodles before our host sister asked us to cook! We went to the grocery store, found some canned pasta sauce, and made damn good spaghetti, if I do say so myself. Thankfully, our host family loved our cooking. I thought it was pretty hilarious to be eating spaghetti in Vietnam in rice bowls with chopsticks for dinner. My host sister keeps mentioning how she wants to try eggs Benedict…

Let two American girls cook you the best spaghetti of your life! :)

Lastly, a shoutout to Shom, my Duke friend also on an SIT IHP program, who I was able to get lunch with in Hanoi. I’m so glad we could follow up on our 5 month plans to meet up. It was really nice to see a familiar face. :’)

This weekend we are in the midst of typhoon Daksuri so our planned weekend activities are more low key. Possibly a movie, possibly a trip to Hanoi’s silk village, and with any luck, a day trip to see some scenery outside the city.

The City

Hanoi is the capital of motorbikes. It is humid, hot, noisy, dirty, and in my opinion, not particularly charming. There is the constant grumble of motorbikes. The air always smells of gasoline. Hanoi's got a lot of rough edges such as its ceaseless traffic, lack of public trash management, and pollution. The small river in my neighborhood is navy and its odor of rotten eggs and feces can be smelled 10 feet away.

I think Hanoi is best described as organized chaos. For the most part I cannot discern the order that the Hanoiians maintain except when I cross the street. Crossing the street is quite the adrenaline rush.

Start by stepping out from the curb. You can't choose a good moment to start crossing, you just have to do it. Turn to look in the face of oncoming traffic. Stare down the motorbikes that barrel towards you and shake an outstretched hand at them. Walk slowly. The honks are only to communicate that they see you. Get to the middle of the road. Look the other way and do the same thing: stare and shake. And when you finally get to the other side, don't forget to breathe. In those moments of crossing the street, anyone simultaneously becomes part of the order and chaos that is Hanoi.

Downtown Hanoi, also known as Old Quarter, is cleaner and is home to many of the best restaurants. Old Quarter surrounds Hoan Kiem Lake. Some parts of Old Quarter remind me of Shanghai's French Concession, with tree covered streets. But this is unsurprising given that both cities have strong French influences. Again, I can't romanticize about Hanoi too much though... One afternoon while enjoying a view of the lake, I noticed an old man peeing on a tree right next to me, out in the open.

Hanoi is also a city of alleyways. There are so many alleys to get lost in but there are no dead alleys; something is always happening whether that be a waiting trinkets seller or another pho stand. I have also never been to a city with such a dense concentration of food stands. Every family in Hanoi must own a food stand, there are so many of them!*

Challenges

In the past two and a half years that I've been in college, I have never experienced a serious case of homesickness... until now. This was unfortunately spurred by a stressful situation of multiple technology failures. This past weekend my perfectly working laptop spontaneously broke. Like broke broke. Like serious, needs-a-motherboard-replacement broke. At first I thought I couldn't turn my laptop on because of an ant infestation. It just so happens that when my laptop broke, I also had a mild ant infestation. Sugar ants were crawling out of my keyboard and I was panicking, recalling a similar story of a broken laptop and a bunch of ants. Then I went to a computer store that night with my host family and it started working again. And then I put it away for the night. And then it really wouldn't turn on anymore.

I took my laptop into Hanoi's top rated computer repair store on Monday. Against my better judgement, I left my laptop at this small, unprofessional looking shop for them to look at further. It was a great test of believing in the good will of people for me. 48 hours later I was devastated to learn that my computer was seriously broken and would need a $330 fix.

This ordeal was rather stressful for me because every graded aspect of my study abroad program relies upon a computer and I was without one. I actually finished an assignment on my phone using Google Docs. It also didn't help that the day after my laptop broke, my phone started acting up, possibly because of the humidity. I had to stick it in rice; thankfully my phone still works except I now have a dead area on my touch screen. I'm guessing part of my phone's digitizer broke. Don't ask me why my important tech decided to all break without warning in the span of 3 days because it is beyond me.

I decided not to get my laptop repaired here in Hanoi. I'm in this awkward transition time right now relying upon other people's laptops. I probably can't get a replacement laptop/tablet until I get to South Africa because complicated customs processes. I guess we'll just have to see how things work out, but for now I'm making do and trying not to think about my broken laptop.

Going through this episode of intense stress really highlighted to myself my discomfort in Hanoi: it's dirty, loud, I don't fit in, and I can hardly communicate. I really, really wished to be at home this past week for the convenience and familiarity of going to an Apple Store, receiving comfort from my family (and dog), and sleeping in a soft bed.

I'm mostly over that now. I’ve realized that it is what it is and I am handling the situation to the best of my ability. In the end, I can't really change much; I can only be resourceful and rely upon the generosity of my host family and classmates. C'est la vie. I'm grateful I still have the support system that I have available. I knew to expect some challenges and discomfort but I did not realize it’d be like this!

St. Joseph’s Cathedral, a late 19th-century Gothic cathedral in Old Quarter.

This next week my group travels to Lac village in rural north Vietnam. Next weekend we're taking an excursion to Ha Long Bay, a UNESCO world heritage site. I'm excited to get out of the city and explore other parts of Vietnam!

Bus count: 11

*By the way, of course I will write about the food in Vietnam within the next two weeks.

#Hanoi #Vietnam #travel #culture shock #long post #reflection

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