i want to get groceries like this

anonymous asked:

The smol and tol of Blue and Gansey's relationship is good and pure. Blue is the sort of strongly independent person to want to do everything herself so at the grocery store she's scaling shelves like a pro, balancing a jar of pickles, a box of cereal, and a package of off-brand cheez-its while Gansey's following behind straightening all the boxes she's knocked slightly askew and trying gallantly to reach things for her but not knowing exactly what she wants and grabbing the wrong things.

THIS IS SO PURE AND FUNNY AND GOOD. Can you imagine how many petty arguments they get into where Gansey is like “I’ll get it,” and Blue is like, “No, I’ll get it myself,” and fucking starts climbing onto the counter tops or the book shelf or the tree and Gansey is like biting his tongue because internally he’s like FUCK THIS IS DANGEROUS WHAT IF MY GIRLFRIEND FALLS but she’s pretty agile though he does constantly spot her every single time. 

Am I the only girl that gets annoyed by a lot of attention from men. Like I don’t mind a compliment here and there but fuck if I’m minding my business let me be. When I’m working out I just want to work out in peace. When I’m grocery shopping let me shop for my damn food in peace. If I’m sitting down eating (wherever) don’t bother, especially since I’m eating I will be a bitch to you. I just want men to realize that there is a time and a place to try and get a females attention. So when you see us in our own little zone minding our business that’s when it’s not a good time.

But don’t get us wrong men we appreciate the compliments you give us.

what would you guys say is a decent entry level job to go for if i need a relatively low stress environment. like honestly a goal would be just mindlessly filing paperwork all day i love putting things in alphabetical order but i cant think of too much else, i need low stress bc high stress sets off my ibs and makes me incapable of doing anything other than painfully shitting for an hour. i just want something decent with okay pay not looking for much just something to get me by w/ groceries and things while in school

So I need a sequel to Dream Daddy where you have to go through life being all domestic and shit and basically growing old with one (or more) or the dads. Like I just need a blended family type game where you’re raising Amanda and with her new siblings and you legit have a marriage ceremony to your new husband and you get in easily resolved arguments with him and you go grocery shopping with him and you attend school graduations with him and you go through hard times with him and you just go through like 40+ years with him until one (or both) of you die. 

i NEED DOMESTIC QUEER SIM GAMES OKAY

I tell everyone this and I mean it. Buy a journal. Carry it with you everywhere you go. And I mean everywhere. Write about your favorite moments, your least favorite moments, ideas, grocery lists, people you’ve met, strangers you’ve walked past on the street, favorite quotes, words to remember, what the sky looked like at 7pm, new songs you’ve discovered and what they mean to you, your childhood, places you want to go or places you’ve been, write about your passions, how you feel in this exact moment, draw out the mountains, scribble all over the pages. And when that one gets full, buy a new one. Reread it in 2 years, 20 years, when you need a good laugh, when you’re crying on your bathroom floor, read it to your children. You need to remember these moments in your life. They are so important.

  • Belle: Papa, do you think I'm...odd?
  • Maurice: My daughter, odd? Now where would someone get an idea like that?
  • Belle: oh gee Papa
  • Belle: I dunno
  • Belle: Maybe it's the fact that every time I go into town literally the entire fucking village, including the children and the fucking criminals, performs a perfectly synchronized, highly choreographed number about how much they all hate me and think I'm weird
  • Belle: every fucking morning
  • Belle: I just want to get some groceries Papa
You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt

Masterlist linked in bio


If there’s one thing Y/n can’t stand, it’s pity. Which is unfortunate for her, considering that’s all she’s been receiving ever since Harry had broken up with her.

Between her family, her friends, and long-known acquaintances, the pity was never ending. The looks people gave her whenever she occupied a room made her sick to her stomach. Nobody looked at her the way they used to as if their perception of her has been altered from a beautiful, humble woman to a broken heart on legs.

Talking to people didn’t help much, either, considering their irrational fear that one harsh tone could wreck what’s left of her. To those, her identity and name have seemed to be forgotten, only to be replaced by “the girl left with a broken heart, who’s heart has failed to mend.”

It’s all a myth, really—a myth that hasn’t been confirmed or denied within the past four months. Y/n provided no reassurance for anybody, nor did she show any improvement since their break up. But she did try her best. Her attempts to answer the question, “how have you been, you know, since the breakup and all?” with an “I’ve been okay” filled with lies didn’t go unnoticed, however, proved to be unsuccessful.

And the pity only got worse when Harry got a new girlfriend.

It was plastered everywhere, the rumors that Harry’s new girlfriend stayed at his hotel in Los Angeles and traveled with him back to London. They disclosed that her name was Jessica, who works as a travel blogger.

She was beautiful, too. More beautiful than she wanted her to be, as selfish as it was. She was the perfect image for him, especially at the height of his career.

Y/n’s heart hit rock bottom that day. Every unblemished part of it became a ruin, a shattered piece of what was once so full and whole.

Y/n hadn’t expected it, not this fast, at least. When Harry initiated the breakup, he told her that it wasn’t the end of their relationship. He had promised her that with the right amount of distance, all the problems they’ve had in their relationship would be fixed entirely.

She believed him, too. That with maybe some time apart, their bitterness towards each other would decease, and all that would remain would be the overwhelming needs for one another.

She should have never been so gullible. After they broke up, they never spoke to each other again. All their ties had been cut, leaving them both hanging in completely separate lives. Y/n never got over him. How could she? They were soulmates, they were each other’s everything. No matter what came at them, they always found a way back to one another.

But Harry’s fame started skyrocketing, leaving Y/n on the ground with no way to reach him anymore. She should have known he’d find someone else—someone more worthy of his time. She just didn’t want to believe it and didn’t want to believe that it had happened so soon.

“How are you feeling?” Gabby asks, reaching over the wooden table so that her fingers can rest on top of Y/n’s hand; a small gesture that Gabby has been giving Y/n nearly every day for the past four months.

Y/n wishes she found it as comfortable as it intended to be, however she can’t help feeling worse whenever Gabby did so. The gesture undoubtedly derives from the pity Gabby has had toward her ever since the breakup. Everything was because of pity.

She looks down at her cold, untouched hot chocolate as she swirls the straw along the brim, resisting to roll her eyes as it’s the only question everybody has seemed to ask her recently.

“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing’s really changed.”

Gabby gives her a half smile before returning to her tea. The cafe is only occupied by the both of them, considering it’s 7 in the morning on a Sunday. But after everything that’s happened, Y/n’s sleep schedule has been slacking and Gabby wanted nothing more than to be there for Y/n whenever she had the chance.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Gabby asks. “It’s on me if you want anything.”

Y/n shrugs again, a faint yawn falling from her mouth as she shakes her head.

“No, I’m okay. I think I’ll make some waffles when I get home. But I’ll need to stop at the grocery store before I leave. Ran out of milk and flour the other day.”

“We could stop by now if you’d like. I’m getting quite full, anyways.”

“Yeah, sure” Y/n nods, “sounds fine.”


The entrance doors chime when Y/n and Gabby enter the grocery store, barely any people filling the aisles at such hours. Neither of them speak much before they go their separate ways, grabbing all the necessary ingredients Y/n needs for when she gets home.

When she finds flour on one of the bottom shelves, Y/n bends down to grab the cheapest one she could find. In all honesty, she didn’t have a lot of money to spend since she took some time off of work for “mental health reasons,” and she wanted nothing more than to go back home and spend the rest of her day in bed.

When she stands back up from her squatting position, her body rams into somebody else’s, making everything they both were carrying fall onto the floor.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Y/n gasps, scrambling to pick up the ingredients that have fallen from the girl’s arms.

When Y/n stands back up to return her fallen items, it was as if every nightmare Y/n has ever had was standing right in front of her.

She’d recognize her face anywhere. It haunted her everywhere she went; mocking her and destroying every last bit of her wellbeing. Her face is unforgettable, having been ingrained into her head for so long now. She’s exactly how she is in her pictures, except she’s so much more beautiful in person.

It’s when Y/n’s eyes drift down to the shirt she’s wearing that takes the breath right from her lungs.

The word Lover printed inside of a red heart, the end of it hidden by the pocket right on her chest. It looked so unfamiliar on her—so unfamiliar that tears started piling in her eyes and her lips began to quiver.

That shirt was theirs. That shirt belonged to Y/n and Harry.

Lover.

It was a nickname Y/n always gave Harry. She would have normally settled for “babe” or “baby” like she did with her previous boyfriends, but “lover” came so naturally to her. It exemplified just how unique and rare their relationship was, too.

Harry had never been called that before, but there was something about it that felt so right. The first time she called him that, he blushed like no other. His cheeks and heart felt so warm, and Y/n wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. But no matter how much she joked about how much he blushed that night, it only made her call him that more.

And the more she said it, the more she realized that there was no other name to describe him.

She gave him the shirt for their first anniversary. She was insecure about it, considering it was the only gift she purchased him that year and wasn’t nearly as expensive as all the gifts Harry had given her. But after all the flowers she received had died months later, after all the chocolate he bought her had been eaten in two nights, after all the in-home spa treatments had been used by the both of them progressively throughout the months, and after all the sex they shared died down by the next morning, the only gift that remained so dearly to their hearts was that goddamn shirt.

The shirt became sentimental to their relationship and was almost used as a keepsake between the two of them. The mornings after making love, Y/n found herself slipping it on before rolling out of bed to make breakfast. Harry fell in love with her tendency to do so and always made sure she knew just how much he loved her for it.

This is my favorite look on you, he’d always say, where the shirt hung loosely from her frame and her skin scattered with the marks from his tongue.

Harry wore the shirt as a tradition, most commonly on their anniversaries or on any specific date that held such significance to their relationship. And every time Y/n saw him wearing it, she found it irresistible to kiss the heart designed right upon his chest.

My lover, she’d say, looks so perfect on you.

She never imagined anybody else in it. Even after they had broken up, she never thought the shirt would be passed down to later relationships Harry had with other women. When she moved out, he kept insisting that she should be the one to take it.


He looked down at the shirt all crinkled in his hands, the last compromise they had to make before Y/n officially moved out of their home. Her suitcases were packed neatly by the front door, the darkened sky from the storm waiting to approach making the house feel colder than it already had turned.

Y/n’s body was slumped against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes red with inevitable tears as they were forced to face the harsh reality of what was to come.

After three years of a relationship neither of them expected to end, Harry had insisted that they take a break from each other. With his career coming to its peak and Y/n spending most of her time in the office, their relationship was going through a rough patch that lasted far too long.

“You paid for this, you know,” Harry whispered, obstructing the silence that seemed to make the air around them thicker and harder to breathe, “this is yours, always has been.”

Y/n shook her head, a few loose tears falling from her face as she did so. In all honesty, she didn’t want to be reminded of it after this. It’s held so much meaning between the two of them throughout a majority of their years being together that she couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at it in her selection of wardrobe. Not when Harry won’t be by her side, not when Harry won’t be apart of her life anymore.

She placed her hand on top of his softly, stroking the knuckles of his clenched fingers with her thumb.

“It was ours. But when it comes down to it, I bought it for you. It was a gift, you should keep it.”

Harry clenched his fingers harsher against the fabric, his quivered lips attempting a small smile as he lifted it to his chest. His thumb traced the heart above the pocket, watching as one of his tears soak into the material.

“It looks better on you anyways.” Y/n tried to laugh through the silent cries, but neither of them had the heart to make light of the situation they were facing.

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at her while a small sigh fell from his lips.

“You know I’d never wear this again, right? Not until we find our way back to each other.”

Y/n’s shaken hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, her lips pursed together to ensure her broken sobs wouldn’t surface until she was alone in her car.

“Yeah, until we find our way back.”

She stood on her toes to reach his cheek, where she tentatively placed a kiss on the flushed skin.

“You’ll always be my lover.”


But looking back at it now, she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a grocery store, crying pathetically in front of a complete stranger if she had just taken the damn thing.

How could he do this to me?

“Babe, are these eggs alr—“

Harry’s words get caught in his throat when he sees Y/n standing in front of Jessica with tears streaming down her face and cries shaking her body.

At first, his instinct is to reach his hand out to her. But as his eyes follow her tearful gaze to Jessica’s shirt, which is far too large for her frame, but still being worn on her body, the realization hits him that it’s probably the last thing she would want.

He flutters his eyes shut as an unbearable feeling starts to rise in his stomach. This is the most unfortunate time to see Y/n again, and he can’t imagine how much hatred flowing through Y/n’s system as he stands there, cowardly silenced.

Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even a pathetic stutter of her name, or even a lift of his lips to greet her in the most minimal of ways.

The only thought swirling through Y/n’s mind is how could you not say anything to me? After everything you did, after what I’m witnessing now, how is there not one word to say?

He watches as pain settles in her eyes as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s begging for an explanation, or even an apology he doesn’t really mean. She’s just looking for something, and knowing that she’s not getting anything is taking all the remaining life out of her.  

But he has so much to say. There are so many apologies, so many thoughts all scrambling in his head that everything becomes incoherent. He wants to tell her how sorry he is, and how hard it is to live with himself after all that he’s done to her. He wants to tell her that he never gave her that fucking shirt, that Jessica found it in one of his drawers and put it on while he was still sleeping from the night before. He wants to tell her that it isn’t what it looks like, that it isn’t what everybody thinks this is. But his throat tightens and his tongue suddenly becomes numb, completely preventing him from saying all the things he wishes to say.

“Y/n, is everything alr—”

Gabby halts when she discovers Y/n’s crying body being watched by the very two people that broke her heart. She’s breaking, so evidently breaking and neither one of them are doing anything about it.

“I w—want to go home.” Y/n’s voice cracks, face twisting as Harry still doesn’t find anything to say to her. “Let’s just go home.”

If Gabby hadn’t witnessed her best friend go through so much pain within the last four months, she would have been able to contain all the rage she’s held toward Harry. But something inside of her snaps when she sees the shirt Jessica’s wearing.

“No!” Gabby spits.

Before anybody sees it happening, Gabby slams her fists against Harry’s chest. Jessica begins to scream while Y/n jumps in an attempt to remove Gabby’s wild arms away from him.

Harry doesn’t do anything to defend himself, though, as he allows her to keep swinging her arms at him. All he can think about it how much he deserves it—how much he deserves all of what’s coming at him.

“You’re such a fucking jerk, Harry!” Gabby roars. “You ruined her! Who the fuck do you think you are?!“

“Gab, stop.” Y/n mumbles, finally able to capture her arms.

Gabby squirms as she tries to escape Y/n’s harsh hold on her, but against Y/n’s anger mixed with all her overwhelming emotions, there is no match.

Y/n starts to push Gabby toward the doors, and it takes every bit of strength left in her to not turn around to look at him one last time. 

“You’re her biggest mistake! I hope you know that!”

shiv

///


November 14th.
In the coffee shop,
the man in the
Make America Great Again hat
smiles at me, so I take this
as an invitation.


“Pardon me, but I have to ask—
do you think Trump’s
ideologies keep every person
in this country safe?“


He doesn’t hesitate.


“Ma’am, I can’t get wrapped up
in identity politics, all I can
worry about is how
I’m going to feed my girls.”


///


At my 40th birthday party,
an acquaintance asks
why we have “so much
Mexican art in the house.”

“It might be because I’m Mexican,” I say.

“No,” he laughs, “you’re not Mexican.”

“Yes. I am.”

“No,” he continues, reassuringly,
“and if you are, you’re only, maybe, 17%.“

The winter air stiffens between us.
An old, familiar pain.


///


There was a time when I
would have thanked him.


The early years,
when I wanted only to pass,
to rid myself of my last name—
the dead giveaway,
its muddy lineage


crawl out from the burying shame
that held me down every time
my father picked me up
from school in our shitty car,
his bushy mustache
& brown face
magnified by the sun.


///


A local white woman
posts a photo of her new tattoo:
a Mayan god etched eternal
on her flesh. When I point out
the disrespect, she assures me
she speaks Spanish fluently,
spent three years
in South America.


For the next six hours,
I argue with her friends.
They demand I quit being so
divisive. Judgemental. Close-minded.


“We have a racist running for President,
and you’re complaining about a tattoo?”
asks the white boy, who spray paints
murals all over this city
with impunity.


O, to be permitted the luxury
of only worrying about one thing at a time.


O, to be white in America,
to wake up knowing every god is your god.


///


When you never see yourself,
you search for yourself all the time.


You know the white girl
in the sombrero isn’t you.
The bro dude in Calavera makeup
isn’t either, not the ponchos
and glued on mustaches,
not the lowrider Chevy
in the Disney movie
or the hoochie-coochie
sex pot on the Emmy
award-winning television show.


Maybe you are only this:


the scorched bird pulled
from the chimney,
covered in soot.
Not the actual bird,
its velvet sack
of jigsaw’d bones,
but the feeling
of recognition.


The ash of knowing.


///


A white comedian tells this joke:
“I used to date Hispanics,
but now I prefer consensual.”


The audience laughs.
And you do, too.
Until the punchline hardens,
translates into a stone
in your throat.


You swallow it, like you always do.


You don’t change the channel,
but you also can’t remember
a single joke she tells after that.


A few months later, the comedian’s career
blows up. She’s so real. So edgy.
Such a hardcore feminist.
When someone writes an essay on
her old stand-up routines—
noting her blindspot when it comes to race,


her response is:


“It is a joke and it is funny.
I know that because people laugh at it.”


///


If two Mexicans are in a car, who is driving?
A police officer.


How do you starve a Mexican?
Put their food stamps in their work boots.


What’s the difference between a Mexican and an elevator?
One can raise a child.


What do you call a Mexican baptism?
Bean dip


How do you stop a Mexican from robbing your house?
Put a help wanted sign in the window.


What do you call a Mexican driving a BMW?
Grand theft auto


What do you call a Mexican without a lawnmower?
Unemployed


What do you call a building full of Mexicans?
Jail


How do you keep Mexicans from stealing?
Put everything of value on the top shelf.


What do you call a bunch of Mexicans running downhill?
A mudslide.


Why don’t Mexicans play Hide ’n Seek?
No one will look for them.


What does a Mexican get for Christmas?
Your TV.


What do you call the Arizona man shot to death
by his white neighbor, screaming, “Go back to Mexico!”
Juan Varela


///


November 29th.
For weeks, I’ve avoided
eye contact with strangers.
My face is a closed curtain.
My mouth, the most
decorated knife.
I pay for groceries,
grab the receipt &
let my half-hearted
thank yous trail like smoke.
I no longer want to see
who refuses to see me.


Anyone is everyone.


///


December 1st.
I keep waking up.
There isn’t anyone
white enough to stop me.


Pantomime the living until
the body remembers:
wicked bitch. Bloodwhirl.
Patron Saint of the Grab Back.


Still. Still. Still. Still. Still. Still here.


///


I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh.
I am my own devastating god.

 


Rachel McKibbens, Dec. 2016

fullmooninthenightsky  asked:

Hey, I read you answered questions on witchcraft and I'm just about starting out on being a witch and I'm just kinda lost. How do I find out what kind of a witch I am, for example? And what about room decor, plants, drying herbs, crystals, sigils and others? How do I even start being a witch?Do you have any websites or blogs (or tips?) that could help me out? Thank you ♡ x

Hi there!

You find out what kind of witch you are, by deciding what kind of witchcraft you want to practice. Most people just choose what they want to be, based off what they like, what they feel drawn to, or just what they want to do. [Here] is a list of types of witches that might inspire you / help you get started on finding a type of magic you want to work with first. This list is not extensive, and what you choose you aren’t stuck with forever - you can try other things, combine things, whatever you want to do! Witchcraft is super personal, and it’s all for you, by you. You also don’t need to confine your magic to any singular label; you can choose more than one to work with.

I picked sigil magic to start with, for example, because it seemed easy, and I knew I could draw; it also required very little supplies, and it also honestly seemed the least likely to backfire. xD My craft eventually evolved into eclectic magic, because I began using a bit of everything else (crystals, herbs, candles, etc.) in my magic to get what I needed.

As for room decor, that’s up to you. You don’t need it, though. You don’t need to *look* witchy to *be* witchy. If you need to be on the down low about your magic, you don’t have to draw huge pentacles on your walls or wear all black or anything like that to still have magic work. What makes you a witch or magic user is what’s inside you, not around you (it can help but, you know, not required). But, if you want to make your room look “witchy,” whatever that means to you, go right for it. But I don’t think it will impact your magic in any way. (I don’t view altars / magical work spaces as decor - they are more than just decorations.)

In regards to plants, it’s another case of if you want to. All my herbs I get pre-dried in grocery stores and bulk stores, because I can’t grow plants worth squat. I’ve taken fresh herbs from grocery stores, actually, that’s a lie, but they were already grown, and I just hung them in my window to dry them. If you want to try growing your own herbs, feel free, but it isn’t necessary - pre-dried and store bought have worked perfectly for me for the last two years. (I also don’t know anything about growing herbs or gardening, so you’d need to go elsewhere for those answers.)

Working with crystals and sigils are optional - they can prove beneficial, but if you don’t want to do that, you don’t need to. 

Working with *anything* is optional, when you get right down to it - all these things, candles, herbs, crystals, are just amplifiers and focuses for magic. You can perform witchcraft with just your own body, energy, and intent. You just need to know how. (P.S. [energy work] is how.)

Doing your own research will never go amiss, let me tell you that right now. I know it can seem daunting, and you don’t know where to start, but seriously, just a Google search of “witchcraft crystal magic” or “witchcraft sigil magic” can pull up a lot of information and give you more ideas of where to go that you can follow on your own. (I really recommend specifying “witchcraft” when searching on the internet, because you might get a lot of pop culture links that just aren’t relevant, or a variety of other articles that might not be applicable.)

You start being a witch by deciding you want to be a witch. Boom, congratulations, welcome to witchcraft! :D From there, it’s going to be a lot of research. Research will help you determine more about witchcraft in general, and from there you can decide what you want to do with it. Once you have an idea of things you might want to try - working with crystals, herbs, sea magic, etc. - you can do more focused research on those topics. 

Once you have an idea of what you want to do, try it out. Give some things a shot and practice. Write down what you try, so if it doesn’t work or things go wrong, you can look back and think “what if I try this instead?.” and then try it. It really is all about experimentation. You will make mistakes, spell may not work - it is something that has happened to us all, and likely will again. Nothing is perfect and neither is magic. Don’t be daunted, though - you are new to it, it will take some time to get the hang of and build your confidence up. Just stay positive, and remember that mistakes are learning experiences, and help define you more as witch. Never give up. The magic is inside you, you just need to find the right way to work with it. 

Here are some more posts on starting with witchcraft:

Some of my favorite blogs:

@breelandwalker @oldmotherredcap @fuckyeahpaganism
@recreationalwitchcraft @maddiviner @cunningcelt @witchtips
@teapartyforthewitches @sigilathenaeum @orriculum @magpiesmagicnest
@the-darkest-of-lights @witchy-infobook @thepaganstudygrouppage
@spooniewitches @lowspoonswitchcraft @neurowitchcraft @neurodwitches
@witchy-words  @urbanspellcraft @witchsaves @thewitchlessons
@thewitchingour @witchy-woman @violetwitchcraft @spiritvexer
@the-ram-witch @theoryofmagick @low-budget-witches @witchoncampus
@phoenyxoftheashes @cosmic-witch @phaesphore @stormbornwitch  
@stormwaterwitch @witchglitch @cladinscarlet @smokeandblueroses  
@darkwoodswitch @alsowitchcraft @nightkunoichi @stsathyre
@witchofkeys @witchy-tips @witchy-businesss @thiscrookedcrown
@herbs-and-spells @herbs-and-journals @belladonnaswitchblog
@the-atypical-pagan @thepunkgreenwitch @liberumbrarum
@upthewitchypunx @queerkitchenwitch @lavenderspells @witchcraftings
@broomcorner @modern-witchcraft @themoonmysteries
@idontusemycauldrons

Long post, but yeah, I hope that helps you! If you have any more questions, I’ll do what I can to help you. :)

the millionaire and his lover | jjk

Originally posted by yourpinkpill

summary: over the course of your lifelong friendship with jungkook, you can’t say that you’ve ever had the greatest ideas, and a fake relationship with the boy you’ve been in love with for years is no exception. 

{self-gratuitous ceo au, friends-to-lovers, and fake relationship trope rolled into one big shitstorm of a jungkook fic}

pairing: jungkook x female reader

word count: 18k

genre: fluff, angst, and light smut

warnings: alcohol mentions

a/n: hello all! i wanted to kickoff my writing on this blog with a bang, so here’s a longish fic on my wildest dreams. 

When you first tell people that you happen to know CEO and multimillionaire Jeon Jungkook, they tell you one of three things:

1: You’re so lucky! Could you introduce me?

2: You must have saved an entire country in your past life.

3: Is he as much of an asshole as the news outlets make him out to be?

What you don’t say, though, is this: You and Jungkook have had history for as long as you could remember. As not only neighbors, but also childhood friends, you happen to know quite a lot about the man who made a name of himself before he even graduated from university. You would also very much like to keep quiet the fact that you’ve harbored a crush on the boy for quite some time now, obvious to everyone whose name isn’t Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook is, in one word, brilliant. He is brilliantly intelligent, brilliantly talented, brilliantly beautiful. He is suave and smooth and gets what he wants and if he didn’t possess such a disdain for the tabloids that do nothing but stretch the truth, he would have them wrapped around his finger. Sure, he’s no actor or singer, but he is a celebrity, and a skilled one at that. The media know no boundaries when it comes to a man like Jungkook, painting him as stunning yet rude, rich yet selfish, smart but cold. You know they blow his brief affairs out of proportion, and you know they will never know the boy who fell off of his bicycle in the second grade.

Jungkook is not powerful enough to replace the stars in your sky, but he is powerful enough to rearrange them right in front of your eyes, creating endless constellations that all remind you of him. He is the boy you have cherished since your elementary school days, when he would accidentally drool on your shoulder and throw sand into your mouth, and you are the girl who, despite all class differences, has stuck by him through thick and thin. It is not enough, but perhaps to him, it is.

“Do you ever try to mooch off of his wealth?” People ask you. “I would.”

And sure, every now and then you will ask him for money and he will give it to you, but your intentions are pure and you do not, will not, ever take his generosity for granted. Not when he has so much and you so little. You know what life is like when the world keeps trying to trip you, and a bit of smooth ground is not enough to keep you from forgetting the struggle.

That is, until you get laid off your job due to an influx of new workers, and your next student debt payment is due in roughly, a week.

What?”

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✧ ( SHAMELESS SENTENCE STARTERS.

warning: triggers apply. adult language, sexual themes, violence, offensive subjects, offensive behaviors. please read & reblog with caution.

❛ And what exactly does “hooked up” mean? ❜
❛ It’s like a car wreck… you can’t not watch. ❜
❛ What’s that smell? It’s either vomit or fancy cheese. ❜
❛ There is no God. We’re all gonna die. ❜
❛ The hell? You’re supposed to negotiate! ❜
❛ If you’re looking for money, I don’t have any yet.  ❜
❛ How do you feel about metal splinters to the eye? ❜
❛ Are you up-to-date on your rabies shots? ❜
❛ I don’t like that you’re getting hurt on purpose to make money. ❜
❛ You’re kidding me? You’re actually serious about this shit? ❜
❛ You’re kinda growing on me. ❜
❛ Wanna see how fast I can unhook your bra? ❜
❛ You make my life a living hell and I want you out of here now. ❜
❛ Half of the world has penises, why do people get so upset about seeing them? ❜
❛ You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me. ❜
❛ I think I’m depressed. I’ve been feeling kind of funky lately. ❜
❛ I never said it was yours. You just wanted it to be. ❜
❛ Wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s disappointed me. ❜
❛ I don’t mean to be an asshole. It’s just… genetic. ❜
❛ Fuck you is what you were invited to. ❜
❛ I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of pussy you’d be in juvie. ❜
❛ I want normal people problems. Like, am I getting enough fiber? ❜
❛ Hey, I think I just insulted myself. ❜
❛ Hey! What the fuck man! He’s/she’s dead! ❜
❛ Oh, could you be a little more vague? ❜
❛ You came all the way down here to talk about my pubes? ❜
❛ How the fuck do you not have a gun? ❜
❛ Sure you’re ready to pop your armed robbery cherry? ❜
❛ You should have seen your face. ❜
❛ You don’t know who you messed with, bitch. ❜
❛ You fuck with the bull, you get an ass full of horns! ❜
❛ I’m not used to having people yell at me all day long. ❜
❛ I have this friend. I think you two might really hit it off. ❜
❛ I’ve seen you put out after the first drink. ❜
❛ You know, I’d hug you but neither of us would like that. ❜
❛ I don’t get why just don’t use her/his face for target practice. ❜
❛ I want a fucking lawyer motherfucker! ❜
❛ You’re covering your own ass and you know it. ❜
❛ You know I used a condom. ❜
❛ Do you know where I can buy a gun? ❜
❛ You think you scare me? Bring it, bitch! ❜
❛ I’m starting to get fucking homicidal. ❜
❛ I will make this kitchen my bitch. ❜
❛ They’re having a party for kids across the street. No booze. ❜
❛ A shrink at school says I’m one of God’s mistakes. ❜
❛ I believe the answer to that question, like the answer to most questions, is fuck you! ❜
❛ Did the two of us finish an entire gallon of box wine the other night? ❜
❛ I can’t handle anything up my ass without alcohol! ❜
❛ I’d be crying right now if I wasn’t so high. ❜
❛ I’m not my dad. You hear me? I’m not my fucking dad! ❜
❛ I would never do half the shit that you’ve done to us. Why are you even here? ❜
❛ Even the homeless get better stuff than us. ❜
❛ I am just as likely as anyone of this family to make something of myself. ❜
❛ You want to get shit faced in the middle of the day.  ❜
❛ You have no money yet you’re going into a grocery store. Interesting. ❜
❛ Let’s go get drunk and buy a gun. ❜
❛ It’s a shame when someone you love gets taken away, isn’t it? ❜
❛ If this is a relationship you wanna save, then you gotta fucking save it. ❜
❛ Off to deal drugs on a Saturday morning? ❜
❛ I’m probably biased, you deserve better than him. ❜
❛ If you don’t get out right now, I will shoot you. ❜
❛ Still don’t want your family to know? ❜
❛ Did I mention that I’m falling in love with you? ❜
❛ You can’t feel a persons headache by touching his head. ❜
❛ Are you robbing me with my own fucking gun? ❜
❛ How can you tell when you’re in love with someone? ❜
❛ Is that supposed to be some kind of insult? ❜
❛ I’m done living the way other people want me to live. ❜
❛ I think I was trying to prove something, not to you but to myself.  ❜
❛ If it wasn’t sex then what was the problem? ❜
❛ What do you want me to say? That I’m self-destructive? ❜
❛ Random destruction makes you think of me? ❜
❛ I haven’t abused marijuana like the rest of you, so yes I remember. ❜
❛ Your turf? What is this West Side Story? ❜
❛ All I’m gonna be thinking about while you choke me out is how much I love you. ❜
❛ If I don’t invest in myself, no one else will. ❜
❛ It smells worse than a dead hooker’s ass in there. ❜
❛ I don’t wanna be me anymore. ❜
❛ Why would anyone go to the zoo sober? ❜
❛ I’ve had so many abortions the next one is free. ❜
❛ I’d trade my left nut for one more hour of sleep. ❜
❛ How do you do that? The nice thing? ❜
❛ I’m sick of living in your shadow. ❜
❛ I never thought I’d say this but you were right. ❜
❛ Where can I get knives and blunts? ❜
❛ I can’t share a room with someone in constant state of arousal! ❜
❛ I’m sneaking antibiotics into his toothpaste just in case. ❜
❛ I got tasered for like a second and I crapped myself. ❜
❛ I’ve never seen you put on deodorant before. ❜
❛ I haven’t had a drink for two days…well granted I was unconscious. ❜
❛ I’ll be in the bushes across the street stalking you. ❜
❛ Is there anything more enjoyable on earth than humiliating your peers? ❜
❛ I need to buy a gun. For protection. In case there’s a shooting here. I’m scared. ❜
❛ It’s my job to tell you when you’re making a huge mistake. ❜
❛ Have you ever woken up naked in the street with no idea how you got there? ❜
❛ You’re either boning or you’re waiting to bone. ❜
❛ Doctors are thieves, they just have degrees to keep them out of jail. ❜
❛ You want me to be realistic? Okay, I’ll be realistic. ❜
❛ I confided in you and you told everyone. ❜
❛ I have no idea what that means but I’m enjoying trying to picture it. ❜
❛ I never made any fucking promises to you! ❜
Yoongi

BOYFRIEND BANGTAN | YOONGI VERSION

WORD COUNT: 1,210

FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF with the lightest most PG mention of sex

Originally posted by sugasuite

masterlist | ask

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Affair of the Heart

Affair of the heart

Word count: 11.4k

Genre: smut, angst

You were in love with your roommate Hoseok. Jimin knows your secret and wants to help you make him jealous.

Happy Birthday to my world and sunshine! Im not trying to cry but I hope my angel has the best day ever!!


You got home, to your shared apartment, after your morning shift. You hated being a waitress but Sunday mornings did bring in a big crowd. You think people who just got out of church were supposed to be nice but no. Everyone is cranky and wants brunch. Either way people tipped you well this morning and you needed to go buy groceries for you and Hoseok.

Hoseok, you thought. You wondered if he was awake. It was about two in the afternoon so you figured not. You knew he went out for a night of drinking with his friends. You also knew he brought a girl home last night. Mostly because you could hear everything they had done last night, well technically this morning. His room was across from your room and down the hall, that’s how loud they were. You could hear the bed hit the wall, the way she was screaming out for him, it was all too much for you. Especially his moans, they sounded so dirty and needy. You just wished they were for you, aching for you. Here you were in the kitchen writing a grocery list and getting wet thinking about Hoseok moaning.

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Namjoon

BOYFRIEND BANGTAN | NAMJOON VERSION 

WORD COUNT: 1,373 

FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF with the lightest most PG mention of sex

Originally posted by bangtoori

masterlist | ask

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I’m not a financial advisor but please open a savings account and put money in your savings account if you can. I know what it’s like to grow up with parents who have 0 experience with financial advice. my parents grew up with no money and their parents did too. and even though they became middle class and then wealthy in adulthood, they didn’t have knowledge about building credit or savings to pass on to me, and the knowledge that they did have they didn’t share with me. I literally opened a savings account because someone on the internet told me to. No one in my family advised me about that, and that is awful. So I’m passing it laterally and down to you all, my friends and babies.

Please open a savings account with your bank and put money in it. If you work in the mall or at a Starbucks or a little shop, you can still treat yourself and save if you usually Just treat yourself. If you want an apartment you “need” credit, but don’t get a credit card too young especially if you can’t pay it off. Get financial advising! There is information online. But I have spoken to some of my 20+ year old friends who have no savings accounts but plan on moving to NYC or LA or Miami and getting their dreams and it’s like…? On whom’s dime henny?????! The only reason I’m happy about moving to ny is because of how much I have saved.

I have enough saved / earned this month to pay almost a year of rent and utilities and groceries which is why I’m not that stressed…. you all can save More than me if you are strategic. The entire time I’ve been in university I should’ve been saving effectively, I would feel so much better. I love you all and I love the idea of you treating yourselves all the time. but if you wanna have your own apartment or your own car or whatever and you don’t have your parents to lean on, you need a savings account so you can’t touch your money.

Try and be proactive about your future and realize that that’s the point of parents, they’re supposed to have experience and advice to share with you so you don’t fuck your life up or experience the stress and pain that they have

yellowgoingblue  asked:

“i work at a little market/store and u came up to the register with a candy bar but didn’t have enough money to pay for the entire thing. but don’t worry, i got you, fam” au: I saw this and my mind screamed, "ANDREIL".

ok i combined both of these and neither is fully what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway!!!


It’s hot the way only New Jersey gets hot, America’s swampy asshole, thick damp air under an impermeable layer of smog, the sun mocking him from where it hangs between a few grey clouds that indicate but don’t promise an upcoming rain.

Neil’s jog is taking much, much longer than usual thanks to an unbearable amount of traffic. It doesn’t help that he’s had to reroute himself to get some British candy bar from the one Wawa that—without explanation—carries British candy bars.

He gets there eventually, eight miles away from his apartment and so fully dehydrated that he’s questioning how the fuck he’s going to make it back. Wawa is, as always, an oasis: refrigerators line the walls, and within them, blissfully, is cold water. He grabs a bottle and drinks half of it in the aisle before even going on the search for the Mars Bar.

The candy aisle has nothing, just mostly-depleted cardboard boxes of Snickers and Twix. The international section is mainly Latin American and Asian goods, and then, crammed between coconut water and Goya goods, a box of Mars Bars.

Like the boxes in the candy aisle, it’s empty.

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“Jack, I need you to rescue me.” Bitty clutches his phone tightly, trying to keep it steady.

“Bittle? What’s going on? Where are you?”

Bitty looks out the door at the rain. It’s fat and heavy and he can barely make out the cars he knows are parked a few metres away in the lot.

“I was baking a pie, but Holster had finished all the eggs at breakfast without telling me. He’s done it before–finished the eggs, that is–but he told me last time. So I had the flour on the bench, and spices, and I opened the fridge and–because there was no note, Jack so–”

“Bits?” Jack interrupts. “I need you to do something, okay? For me?”

“Oh. Okay, Jack.”

“Great. Take a deep breath.”

The air is freezing at the entrance, with the doors opening and closing as other shoppers walk in and out. Bitty opens his mouth and does it anyway.

“Good job. Now slowly let it out.”

Bitty blows out and he swears he can see his breath cloud in front of him even though he’s inside.

“Once more,” says Jack, “then tell me where you are.”

In. Out. “Murder Stop n Shop.”

“Thank god.”

“What, why?” Bitty asks, confused and shivery as a gust of wind comes in. “Jack. That’s not good. It’s raining so darn much and I’ve got no umbrella and too many groceries. I can’t afford to let these things get wet.”

“Look to your left.”

Bitty turns his head to see–as best he can in this weather–the pathway leading to the store.

There’s Jack. Walking through the torrential downpour with a massive, blue umbrella, and his phone to his ear.

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please help me pay for groceries, bills, laundry, bus money, etc

for ppl who dont know me i am Very Ill and i have spent the last year being sick or being in treatment for being sick. i have no job no income and my food stamps were cut off because i’m not working. i’m currently trying to get back on my feet – get a job, become more independent, etc – but i need help to be able to get there. 

if you want to help, my paypal is bonescollide@hotmail.com 

i really appreciate anything you can give. like i said a big chunk of what i need is stuff like bus money and laundry money so even if you can only spare a little bit of money it will still go a long way!! thank you

Dear Evan Hansen StepSiblings AU

-so I remember seeing this joke post a while ago about Cynthia leaving her husband and marrying Heidi and I’m like,“Why not?”
-in middle school Connor starts acting out and Cynthia just wants to help her son but Larry doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him and after years of barely staying together for their children they fall apart and end up getting a divorce
-it’s a few months later and she’s struggling to get her groceries in the car when Heidi goes over to help her
-they start out as friends and eventually begin to date
-after a while they decide to have their kids meet each other
-Connor has been getting therapy and other forms of help that doesn’t mean he’s alright with his mother suddenly dating this woman
-little Evan and Zoe immediately like each other
-Evan is terrified of Connor and tries staying as far away from him as physically possible
-Heidi and Cynthia see this and think about breaking up
-Connor hears them talking about it and for as much as he doesn’t like to show it he cares about about his mom and he knows that she really likes this woman
-both are surprised when Connor starts acting nicer to both Zoe and Evan and decide to stay together
-they get married in Connor and Evan’s freshman year
-Cynthia takes Heidi’s last name Hansen
-Jared does not like Evan’s step-brother and can’t believe that someone as nice as Evan can tolerate Connor
-Connor is pretty sure Jared likes Evan and is not happy about this fact