eighty eight days

Day Eighty-Eight

-Two men in their forties came through in complete hunting regalia save for one’s bright pink boots to purchase two Hot Wheels cars. Specifically, they bought the Roller Toaster, a toaster on wheels. I applaud their taste in toys and fashion.

-I would like to apologize for whatever I am doing to give the impression that, when I reach out to offer change, I am offering my hand to hold. Several elderly women have acted upon these unintentional signals and none of us have been happy about it. 

-Someone stamped a Decepticon logo onto a series of twenty-dollar bills. This is the beginning.

-A hanger was labeled “NB.” I am thrilled that the store had begun to carry clothes outside of the gender binary, although I wished that they would make them for adults and not just newborns. 

-I handled several articles of clothing for infants and toddlers with taglines such as. “First Crush,” and, “Cutest Bachelor.” I am grateful that we as a culture begin forcing romance on our youth at such an early stage, lest they become queer, or worse, uninterested in relationships altogether.

-Nothing makes me happier than older guests shopping with their friends and insisting upon paying for each other’s purchases. Nothing makes me more stressed out than when the bickering escalates and I am forced to choose sides and accept one’s payment at the fury of the other.

-In the middle of paying, a woman pointed at Starbucks, loudly said, “Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh,” and then returned to her business without any acknowledgement to assure me that it had actually happened and was not a heat-induced hallucination.

-A woman approached me, informing me that I looked important and therefore must be a manager. The joke is on her, as I am but a lowly cashier, but appearances are half of the battle and this proves that my master plan is on the right path.

-I asked a man how he was. He looked me in the eye and replied, “I am but a man.” That will not be changing anytime soon if he keeps up this attitude.

The Fiddler on the Deck
The Fiddler on the Deck

365 days of music | day eighty-eight

The Fiddler on the Deck | Santiano

Now he’s the one who sings while the lubbers scrub the floor 
(Oh my, oh my, oh my)
And he’s the one who laughs when the storm begins to roar
(Oh my, oh my, oh my)
When his fiddle starts to play, better hide away
If you don’t wanna die
He is the one to blame when a mate goes overboard
(Oh my, oh my, oh my)


Day Eighty-eight, 08:00 hrs: Special Mission Report:

Gen. Kenobi and Gen. Skywalker contacted Ahsoka and Myself for a mission in the Port of Baltimore.

Our Mission was to meet an informant at the McCormick Spice Factory.

I should have know who our contact was as soon as they said “spice”

And so began our adventures with Hondo Ohnaka at Otakon.


Ahsoka @nmallenart
Hondo @coralsnake
Anakin @zhelly
Obi-Wan on Twitter: tobie1kenobi

Thirty Days - Chapter One

Group/Member: EXO/Sehun

Genre: angst   

Word Count: 1,588

Summary: sehun is a liar struggling to tell the truth.

Requested: no 

Author’s Note: this was a story i was writing for a long time, i was conflicted to post it or not but I guess I’ll post the first chapter and see how it goes 

- Admin Mel

Originally posted by kaisoh

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The Wanderer From Whom She Learned: Part I

A/N: This is this third part in a series about EXO, in which they are a wanderer, searching for their companion. I gained inspiration from the British television show Doctor Who. If you have seen the show, then some of the concepts will be familiar to you.

Kai (Pt. I & Pt. II)

Baekhyun (Pt. I & Pt. II)

New Orleans, 1957

“Ten…twenty…thirty…forty…fifty. There you go, kid. Spend it on something nice.” The club owner slapped the money in Chanyeol’s hand with a grin. The Wanderer towered over the bartender who barely reached his shoulder blade. Chanyeol’s body was much longer than he thought he’d ever had before, which made it easy for him to be spotted out by anyone. Thank God he wasn’t the type who enjoyed causing too much trouble.

“I’m going to put this money away with the rest. I plan on having my own shop soon.” His own shop. That’s all Chanyeol dreamt of since he’d awakened, cold and alone on the side of the street in the rising light of dawn. His fingers tingling with desire to run across eighty-eight keys. Since that day, he’d been saving every little penny he earned from playing in clubs and bars toward his own piano shop where he’d conduct lessons to other people with itchy fingers.

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Do you feel the storm that’s coming?

He finds her, finally, in the captain’s chair in the cockpit. The navicomputer is on, the blue light from the screen casting shadows in the pinched lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

Han Solo x Leia Organa. 2,037 words.

(read it while listening to wilco’s “black moon.”)

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Oliver’s third tour took him away from his family for longer than he’d wish on anyone. Ten months, he’d been gone, stationed in Afghanistan and then moved to Kandahar and back to Houston for some time at the base. Luckily, he was able to visit them on leave for two weeks. That didn’t really make his the remaining time easier, but it sure reminded him of what he had to live for.

He heard her giggles before he could actually see the tiny blonde girl running through the crowd, looking for him. He smiled, tears of happiness welling up and he couldn’t care less. It had been a long six months and he had missed his daughter each and every day he’d been gone.

“Daddy!” She squealed when she spotted him, waving around a piece of paper.

Oliver dropped his duffel bag without even thinking about it and stepped towards the four year-old. She sprinted into his arms, wrapping her little arms around his neck as tightly as she could when he scooped her up into his arms.

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Hartbig Fic: Drops of Jupiter

Hey guys, yup-ithappens sent me this fic to post for you all so you can still read it if you’d like.

Genre: Romance, NSFF

Word Count: 2,734

Author’s Note: So you all still have it if you want. It’s been really cool <3

Hannah stumbled out of bed, dragging her feet wearily across the hardwood floor of their bedroom, over the colorful striped rug and to her desk. She was dressed in one of Grace’s old “You’ve been Hazed!” T-shirts and red shorts and her hair had arranged itself into a messy abstract sculpture. She opened a drawer and lifted a notebook out of it, flipping directly to the last page and placing another tick mark next to countless others. Except they weren’t countless. Hannah knew exactly how many there were. Hannah knew.

“One hundred eighty-seven,” she exhaled, closing the notebook and placing it back in the drawer, shutting it away. One hundred eighty-seven days since she’d seen Grace. A small smile formed on her lips as she thought of the woman, and her eyes lit up. She went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea and grab a banana, then hopped up on the counter and leaned her head against the cabinets. She ate alone.

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