or my tv dinner

Meeting room nine was our room.  It was identical to all of the other meeting rooms in every single way, yes, but it was our favorite.  Every day at around 11:25 I’d walk past Violet’s cubicle with a quick, “9 at 12?” and she’d inattentively nod and go back to typing or stapling, and I’d continue my brisk walk back to my work station.  Why I felt the need to confirm our usual habit was anyone’s guess, my insecurities would be on the top of that guess list though.

Of course it wasn’t just Violet and I.  Ryan and Jennifer were there, too.  I didn’t like them as much as Violet.  Regardless, it was us four in room 9 at 12 noon everyday for lunch for the past four months.  That was how it was, at least, until March 29th.

On March 29th, at 11:57 I sat in room nine with my lunch bag already open, its contents meticulously placed in front of me, my $1.50 bottled mountain dew to my right, my napkin to my left, and my sandwich and bag of pretzels in between.  I was usually the first.  In fact, I tried to be, so I could get in a little extra conversation with the second and third people to enter the room.

Ryan was first.  “Hey, Ryan,” I said.

“Hey, man.” Ryan said. 

I hated how he didn’t say my name.  He knew my name.  I gave him my expense reports all the time and my name was on each of those in three different places.  He definitely knew my name, but he never said it.  When I was in high school, one of my teachers told us that people really appreciate it when you use their name in conversations, and I remember thinking ‘Yes I do like that,’ so it bothered me greatly when Ryan didn’t say my name.

I was waiting to pick up my sandwich until the other two arrived.  It was polite.  In contrast, Ryan plopped down his white syrofoam box of Chinese and began chowing away.  He used chopsticks and I hated him for it.  The bag from the Chinese place came with little plastic white forks and knives.  He was a show-off and always had been.  He only ate with us because he was in Jennifer’s department and they knew each other well.  If it was up to me, he wouldn’t be there.

The entry of Jennifer was a refreshing event.  “Hey Jennifer,” I said.

Jennifer smiled and said hi to me.  She used my name.  Jennifer had a packed lunch, like me, and a really cute laugh.  It was tough to make her laugh, so I tried to prepare a good joke or at least something humorous to say for when I was with her.  We engaged in some light conversation.  

It was 12:04 according to the very plain clock above the door, and I was worried Violet wouldn’t show.  I was running out of conversation with Jennifer and didn’t want Ryan to steal the floor from me. 

I had been preparing this line for a couple days, having thought of it a couple days ago.  So, over the past couple days I had been refining it and practicing it, and I decided that it was the time to use it.  I had prepared this thing for two days, keep in mind.

“You guys ever notice how there’s never any markers on the dry-erase board in here?  How would you even use that thing if you wanted to?”  I said, as best as I could, in a way that a comedian would say it.

My eyes darted to Jennifer’s face.  After gazing over at the board, her face turned towards mine and she laughed!  I was really happy about that.  Ryan laughed too but I didn’t care.

“Where’s Violet?” I said, transitioning, trying to keep up the flow of conversation in the room.  It was 12:05 now.

“Did you remind her?” Jennifer asked me.

“Yes.”

Just then Violet walked into the room with her purple hair on her head (she had purple hair).  Her name was Violet and she had purple hair.  Probably not a coincidence.

“Sorry everyone, I had to print off copies for my meeting later.”

“That’s okay.  No problem,” I said, speaking for everyone in the room. 

“So… what did I miss?” she said, slapping her bag of McDonalds down on the table.  I could only assume there was breakfast food in there.  McDonalds didn’t start serving lunch food until lunch time, and I doubted she had time to make a run there during work hours.  Still, though, she could have done it.  Or it could have been day old lunch food.

“He tried to make a joke about how there’s never any markers by the dry-erase board,” responded Ryan before I had a chance to speak.

“What do you mean tried,” I said, my eyebrows scrunching up in an emotion in between annoyance and anger.  “Both you and Jennifer laughed.”

Ryan chuckled, “We were laughing at you, man.  You talk about the dumbest stuff.” 

Jennifer laughed.  But now I hated her laugh.  Violet had a blank expression, like she probably agreed with him but cared enough about my feelings not to join in.  I couldn’t handle this.  I quickly packed up my lunch, and in my hurry accidentally dropped my opened but untouched bag of pretzels onto the carpet.  I left them there, like I was a common litterer, and ran out of the room.  I didn’t cry, but I really wanted to.  After asking my boss for permission, I went home early and watched TV until dinner time, but I felt too sick to eat anything.

The worst part about the whole thing–the thing that still bugs me to this day–is I never found out if Violet’s McDonalds was lunch or breakfast food.  When I finally mustered up the courage to ask her about it six days later, she claimed she had no idea what I was talking about at all.

10

The many roles of Mr. Adam Paul Scott

Creepypasta #1267: Cackling Grackles

Length: Super long

Nobody likes being the new kid. They like it even less when they move from a nice, familiar suburb to the backwoods of rural Florida. It’s hot, it’s humid, and it doesn’t look like it’s progressed much since the 1960s. After Mom and Dad divorced, Mom decided she wanted to “get back to her roots” and dragged me five hours south to settle in her childhood hometown.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t done it mid school year and I’d had time to settle in and adjust. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had some kind of chance to get to know some of the other kids. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t a giant nerd with an obsession for fantasy and role playing games at only ten years old (thanks for that, Dad).

I pretty much had a bullseye painted on my tie-dyed backpack.

Back home, I hadn’t had many friends, but the ones I did have were the best. We were a ragtag handful of kids who shared an interest in geeky things and spent our days playing pretend and convincing our parents that old animated films like The Last Unicorn and The Hobbit wouldn’t give us nightmares. Here, no one showed much interest in befriending an awkward little girl who spoke softly and kept her nose buried in a book.

I was lucky, I guess; I wasn’t really bullied, more so just excluded. It was honestly my fault as much as anyone else’s, I didn’t exactly go out of my way to talk to people, but I didn’t really know how. Before, I’d grown up with the same kids and we’d just naturally come together. Now, I felt like I’d be forcing my presence on people who didn’t want me there. It was a lonely time.

“It’ll get better, Janey.” Mom assured me.

Easy enough for her to say. She had resparked old friendships and was constantly going out and about and leaving me home alone to wallow in self pity. When I told her I didn’t like being by myself, she just laughed and said it was a small, safe town, nothing to worry about, and then she’d be flouncing out the door to join her girlfriends at the bar.

When you’re alone so much, you start looking for companionship anywhere you can get it. I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first.

I’d need to get out of the house, which felt small and dark, so I’d drag a lawn chair from the porch and sit in the backward with an umbrella and a book and I would try to read. I didn’t get very far though, because where I was sitting was close to the empty lot behind our house, where a flock of grackles, small black and brown birds, had made their home.

The first day I was out there, they cawed harshly and fluttered between trees and shrubs, watching me warily with their shiny black eyes. There was something disconcerting about being stared down by a large group of birds and I quickly retreated inside. The next day, when I tried again, they were so bold as to dive bomb me. I could hear their beaks and claws scraping across the top of my umbrella and I dropped my book to run. They chased me all the way to the door.

It was almost a week before I was brave enough to face them again, but this time, I came armed with a loaf of bread. As soon as I stepped into the yard, I could hear their cries starting to ripple down the tree tops. They stared at me, I stared at them, both parties tense and still.

“Ok, I don’t wanna bother you and you don’t wanna be bothered,” I said in what i thought was a diplomatic tone. “I’m just gonna sit here and read my book and you guys can have all this bread, alright?”

I tossed a few whole slices at the property line; a peace offering to my territorial tormentors. Their heads turned this way and that as I slowly took my seat in the lawn chair. One dove at me, and then a second, but I held my ground (and my breath) and they flew back to the branches overhead, where they ruffled their feathers grumpily.

Keep reading

Cackling Grackles

Nobody likes being the new kid. They like it even less when they move from a nice, familiar suburb to the backwoods of rural Florida. It’s hot, it’s humid, and it doesn’t look like it’s progressed much since the 1960s. After Mom and Dad divorced, Mom decided she wanted to “get back to her roots” and dragged me five hours south to settle in her childhood hometown.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t done it mid school year and I’d had time to settle in and adjust. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had some kind of chance to get to know some of the other kids. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t a giant nerd with an obsession for fantasy and role playing games at only ten years old (thanks for that, Dad).

I pretty much had a bullseye painted on my tie-dyed backpack.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

THOSE FUCKERS IN THE COMMENTS ARE SUCH BITCHES WOMEN PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS WHINING AND MOANING ABOUT INJUSTICE AND OTHER BULLSHIT BUT THEY ACT ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY WHEN A DUDE WANTS TO BONE AND HE’S EARNED IT. THEY NEED TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON ABOUT THE WAY THIS WORKS SO HOPEFULLY THE ANGRY PENIS GETS WHAT’S HIS.

My gentle readers…

I hope you take my meaning when I say:

Cry “Havoc” and let slip the dogs of war.

And to you, my cowardly antagonist…

If you weren’t so bloody stupid, I’d laugh, and if you weren’t so extremely incautious as to hand me your IP address, and therefore your street address…

I’d be vexed.

So thank you for that, my white-bellied swine.

anonymous asked:

Got any ideas for the Will and Hopper relationship? It's not addressed much in fandom how Hopper saved Will's life and Will saved his (even though the Shadow Monster used him to almost end it multiple times afterwards)

Okay so this turned more into a “the Byers family hc” but It has a lot of Hopper&Will dynamic! Thanks to @superbyersbros for spitballing ideas w me 💞💞So

-I have a kinda specific hc that in high school, Will still gets bullied and shoved around for his sexuality. So one day he just kinda snaps and drives all the way up to see his Dad and he asks Lonnie to help him throw a proper punch, something that his Dad has always said he’s too weak for. ( can’t fight, can’t be a proper boy, too much of a fairy )

-When Will meekly asks him to show him how to fight, Lonnie looks him up and down and outright laughs. He says something like “oh, kids still roughing you up for being a fairy boy? Guess my boy finally wants to man up” and Will just sees red. He’s not an angry person, but standing on his own Dad’s doorstep being laughed at for being himself, and for asking for help, is the last straw.

-He turns on his heel and leaves. He cuts contact with his Dad. But he still needs to learn how to fight, and he can’t asked Steve (he’s a crap fighter) so he works up some courage and asks Hopper for some advice.

-Hopper doesn’t pester him or fuss about him getting bullied like his Mom does, he just calmly tells Will that he’s gonna learn to defend himself, not fight. So he teaches him how to duck and dodge punches, where to throw his elbows so he has time to run. And how to throw a good, strong punch, for when he needs it.

-Like with Bob, Will is open to anything and anyone that makes his Mom happy. He sees that Hopper is good for Joyce, and makes an effort to talk to Hopper and tries to include him.

-Hopper teaches Will to drive (that better be canon) because Jonathan tries but they both get distracted singing to the radio. And he’s actually super patient and, besides, Will is a really natural driver.

-When Hopper and El fight, he asks Will to talk to her because Will is El’s favourite and the only person she’ll listen to when she’s in a Mood™. Will is like “ugh fine but you have to get me new paints in return”

-The two of them have like, nothing in common, so Hopper and Will’s relationship has a solid foundation based on mutual affection for El and Joyce, bribing each other and Will rolling his eyes a lot and promising “not to tell Jane/Joyce” when Hopper does something reckless.

-Hopper takes Will and El to all their therapy sessions wth Dr Owens, encourages them to talk it out

-Hopper is the only one Will talks to about Bob’s death. Hopper knows a little something about feeling guilty & responsible for a death/family falling apart. Hopper talks about his daughter with Will. Will talks about Bob and his Dad. They both get something out of it, Will becomes closer to Hopper and accepts him in his life a lot more after that.

-Will despairs over Hopper’s music taste and Hopper is mock offended, but he still changes half the tapes in his truck to music Will likes. He takes Will to an art museum in the city too.

-When Hopper has to leave El when he works a case, he’ll drop her off at the Byers and take off his sheriffs hat thing and put it on Will’s head. It’s way too big for him and Hopper just laughs and says “You’re in charge now, Bud. Look after them.” And El rolls her eyes and levitates the hat back onto Hopper’s head “I take care of them

-Will and Jonathan cook better than Hopper and are appalled by his TV dinners. Joyce holds El like “my poor bb she’s not been fed proper nutrients”

-Hopper is offended “I kept her alive for a damn year smh” and Will is like “she’s dangerously addicted to eggos. We need to feed her vegetables”

-The only time El has ever gotten into an argument with Will was the first time she stayed over and he wouldn’t let her have eggos in the morning . Will just put his foot down. “absolutely not, no, you’re having an omelette. And something HEALTHY” and El won’t speak to him for the entire day

2

Modern Ivar au
Requested by: @tanovic54321

The soft glow of outside light was beginning to descend. Horns blew throughout the streets and yelling was heard from just about anywhere in the apartment. It was cold and miserable outside. Rain splashed down on every surface for miles, and the warnings for an power outage were just starting to get annoying. Of course it would if you’d heard it for the seventeenth time that day. But although it was cold and miserable and horrific outside, inside was warm and cozy and dry. It’d been lucky that I went to the supermarket yesterday to get some food, or else we’d have to be trying to reign down a taxi in the middle of a storm.
He lays between my legs, his head resting on my tummy as pulls the blanket up to his chin. A empty packet of chocolate marshmallows sat at the edge of the bed. Salt and vinegar chips laid between his legs, and he struggled to get the chip in his mouth without it splitting and crumbs falling in every direction. The soft glow of the kitchen light lit up the ever darkening room. The Hunger Games played loudly on the television, as I ran my hands through his hair. Dinner was cooking away and a cup of hot chocolate sat on the bedside table.
“You cold?” He asks quietly, biting into a chip.
“Nah.” I murmur back, reaching behind me and plopping two ice cubes into my hot chocolate. “My hoodie is just fine.”
He scoffs a little bit. “My hoodie.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t even wear it.”
“That’s because you always make it dirty.”
I shrug and he nudges further into me and wraps the blankets around his shoulders. “Are you gonna deal with dinner?” I ask.
“You’re the one who wanted orange chicken. You deal with it.”
“But it’s cold and I don’t want to move.”
He sighs. “Okay, I’ll deal with it when it’s done.” Just as he spoke, the timer on the oven chimed.

anonymous asked:

I WANT FLUFF PLEASE, PURE STEVE ROGERS FLUFF

Here you bloody go, I wrote half of this whilst I was drunk and didn’t bothe proof reading so bloody ENJOY. 


Word count: 1952

Originally posted by thosekidswhohuntmonsters

——

“Hey, are you there?”

My head snapped around from my book to check my radio on my bedside table—I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things or if Steve Rogers was paging me at 3am in the morning.

“Hellllooooo,” the radio crackled again—I wasn’t imagining it.

“Hello?” I answered quickly, my voice filled with curiosity—what the hell did he want?

“I knew you’d be awake,” I could practically hear him smile down the line—I didn’t have to see him to know that his stupid grin was plastered on his stupid face.

“Well yeah,” I rolled my eyes as I set down my book, “I literally told you this morning that I haven’t been able to go to sleep before 5am.”

“Meet me in the stairwell of level 12,” He completely ignored the fact that I’d outed him.

“What?!” Why the fuck did he want to meet in the damn stairwell? “Are you joking?” There was no way he was being serious.

“I’m being one hundred per cent serious, five minutes, I expect you there.”

“Jesus,” I huffed down the line, “way to be pushy, but yeah okay whatever, see you in five.” I rolled out of bed and shoved myself into my dressing gown, praying that whatever he had in store for me was worth leaving the comfort of my sheets.

“You better have a good reason for doing this Rogers,” I said monotonously as trudged up the stair with him. I’d met him on level 12 like he’d requested and he’d graciously let me know that we’d be walking up two more levels because our stupid elevator was down.

“Trust me,” he stopped in front of the door to level 14, “You’re going to love it.” He pulled out a key from his back pocket and I wondered to myself why the door was locked in the first place.

“So,” he turned to me as he shoved the key in, “this is where I come when I can’t sleep and I want to share it with you.” He opened the door slowly before standing aside so that I could make my way through.

“Uh—“ I could feel my throat run dry as I lost all sense of how to speak. “Um, yeah okay.” I was so nervous, I’d never had anyone share their safe space with me before and I didn’t know how I was going to cope.

My heart began to race as I made my way inside—I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been an indoor garden. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Despite only being dimly lit by lanterns the garden was breath-taking. There were vines covering the walls, bushy ferns in the corners, garden beds filled with almost every flower possible and most importantly, there was a lily pond, right in the centre of the room.

“Holy shit Steve, this is beautiful.” I just couldn’t understand how what I was seeing managed to exist, how had he had the time?

“Your favourite flowers are lilies right?” He raised an eyebrow as he took my hand—I almost jolted away, I hadn’t been expecting it.

“Yeah, wait how do you know that?”

“What?” he said as he sat down on a small bench in the middle of the room right next to the lily pond. “You think I don’t listen to you when you ramble on in the kitchen?”

“Yeah!” I laughed lightly as I sat down beside him, “No one ever listens to me when I ramble.”

“I listen,” he entwined his hand with mine again and I gulped uncomfortably. “I know your favourite flowers are lilies, that you’re afraid of the dark AND the ocean. I know that your favourite book is a tale of two cities and that you read it every night because you can’t sleep till early parts of the morning.” He used his free hand to nudge my face towards his. “I know that when I wake up the first thing I think about is what your daily joke is going to be, I know I think about knocking on your door every night and asking you out to dinner—“

“You what?!” I didn’t think he realised what he was saying, “Steve—“

“I’m being serious,” his thumb grazed over my knuckles. “I’m not good at this whole dating thing you know?”

I nodded sincerely, he’d complained to me about it a few times and I truly felt bad.

“But I want to try with you, honestly.”

“With me?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d never thought about Steve in that way. I mean I’d always thought he was good looking, but I never considered dating him. It made me giddy to think that someone actually listened to all the stupid things I had to say—everyone else just seemed to brush me off, Steve never had and I’d only just noticed that.

“Yes,” he nodded, “with you.” He leaned over to fish out a lily from the pond. “So will you?” He held it out to me with the most innocent eyes and I’d never been so mesmerised by a man before. I was seeing someone in a whole new light and I honestly couldn’t believe I’d missed it.

I wasn’t sure completely, but the way he was presenting himself made me want to try. “I mean,” I admired the flower for a second before plucking it gently from his hand. “There’s no harm in trying.”

“Perfect,” he grinned, “How about I pick you up at 7pm tomorrow?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Three knocks on the door let my nervous stomach know that Steve was at the door. 7pm had taken all day to arrive and I’d spent all morning feeling like I was going to be nervous.

“Hi,” I smiled as I opened the door to a nervous looking Captain—who to my surprise was holding a bouquet of peonies.

“Hi,” he replied as he cracked his knuckles nervously. “I—um—got these for you.” He held out the flowers to me and I graciously accepted them before planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you—I might start my own garden at this rate.” I motioned for him to come inside as I trudged towards my shelves so that I could locate a vase.

He let out a small laugh as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Don’t think I’m helping, I’ve got a whole one of my own to look after and barely any time.”

I laughed—really laughed and I had no idea why, because his joke hadn’t been that funny. It was clear that things were changing and I wasn’t complaining, because I knew it was for the better.

“It’s okay I might just get Bucky to help out,” I teased knowing he would hate it.

He scrunched up his face “I mean sure, go ahead.”

“Stop it,” it was my turn to place an encouraging hand on his shoulder, usually that was his job.

“I won’t lie,” he smirked, “that made me slightly jealous.”

I laughed lightly “I could tell.”

“You know what,” he looked towards my TV, “how about we forget the dinner reservations, we’ll order some take away and we can watch any show you want to.”

“You’re kidding, I would fucking love that.” I’d never felt so relieved in my life—I hated dates, the thought of them made me nervous to the point where I was almost sick—I was surprised that I hadn’t already vomited.

“Perfect,” he grinned as he walked towards my sofa. It was times like these I was thankful that Tony had given me a master bedroom.

“Do you mind if I change?” I asked, already unzipping my dress, not waiting for his answer.

“Sure,” he gulped.

I smiled to myself as I flung the dress I was wearing back into my cupboard—I knew he was watching me.

I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and made my way over to the sofa.

“So,” I said as I plopped myself down beside him “have you watched stranger things?”

“No,” he shook his head, “but people keep telling me it’s good.”

“Wonderful,” I grabbed the remote from beside me, “you’re about to be shown a masterpiece Rogers.”

I’d fallen asleep at about episode 5 of season 1—I assumed that all the wriggling Steve was doing was because he was trying to regain feeling in his arm.

“Shit,” I recoiled, “I’m so sorry.” Trust me to have fallen asleep on my date.

“No!” he quickly stopped me, “it’s okay!”

“Are you enjoying it?” I smiled as I looked towards the TV. I’d already seen season 1 which was probably why I’d fallen asleep—that and the fact that I hadn’t had a good nights sleep, despite being shown Steve’s beautiful garden.

“It’s good—but,” he placed his knuckle under my chin and I felt a shiver run through my body. “I think I would rather be spending my time doing this—“ before I could gather what he meant, he was already crashing his lips against mine and boy I wasn’t complaining.

Everything about him was gentle and I just couldn’t handle it—I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, eliciting a groan from him as his threaded his fingers through my hair.

“Shit,” I moaned against his mouth as he decided to act with more urgency. We were like hungry animals—Steve Rogers was something that had been in front of me for so long and I hadn’t known I’d needed him until he was shoving his tongue down my throat.

“Please don’t rip my shirt off,” he joked—I really was tugging hard, my brain clearly didn’t understand he was already as close as he could be.

“I’m so tempted to,” I tugged hard again, just to show him I meant it.

“I don’t have expendable funds to buy more shirts to take you on dates—“ he breathed before placing a trail of kisses down my neck.

“Oh my god,” I sucked in a breath, “do not fucking do that again or I’ll literally rip all your damn clothes off.”

“Oh?” he had the audacity to do it again, but ten times slower.

“That’s it—“ suddenly I was struggling his belt buckle, but he was pushing me away.

“No,” he scolded as he pulled away. “No, no.”

“Why not?” I really didn’t see why it was a problem.

“I just—“ he turned away, “I’m sorry—shit, this is gonna sound so stupid, but I’d really just like to wait, I want this to mean more.”

I grabbed his hand, “stop it Steve, it’s not stupid at all, I get it I promise.”

“Yeah?” he turned back towards me.

“Yes.” I wrapped my pinky around his, “look, why don’t you sleep—we can finish the series tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a plan.” He pulled my head towards him and planted a kiss against my forehead, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight Steven.” I stole a quick kiss from his lips, my head feeling somewhat giddy at the fact that I was seeing him the next day.

“Oh wait,” he fished for something in his pocket and finally picked out a key. “This is for you,” he held it out to me, “your personal key to the garden for when you can’t sleep.”

Attached to the key was a small lily key ring and I swear I felt like crying.

“Get out,” I scolded as I grabbed the key, “hurry before I kiss you again.”

He let out a loud laugh, “goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”