however my mother

He said I didn't have the right to refuse him

I was a sophomore in high school when this boy moved from D.R. and was enrolled in my class. He was a real sweetie, barely spoke English but I spoke Spanish so we started to kind of be friends. We hung out a few times when he told me he had fallen in love with me over facebook. I told him that his gesture was sweet but I wasn’t interested in him. That’s when he became very agressive and nasty. He told me that I was his woman and I didn’t have the right to refuse him. Me, being the smart ass I am, told him that if he had a problem with me not wanting to be with him then we can just not be friends anymore. He blew up my phone constantly for two hours after I told him off. I ignored him knowing that I had to see him in class the next day. Right when I was about to walk into the class we shared, I was pulled by my backpack and shoved into the lockers. He had me pinned and was threatening me  that if he couldn’t have me then nobody could. I pushed him and he grabbed my wrists. Thank god another student saw and pulled him off of me. The principal got involved and called both our parents. His mother gave me a deathstare the entire time asking me why I was leading on her son. However, my mother was not to be messed with. My mother then grilled her telling her she needs to show her son how to respect women and that we would be pressing charges. I showed my principal the messages he sent me and then they took his phone and saw the same things. He was arrested for assault after the cameras showed him pushing me and touching me.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m so sorry. For everything. For how you were born, for how I handled it, how I shut you out. It was horrible of me, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing, but as horrible as it was, I wouldn’t trade it for anything, because… you’re here now, and you’re beautiful, and it’s a miracle that someone like you could come out of all that. And I wouldn’t give you up for anything.” independent norma louise bates & dylan john massett of a&e’s chilling series ‘bates motel.’

Nothin' Like Me

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: BAD BOY AU, angst, action, slight humour, fluff, light smut (well honestly idk it kinda escalates?)  minor swearing (oh yeah curse words r gonna fly around in the intro) /  Jungkook ‘reunion’ scenario + regaining memories au

Word Count: 7892K  || inspired/not requested || drabble/oneshot

Keywords: Street fight , His loft , Front door.

Summary: You return home to Seoul from travelling the world to find yourself but you only discover the male leaning on his motorcycle was the one you should’ve gave all of your love to, not the countries you’ve been. And it follows with a ring, this adds to the situation and it wasn’t a pleasant one.

Self Note: Someone save me like nowadays I’m reblogging more Jungkook stuff oH MY GOD HE’S SUCH A BIAS WRECKER UgH (especially in that gif like OH MAN). This took FOREVER TO WRITE omGgG, it has a legit storyline &  this is my first ever badboy! Jungkook version. Your welcome to send me feedback, it would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy reading♡♡;D & HAPPY NEW YEAR! xxx

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” The unkept male sneers, rolling up his sleeves as he gritted his teeth as he came around the hood of his broken down car, wanting to start a fight with the other male leaning on his motorcycle as they were both opposite the entrance of the airport. Charcoal colour coated the other male’s marble body, silk black leather jacket, trailing down towards his ripped jeans, earrings were silver singular small loops and onyx gemstone hair making his ice cutting orbs remain hard fixed towards the middle aged man asking the question mockingly, ripping away patience and tranquility at that split second.

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anonymous asked:

When has Jensen ever unnecessarily touched misha? I think it's always misha doing the unnecessary touching lol

I ship Cockles like I’m floating a boat in the ocean itself, so I can’t say this post will be entirely objective (it’s really not at all). there is, however, some input from my mother, who absolutely does not ship the thing.

short answer to your question: Jensen touches Misha unnecessarily all the time.

let me start by providing examples from convention photo ops: here! or here!

or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here or here (seriously, that last one. in what universe is that considered a necessary touch?)

but boy, that barely skims the surface. don’t even get me started on the gifs

may I introduce you to Mr “get your stupid adorable face away from me” Ackles

and Mr “omfg!! Misha is the funniest thing that ever happened to me – oops I touched him!!!! oh god frick what do I do with my hands now??” Ackles

Mr “were you born in a barn?” Ackles

Mr “I wanted to kiss you but I had to detour and kiss Jim Beaver first in case anyone noticed I made a beeline for you” Ackles (+ this)

Mr “I like your stubble, also hello people at home, this is my pet Misha he is mine” Ackles

Mr “quit moving Dmitri I’m trying to grope your ass” Ackles (don’t believe what you’re seeing? look at this)

Mr “I’mma spread my legs really fuckin wide to make room for my massive balls but actually I’m just trying to noogie your knee with my knee” Ackles

Mr “look at my buddy here with his nice suit and strong shoulders that feel super sturdy when I pat them” Ackles (x)

Mr “look out haters!! check out how much I love this guy!!” Ackles

and these??? 99% sure they’re unscripted 

(also this and this)

(or that time Jensen went in for a kiss)

and lest we forget this gem:

Mr “I drape myself over you as a testament to my cuddly blanket-like affection” Ackles

the point is, while it’s true that Misha touches Jensen A LOT, Jensen also touches Misha A LOT. between the two of them they average out touching each other A HELLUVA LOT. Jensen’s touches tend to be “accidental” or “I swear I had a purpose with this” most of the time, or he attempts to hide them or make them look jokey, whereas Misha doesn’t conceal that he touches Jensen to reassure him or comfort him or to provoke him. Jensen doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing other than “I must touch him any way I can”.

and he goes out of his way to do it, too. he’ll reach over extraordinary distances just to make a tiny bit of contact, or change direction on the stage, or align himself in exactly the right way so he can put his hands on Misha while a fan is between them. it’s quite impressive the effort he puts into it, really. or maybe it’s effortless. maybe it’s natural for him and he doesn’t even think about it - which makes the fact he does it so often even more interesting.

my mother is determined to sink the good ship Cockles, and assures me that Jensen only touches Misha so much because he’s shy and nervous and he needs security.

well, not to disappoint her or anything, but that is a perfectly valid reason to touch someone. if Jensen’s touching Misha for security… goddamn, that’s adorable.

and calling them security-related touches doesn’t negate the fact that Jensen touches Misha practically all the time if he can get away with it.

(see: nearly all photo ops where they’re together).

I also think they’re slightly possessive touches, particularly in the photo ops, and with the face-stroking. Misha gives himself to other people a lot, he kind of throws his soul at them sometimes, so Jensen does he best to ground him, and grounds himself while he’s at it.

Jensen said at jibcon that he used to hold himself back from fans and not let the love in - and I think these touches are a way to remind both Misha and himself that “we have to stick together and hold tight so we don’t lose ourselves to this friendly but scary, slightly invasive bunch of people”.

what’s classified as a “necessary” touch, though? looking at these images, I’d say the majority of touches outside of the photo ops are not specifically meant to be comforting, reassuring, life-affirming, used to help, aid or abet in any way, nor are they obviously for Misha’s benefit. it rather seems as though Jensen touches Misha just because he likes it and he can.

does that make them necessary? …well, Jensen seems to think so.


Helion x Lady of Autumn, who doesn’t have a name and I couldn’t remember what she looks like…

As for her personality in this, I think while at the autumn court she kind of retreated into herself. Once beron is dead, I expect she would return to her former personality though she’d have some demons. Basically, her personality here is how I imagine she was pre-beronthedickbag.

Let me know what you think.

The news of Eris overthrowing his father spread through the land like wildfire. It wasn’t long before the news reached Helion, whispered in his ear by a courtier. It took every ounce of his self-control to remain passive, to not react.

It didn’t last long.

Thunder cracked as he winnowed to the Autumn Court. The other High Lords were gathered, waiting to see who would become High Lord. When Helion glanced at the Night Court retinue, he couldn’t decide who was less happy to be there: Lucien or Morrigan. By some stroke of fate, Lucien turned to face him at that moment.

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alcor-a5v  asked:

I'm not a real fan of hugs, especially ones I think unnecessary, but I do sometimes make exceptions for my huggy friend and parents (though they are the ones usually doing the actual hugging tbh). However, my mother and I have an alternative where we twist our index fingers together and call it a "finger hug", which works for me. Since Levi isn't a fan of intimate hugging, do you think he instead would be more comfortable preforming my alternative with a significant other? (cough Eren cough)

That sounds great! I’m happy you found an alternative! I can imagine Levi being down for something like this as well! But only with people he trusts.

anonymous asked:

I am convinced that Lena Luther is Asami Sato. The way she played chess is Asami playing Pai sho

Yup. She gets more Asami-ish every time we’re around her, to the point where it’s really getting creepy. I’m half-expecting her next episode to include, “it’s time to take down my mother!!”

However, Lena might be even thirstier than our girl, which I didn’t realize was possible. She has a lot less chill with the romantic gestures, at any rate. 

“I suppose it is worth taking a minute to clarify…”

“…so let’s talk about mana flares!”

“I’m sure any unicorns in the audience will be familiar with this term, but the rest of you might be confused. Mana flares are what happen when a unicorn tries to focus too much magical energy – or “mana” - into casting a spell, and doesn’t discharge the magic correctly. The result is a huge, magical explosion that can do almost anything to the caster or the caster’s surroundings! It allows the caster to preform nightmares and miracles that even the most experienced mages would never be capable of. Unfortunately, mana flares are entirely uncontrollable, and occur most commonly in foals, so they usually serve as an inconvenience – an inconvenience that sometimes ends with fatalities, that is.”  

“I was fortunate enough to avoid frying myself or my mother with energy, and no lasting harm was even done to the library that had surrounded me. A number of priceless books suffered a few scorched pages, but I was never confronted over that, so I tend to not worry about it.”

“As my horn lit up and exploded with light, I was told Dr. Knack protected my mother and herself with a shielding spell. The mage had to hold my mom back from trying to help me, knowing it was always best to let a flare run its course. Otherwise, the spell that was building up inside me could’ve affected her, too. When I was younger, I wished it had.”

“Alas, it did not. In fact, the flare didn’t even seem to have had an effect on me at the time. It did, however, cause my mother to finally realize how bad of an idea this all was. She assured Dr. Knack that she had plenty of material for her article before requesting the mage’s assistance in escorting us to the exit. I was told that Mom then propped me on her back, trying to carry my exhausted self as inconspicuously as she could. The moment we exited the Ministry, however, she broke into a sprint, taking me straight to our family’s private physician. After explaining what had happened (and leaving out the more illicit details of the story), our doctor assured her that mana flares were extremely common for colts of my age, and that – as long as I spent the rest of the day in bed while refraining from attempting to use my horn for any purpose whatsoever – I would be fine. This news officially cancelled our trip to the park, and I – as groggy as I was from how the incident had drained me – found that to be the day’s leading blow of bad news. From there, we returned home, and I was tucked back into bed while the sun was still high in the sky. It would’ve been the worst day ever, but Mom brought me cookies from a local bakery later, and that made things a lot better.”

“That was the last day of my life as a tiny. The spell my mana flare left inside me began taking effect very slowly, and I only noticed it once I woke up the next morning. My eyes had opened to the strange sensation of walls closing in on me. My bedroom in our mansion had been huge, but, that morning, I was hardly able to stand without brushing the tip of my horn against the ceiling. The frame of my bed had cracked beneath me in my sleep, and my hind legs had outgrown the mattress that usually seemed excessively large for a colt of my size. At first, I thought I had just finished growing up really fast, but – in confronting a terrified servant who crossed me on my way to breakfast – I was informed that life didn’t work like that. He redirected me to my mother, and she was mortified to see what had become of my little self. I, on the other hoof, was practically hopping with excitement. In a single night, I had become one of the largest ponies in Canterlot, and that would only be the beginning of my story.”

[This post will be followed by a brief conclusion that will wrap up the details of Snap’s growth story. Thankfully, there is much more to learn about Snap beyond how he grew, so I will continue answering regular questions once my conclusion is out of the way. Lastly, the final image in this post was drawn by @goattrain, and I would like to thank him kindly for his awesome edition to this tale.]

Any Road Up - Part 3

From this prompt list:

25) “I swear, I’m not crazy!!!”

-warning for explicit language, some slurs and that this got way out of hand-

Part One | Part Two | Part Three


I’m sat outside Alfie Solomon’s bakery trying my hardest to find out anything I can about him.

I’d set out my feelers for any information that was making it’s way through the streets about Solomons as soon as Tommy had asked me, but only heard endorsements of what I already knew; next to nothing.

The only useful thing I got was the confirmation of where his bakery was (and I classed it as very useful because i’d have walked straight passed this fucking place,) and the name of his right-hand man; Ollie.

Usually the next step would have been just a case of listening out for rumblings of gossip from the people working for him and taking it from there, but I’ve not been able to do that here.

No, here it’s silent; downtrodden men with their eyes on the ground rolling barrels through the courtyard, (that’s another thing, fucking barrels outside a ‘bakery’; must try harder Mr Solomons.)

It worries me a little that seeing these clearly persecuted men just excites me to meet the head of this organisation, and I’ve taken to filling the silences of the day with fantasising about what he might be like, and I’m busy imagining a tall, muscular, fair haired man in a sharp suit when I hear it.

“Ollie, in!”

I don’t even have to see him to know that the voice came from Alfie Solomons himself, and when I finally clock him limping back inside with his grotty waistcoat and worn shirt i’m a little disappointed. He’s no Thomas Shelby let’s put it that way.

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When this all started, I was weak. My family protected me and took care of me. I fell into a depression and would hole up in my room and not come out for days. My dad finally taught me how to shoot a gun, but it didn’t ease my fear much.

I couldn’t bear to have my glasses on. Seeing and recognizing the familiar faces of everyone I knew, mutilated and reanimated by the disease. Seeing every blood stain on the street. Seeing what lies inside every broken window. My glasses have been sitting on my desk collecting dust for months.

Today, however..

Today my mother lies dead on the kitchen floor, and the infected who killed her have almost broken down my bedroom door. Today it’s almost dark and my father and brother still haven’t come home from their supply run.

I can’t aim very well without my glasses.

Today I have to see this world for what it really is. No more blur.

anonymous asked:

I'm going to turn 18 in a month. At the moment, I have regular doctors appointments for birth control. My mother, however, works in the same hospital, and is friends with the doctor I see. How safe is it for me to come out to my doctor after I turn 18? Would it be better to bite the bullet and come out to my parents first? I haven't been able to find a job yet (it's a small town, everybody's graduating and looking for jobs) and I wanted to wait until I had income, in case of the worst happening.

Kii says:

If you are 18, it’s illegal for your doctor to share any info with your parents without your consent, so just be explicit with them that you don’t want your parents to know when you tell your doctor, and they’re not allowed to share that information.

So @eileenthequeen, I saw your tags about the goat thing on my Rromani FAQ post and it reminded me to tell you guys the story about my ridiculous goat so here we go: 

When I was little, my family was living in New Jersey for a while (USA) and we had a farm. Idk if it’s just my family or if it’s normal or whatever but we’ve always had horses and I had a goat friend named Rochelle (Chelley). Now, this goat was fucking fearless. I had a swing set with this totally awesome slide, and Chelley would literally climb the ladder and go down the slide. But that is not what this story is about. 

So, one night we had this ridiculous storm. It knocked out the power where we lived, trees fell down and broke the fences on the horse paddocks, and one tree in particular caught fire because of lightning. The horses bolted into the woods, so my folks went and rounded up the neighbours to help track down the horses. They also noticed that Chelley the Goat was missing. She had been in a stall in the barn that night, so they figured she got scared and somehow managed to jump the wall and get out of the barn. Not surprising for a goat who can climb a fucking ladder, tbh. 

They looked for the animals all night and managed to find all of the horses (I think we had like twelve at the time???), but there was not a single sign of this fucking goat. However, my mother, in all her fucking practicality, had put a fucking collar on my goat with a name tag and our address and phone number (who the hell puts a collar and a name tag on a goat??? daje, that’s who). So she figured they would call it a night and if someone found her, they would call. 

Flash forward to the next afternoon. 

My mother gets a phone call from somebody at the Delaware Memorial Bridge toll booth authority or whatever they’re called. Chelley. My motherfucking goat. This badass cabra motherfucker had cROSSED THE FUCKING DELAWARE MEMORIAL BRIDGE (FOUR MILES AWAY DOWN I-95) AND WAS BEING HELD AT THE FUCKING BRIDGE AUTHORITY UNTIL SOMEBODY COULD PICK HER UP. 

For reference, here is a picture of the bridge that was conquered by a fucking nanny goat.
My Mother's Courage Inspired Me to Become the Man I Am Today

My mother went to check up on Peter that night and we soon learnt that he was dying from AIDS. The entire neighborhood instantly withdrew from him in revulsion. My mother, however, went to see him every day. She kept him company, cooked for him and shared stories to lift his mood. When Peter was eventually hospitalized, my mother would wait impatiently for my father to come home after work so that they could drive down to see him. Peter’s family in Germany didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He had abandoned them all those years ago and they were still clinging to their anger, not caring that the man was dying from a cruel and dehumanizing disease. In the end, the only person at his bedside when he died was my mother.

It was only when I grew up that I fully understood the extent of my mother’s kindness and courage. As Somalis, our mainstream culture is modeled on extremely orthodox and conservative values. There are only straight lines. Coloring outside the box is taboo, and when I was younger and Peter was dying, people were quick to remind my mother that she was stepping out of line to help him. I once asked her why she did it, why she helped Peter in the face of tremendous hostility from our family members and community. Her answer was straightforward. “This man is a human being. It is my Islamic duty to help him.”

Years later, after I came out as gay to my family, most of them were quick to disown me. My mother, however, refused to give up on me. I had always imagined that my father — a liberal former professor — with his multiple degrees, cosmopolitan savvy and fluency in five languages would be supportive. But in an eerie parallel to the way our neighbors in Nairobi had reacted when they first heard that Peter was dying from AIDS, my father recoiled from me in disgust when I came out. Echoing the same generosity of spirit and loyalty that she had once shown Peter, my mother, who did not possess multiple degrees or fluency in five languages, stood by me again and again whilst facing pressure from everyone around her.

My mother reminds me everyday that human kindness and empathy have no borderlines. This is not an abstract conceit mired in convoluted politics. It’s an elementary part of being cognizant and alive. I’m proud of the life I have built for myself from the detritus of trauma and rejection. I’ve grown up to become exactly the man I dreamt I would be when I was a child. I thank my mother for lighting the way.

Diriye Osman’s is a gay Somali man and his critically-acclaimed collection of short stories about the LGBTQ+ Somali experience, “Fairytales For Lost Children”, is out now and available on Amazon.

The Corrupted

“It was the first fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he can become himself. Such fissure and rents grow together again heal and are forgotten, but in the most secret recesses they continue to live and bleed.”

Kim Taehyung // Character Introduction

Rated: M+, mature content

Warnings: Events of physical and emotional abuse, suggested suicide, alcohol consumption and smoking. 

Originally posted by the-rap-man

 It’s been about three days since I’ve bothered returning home. Just the thought of it twisted my insides; I walked down the familiar alleyways that filled my nostrils with the stench of an unwelcome homecoming. Recently my close friend, Hoseok, had been breathing down my neck until finally I caved promising to see my mother.  

It got me thinking, human beings are interesting. In my 21 years of life, I have come to notice how we all choose to be unhappy or how we all allow others to let us be unhappy because of the concept we were taught about since birth. The concept of love, bonds we make with others should matter more than the bonds you make with yourself. I passed by a small shop and as I looked, inside a child was crying to his mother about a toy he couldn’t have while the mother ignored him and his obvious need for the small plastic figure. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the coins I carried to see I had only two dollars. I sighed, not even I could help the child find his happiness. I too, have become someone who turned his back on a person’s cry for help, a cry for a way out in need of a direction, of a small light to make them smile.

I continued walking kicking pebbles with my old snickers. I felt my feet grow heavier and my steps become slower and smaller. With a couple more turns I would be home. Knowing this, my stomach twisted. I was going back to my unhappiness for the “happiness” of my mother and the sake of the bond I created with a dear friend. Humans really are interesting or rather, really stupid. With the freedom to choose we can be tremendously happy or tremendously unhappy. This freedom is hazardous, this freedom is a dangerous disease because you have no one to blame when looking back, you notice at the end of the day you were responsible.

I now stood at the scratched cherry red door that brought back too many memories that should be buried deep. I felt the need to turn back and never return, however the cries of my mother kept me from moving one inch back.

“Honey please, I’m sorry I’ll clean it up!” There was a loud crashing sound, I busted through the doors in time to stop my drunken father from hitting my mother.  “You ungrateful brat why are you even here no one wants you! You’re nothing but a mistake!” Once again, just like everyday, my father’s groggy voice, filled with hate and the stench of alcohol increased as he laid a punch on my ribs I knew that tonight would be another sleepless night, another night with the pain of not being able to fight back. I noticed at how weak mother looked- so small, so pale, her beaten face painted with fear and blood. She looked so desperate and in need of help and saving, her swollen, bruised eyes shed tears, just as they did everyday. “Do the world a favor and kill yourself!” The last of his abuse struck my jaw making me fall on my knees, holding my swollen ribs while a pool of drool and mixed blood escaped my mouth. Tired he wobbled to the wall, sliding down opening another bottle. He scoffed it down without a hint of shame. Mother had left to her bedroom while I silently curled up on the floor, what have I done to be put in this life?

I thought back to the other day, I was sitting under a tree, watching children play on the slides and swings, their parents happily chasing and pushing them and, as the sun began to set, they left holding hands while I was left feeling nothing but pure, pure envy. So why is it that I was stuck in this small shoe-sized apartment, hugging myself trying to think about anything but my broken ribs and sprained swollen jaw? Why was it that to my mother who had never committed even the smallest of sin, married someone so dark and gave birth to such a weak son who was only good at getting beat? Tears rolled down my face, not from the pain or misery, but out of pure habit. After a while of hating myself more than I already do, I stood once I knew I had enough strength to walk. “There you go running away like a coward. Do us a favor, don’t ever return you’re nothing but a burden.” Those final threats no longer meant anything to me.

I ran out not having a plan or knowing where I was headed but as long as I wasn’t there, I’m sure I can find my small happiness.

       <A Summary>    <The Liar: Kim Namjoon>

lunarian-sim  asked:

Sasha, what do you know about your mother? ;__;

Sasha: Well, recently I just found out my biological mother died having me, so that’s as far as I know about that one. My mother however, is the most beautiful human ever, she taught me how to play the piano/guitar, she likes to garden, she always would send me neatly packed lunches in the worst bags ever. (She still somehow made them work). She also forced me to do gymnastic when I was 8. I am very grateful about her, I just kinda wish I could’ve met my real one; perhaps she would’ve done all those things and more…

My mom often complains that her cell phone battery sucks and it dies REALLY fast, like so fast that she has to charge it at least twice a day. Today I discovered why.

So I had to stay a little later than planned at work today, meaning that my mom beat me home. When I arrived, we sat and talked a while and eventually got around to what we wanted for dinner. Since my mom needed to get gas anyway, we decided to place an order at Pizza Hut, which is literally right beside one of the gas stations she likes. We put in the call and off we go.

On the way, my mom hands me her phone and tells me to text @fini-mun to ensure that he knows we’re out to get food so he won’t make something else for himself in the meantime. After sending the text, I get a song stuck in my head that I’ve been listening to a lot lately, so I wake the phone back up to go listen. Fortunately for this story, my preferred method of listening to music is through YouTube.

I’m not a fan of the YouTube app, so I tend to go through a browser. My mom uses Chrome, so I open it up and go to open a new tab, as I consider that the courteous thing to do when using someone else’s device. However, when I click the tabs button, the phone starts flickering so badly I’m glad I don’t have epilepsy. At first I thought the phone was just generally freaking out, but the longer I watched, the more I realized that the flickering was her tabs loading. Tab after tab after tab after tab. AFTER TAB AFTER TAB AFTER TAB AFTER TAB.

I incredulously ask my mom why the fuck she has so many tabs open, and she disinterestedly tells me she “hasn’t cleared them in a while”. I start scrolling through them, and the more I read what they actually are, the more I realize just how true that statement is. It’s almost been a year since she’s closed any tabs. She had tabs from before the Rio Olympics. There were over a dozen tabs just of the webcam for April the giraffe.

By this time my mom’s pumping gas, so I start closing tabs. Not all at once, though; I had to know just how many tabs she had open, so I closed them one at a time to count them. “But Sally-mun, why not just check the tab button? It’s supposed to tell you how many tabs you have open.” Yeah, it is supposed to, isn’t it? However, my mother had so many fucking tabs open it couldn’t display a number. Sometimes it was just a square, and sometimes it got weird and made a “:D” face instead. I should’ve taken a screenshot just to prove this actually happened, it was fucking absurd.

So one by one I’m closing tabs and quietly counting to myself. My mom gets her gas and gets back in the car. I’m still counting. We coast over to pizza hut and my mom goes in. I’m still counting. She returns with the pizzas and slides them into my lap. Stiiiill counting. Before going home we drove through McDonald’s for fountain pops. I’M STILL FUCKING COUNTING.

When I got to 200, I told myself I wasn’t going to count any higher. 200 was more than enough to evoke the necessary shock and awe this store requires, but after a moment I realized that I couldn’t just leave it at that. I… I had to know for sure. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t know exactly how big of a mess my mother’s phone had gotten into. I started counting again. We were almost home by the time I finished.

481. She had 481 tabs open in her browser.

My mother works in the IT field. She’s been in that field since I was a little kid. SHE’S the one that informed ME when I got a smart phone that having too many tabs open can drain your battery.

Why, mother. Why would you do this to yourself.

Imagine becoming pregnant after bedding both Thranduil and Bard

“You’ve been sick for the past two days, are you sure you’re fine?” Was the question you’d been asked by almost everyone you knew. First, from Bilbo, then Thorin, and now Tauriel and Sigrid. “We just survived a battle with orcs and Azog. Both elvish, human, and dwarfish blood has been spilled, of course I’m not going to be excellent,” you snap back, groaning as the three of you make your way to Erebor where a feast was being for the three kings. Two of them were your lovers, King Bard and King Thranduil, who it happened you couldn’t remember. But you did know that you were going to be the ones to end it, it was too much. While you had no problems with being in a polyamorous relationship, you didn’t want to risk Bard and Thranduil’s reputation.

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