There’s something beautiful about dead malls. Truly dead malls, or partially dead ones. Mostly empty husks of wide-open spaces, lit with skylights and decorated with empty planters and long-dry fountains. Storefronts, shuttered and shadowy, with the barest hints of what they once were. (Slatted walls were once Waldenbooks. Sprawling carpets with once-neon-pink-swoosh designs in abandoned FYEs. Signs and abandoned merchandise hinting at less recognizable names.)
The partially dead malls, I think, are more beautiful, though. While the dead malls are locked and forgotten—caved in and rotting from the inside out—the partially dead malls are dying specimens. A Macy’s with clothing racks huddled into a corner. A Bath & Body Works sandwiched between the dusty shutters of a former Aeropostale and the faded signage of a small-name clothing boutique. Food courts empty save for the one faux-Chinese place that’s always the last to go. The carpets are spongy and reek of both mildew and that signature odor all malls have. And in the hazy afternoon sun filtering through dingy skylights, you see the elderly ambling on down dingy corridors, passing by the benches where their children spent their teenage years. You can almost hear the dying breaths of three bygone decades in their footsteps, in the distant sound of music by artists you haven’t heard in twenty years, in the hum of the building itself.
My mom started going to college this semester after being out of school for almost 40 years. She’s pretty much taught herself everything she knows and is incredibly self-motivated (where I am NOT) so I’m making a point to steal all her habits this semester so I can be as rad as her. Here are some things I’ve learned in just the first week:
Always eat a little breakfast, even if you’re not feeling well.
Pack your lunch.
Pack snacks. If you don’t need them, someone else might.
Spending three dollars on that super-decadent cappuccino may have seemed indulgent but if it’s the only thing keeping you awake in math class then it’s worth it.
Ask for help, no matter how embarrassing it may feel.
See your professors during their office hours at least once a semester. If nothing else, use it as an opportunity to introduce yourself and ask what their expectations are for you during the course (and what’s the best way to get a good grade).
Don’t just use resources on campus: Abuse them.
Be honest. Life’s too short to lie.
Don’t worry so much. My mom always says worrying is like sitting in a rocking chair; it’ll give you something to do, but it won’t get you very far.
If there’s a special supply or tool you want to use, use it. No matter how silly you may look (my mom insisted on using a trapper keeper, just for the novelty of it).
Mistakes aren’t mistakes, they’re learning opportunities (my mom decided that the trapper keeper was too bulky).
Invest in comfy shoes. They’ll pay for themselves by the end of your first day.
Go to bed early, and nap when necessary.
Ask questions. Your tuition pays your professors to be in class. You pay your professors to be in class. Get your money’s worth.
A new bra can change everything.
And last but not least, always make time for lunch with your friends.
yeah so pro tip from someone with lifelong severe chronic nausea: ginger will settle yr stomach. not fuckin canada dry processed soda-fountain bullshit, but ACTUAL ginger. pardon my french, i harbor a deep-seated bitterness against ginger ale after spending my entire childhood drinking it every time i got sick, which was often, and being like well maybe it’ll work THIS time. (nope.)
anyways, my favorite nausea remedy is to slice up a hunk of fresh ginger root and dump it in a teapot or french press with the juice of half a lemon and a shitload of honey and then pour boiling water over it all and let it steep for a bit. the resulting tea will help with anything short of a full-blown cyclic vomiting syndrome episode. my acupuncturist gave me that recipe and it works super well and tastes amazing. alternatively if you have money to burn, fancypants ginger beer like reed’s will knock your nausea on its ass (goya ginger beer SEEMS like a lovely cheap substitute that will do the same thing but it is A LIE, i think it has like ginger syrup in it or something instead of being made of actual fresh ginger and it doesn’t work nearly as well.) and if you REALLY wanna get fancy and you have a juicer you could put fresh ginger through that sucker and either do fresh ginger juice shots (not for the faint of heart) or mix it with apple juice or something. (there was this cafe near where i used to live that had a ~juice bar~ and it was totally overpriced but god help me if their ginger-apple-lemon juice thingy wasn’t the best shit i ever tasted.)
however! if you’re me and don’t have a fucking juicer or money or time or patience or whatever, pickled ginger is amazing. get it at an asian grocery – it’ll be ridiculously expensive at an american supermarket but i spent, let’s see, $3.60 for a 15oz jar of this stuff. you could probably get it on amazon too but i’ve never tried. anyway i am currently sitting here eating it with a fork and my stomach feels so much better. it’s more effective than coca cola and cheaper too, AND you don’t need a damn prescription for it. 10/10 would recommend.
If I had a bullet I would shoot confrontation with my fingertips Eliminate desperation and frustrations when the liquor hits Sinking in infatuation with no cure, the mind splits Draping weeping willows, hanging in the balance until we shift From faithless to faithful, we fill up and run dry No fountains to sip from, we fall in the abyss And notice that life is a gift
In darkness, we notice that light is amiss We spark up, the world is alive when we kiss In the distance, we touch in our minds, alchemists In disguise, there is gold in this wish That we meet, if we see with our eyes and connect, will we risk?
If I could, i would rip this longing from my chest This drum that is beating, faster and faster Breaking the vessel from within Remove us from ourselves, oh our scars deepening Protect us from this plight, oh our hearts weakening Ti’ll death do us part, we stay close yet apart
I wander looking for a fountain But it’s a world it’s nowhere to be found Maybe it doesn’t exist in the end I’ve lost my way oh
I can’t see the end I can’t see the light I was afraid and scared, because everything was scary I only wanted to hide When I mustered up courage and took a step forward You appeared in front of me The place at the end of my adventures The place I arrived in after getting lost My paradise Is You Is You What I was looking for Oasis Sis You are what will put my anxious worries to sleep You are what will fill my empty heart My heaven Is You Is You I wish the world fills with you
On a dry desert I throw the dice Even if my empty heart Loses its way I’ve found you by chance, you won’t get dried up Oasis IS U my heaven IS U I get scared even before finding you Scared that if it’s not the place in my imagination When I mustered up courage and took a step forward You appeared in front of me The place at the end of my adventures The place I arrived in after getting lost My paradise Is You Is You What I was looking for Oasis Sis You are what will put my anxious worries to sleep You are what will fill my empty heart My heaven Is You Is You I wish the world fills with you
A wilted flower blooms again And a once dry fountain gushes with water I know that the only answer is you This place I found at the end of despair This place that lets me breathe My paradise Is You Is You What I was looking for Oasis Sis
I will protect you with everything I got You won’t change even when everything else does My heaven Is You Is You I wish the world fills with you
Amity’s town square was predictably crowded, even on a weeknight.
So far into the month, winter still wasn’t very much of one at all. The crisp chill was tolerable and had yet to produce a single snowflake; all they needed were light jackets and a quick stop at Jazz’s favorite locally-owned coffee place to stay warm. Tiring as the incessant commercialism was, she felt a little more chronologically grounded being surrounded by hanging lights, last-minute shoppers, and wreaths. It felt like a nice and proper Christmas.
Danielle, utterly engulfed in a glaring orange eyesore of a scarf Jack had knitted her, blew into her hot chocolate and watched a man in a Santa suit chime his bell for donations. “So…are Mads and Jack like that every year?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Jazz confirmed tiredly.
Lagging behind them, Danny grumbled. “'Tis the season.”
“But they can’t actually be fighting about Santa Claus right? It’s gotta be like…a metaphor for something.”
Jazz sighed. “They’ve been doing it since I was little. I think it started because Mom didn’t want to raise us on “fairy tales” and Dad was more for the traditional ‘magic of season’ kind of Christmas like he had with his family. I guess it sort of snowballed over their personal belief-systems. Mom’s a hardcore scientist that doesn’t believe in anything without observable evidence and a peer-reviewed study, while Dad insists on room for faith and is willing to give anything the benefit of the doubt.”
“Wow,” Dani said. “That sounds…really deep.”
“Not really. They’re seriously just arguing about Santa Claus.”
Even though you only have eyes for Dean, he begins to get jealous of how close you and Sam are. Request **transfer from my old SPN site***
Dean x Reader
“I really don’t see why this hunt is going to take so long. It’s a salt and burn, right?” Dean asks you as you sit at the table behind your laptop.
“Yeah, it is, but the problem is the bones are buries somewhere on the grounds of the Inn… and we don’t know exactly where. So we have to look around and find them.” You sighed. You greatly disliked guessing games.
“Do we even know who this ghost was? He’s terrorizing the entire Inn, not just a room. Do we know why?”
“Yeah, Sam did some research and came up with three guys who’ve gone missing in this same Inn in the last fifty years.” You started to explain, when the bathroom door of the motel opened and Sam came out, wearing nothing but a towel. You glanced over at him, then back to the laptop. Dean frowned.
“Will you put some clothes on Sam? Jesus. We have company.” Dean sighed loudly.
The opening of the park was a monumental shitstorm that almost killed the company. Walt Disney had arranged for the entire day to be broadcast live on television – the roster included an endless stream of musical acts, a tour of the park, and (naturally) a go-kart race between Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra. It was like he was daring the universe to wreck his shit. The universe immediately obliged.
When the turnstiles opened, the park was besieged by a swarm of 28,000 ticket-holders … which was weird, because they’d only sold 15,000 tickets. As it turns out, some scamp (as all criminals were referred to back in those days) had printed and sold an extra 13,000 counterfeit tickets. It didn’t get any better. The overwhelming number of people meant that every food stall in the park soon sold out, leaving starved visitors on the verge of eating Donald Duck.
The park’s hasty construction didn’t help matters. The plumbing soon ground to a halt on account of a local strike that left the water fountains dry, while the freshly laid tarmac paths turned into a sticky, people-trapping mess. It’s even rumored that a visitor’s poodle was completely enveloped in thatSwamp of Sadness.
i may smile but i cry way down deep inside i think about suicide ending this roller-coaster ride i look at them and lie i’m fine i’m great just walk away don’t hesitate i’m falling apart but that’s okay just another day as i lay here and cry till the fountain runs dry i may lie and i may die i may shout and i may cry i may run and i may hide just let me die just let me die
AN: A CSer prompted this on the CS and SF tag - so voila! Very angsty.
“So,” Emma remarked, folding her arms against her chest. “This is hell.”
“The underworld,” Henry corrected. “Different result. Tartarus would be closer to hell.”
Emma gave her son a half-smile as she surveyed her surroundings. The underworld was…unexpected. No fiery pits of lava, no demons cavorting about, tormenting doomed souls—by all accounts, it looked like Kansas. A wide stretch of land, bleak, swaying grasses from a wind she couldn’t feel It was disturbing how familiar the underworld was, reminding her of the boring stretches she had on her road trips with Neal.