so glad he's back on facebook

anonymous asked:

What do you think about an “i picked up your bag at the airport but i can’t find your number so i’m about to embark on the largest scavenger hunt of all time by using your strange belongings to track you down” au with charmer or nurseydex or zimbits or something??

Well, I don’t know if you expected three mini fics, and I didn’t fully follow the prompt, but here we are.

1. Charmer

Look, Chris knew it was dumb. He knew that everyone on earth had a plain black suitcase, he knew he should have double-checked the luggage tag, he knew it was important to be sure abut these things. But knowing what he should have done couldn’t help him when he finally got his suitcase home and opened it up to find mostly yoga pants and sundresses. 


He zipped the bag back up and flipped open the luggage tag. It was cute, pink with some metallic lettering saying “I’m outta here!” in a handwritten font. Chris blamed jetlag and the redeye flight for making him miss the fact that it wasn’t his Sharks tag. He blamed the bag’s owner for not filling out any of the information on the tag.


Well, sorry random girl, he thought. He opened the suitcase up again to try to see if he could find anything that would give him a clue as to who the suitcase owner was. He moved a makeup bag aside, and hit gold immediately. Well, Samwell red. A Women’s Volleyball tshirt– mystery suitcase girl had to be on the volleyball team.

“Hey Ransom!” he yelled. “You’re facebook friends with all the volleyball team right?”

“He’s friends with everyone on campus!” Holster yelled back.

“Ask their captain if anyone flew in from the Bay Area and lost their luggage!”


“Is Justin here? My captain said he’s got my suitcase.” Chris overheard her at the door. He grabbed the bag and started hauling it downstairs. As he set it down at the bottom and caught sight of the girl in the doorway, he froze. She was pretty. Like, really pretty. 

“Um, hi,” he said.

“So you’re Justin? Oh my god, I’m so glad it wasn’t some total rando who got my bag.” 

“I’m actually Chris, Justin was just the one who was friends with your captain. Um, I’m sorry, but I kind of had to look through your stuff? Your luggage tag wasn’t filled out.” The girl laughed.

“Yours wasn’t either! Me and my teammates were like one minute away from googling the record holder for most San Jose Sharks merch, but it totally makes sense that you’re on the hockey team.” 

“Since we both forgot to write our numbers down, maybe we should do that now?” Chris suggested. The girl grinned, grabbed his phone out of his hand, and opened up a new contact. She punched in a number, and when she handed it back he saw a text of several random emojis addressed to the new contact of “Caitlin Farmer” with a girl farmer emoji and a volleyball emoji.

“Text me sometime, and maybe we can get dinner?” she said, and she was gone with her suitcase. 

Chris collapsed on the couch, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Chowder? You get your suitcase back?” Bitty called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah! and I think I’m in love now!”

2. Nurseydex

“Cheryl, I’m telling you, I had a ton of inspiration on the plane and I wrote some great stuff for act three. No. No, it wasn’t just me thinking it’s great because I popped some melatonin and got really sleepy. It’s like, legit. Yeah, I’ll send it over as soon as I get home and–”

Derek slammed into something. If he’d been holding his phone in his hand (bluetooth is a blessing when you drop stuff easily) it would have launched across the airport. As it was, his post-flight latte was soaking through the nice white shirt of the handsome stranger in front of him.

“Shit,” the stranger said, looking down to survey the damage.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have trusted myself to make a phone call and not be clumsy after such a long flight,” Derek said. He set his briefcase down and pulled a wad of napkins out of the outside pocket. The guy took a deep breath, going from murderous to calm in a few seconds. 

“I wasn’t looking where I was going either, it’s not your fault,” the guy said, setting down his own briefcase and accepting the napkins. He blotted at his shirt.

“Let me pay for the dry cleaning. Or a replacement,” Derek offered. The man shook his head.

“It’s fine, it probably needed to go to the cleaners anyways.” He checked his watch. “If I run, I can probably get a new one before my meeting.” He wadded the napkins into one big ball, picked up his briefcase, and walked towards the exit with a terse nod. Derek, feeling terrible about the whole thing, picked up his own briefcase and walked to baggage claim.

By the time he was reunited with his home office, a cozy bookshelf-lined room in his brownstone, he had almost forgotten about the coffee incident. He was focused on sending the manuscript to Cheryl. Unfortunately, that was going to be difficult, considering he pulled a PC laptop out of the bag instead of his Mac.

Derek stared at the computer for a full minute. He almost couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. Hesitantly, he opened the laptop. On one side of the keyboard there was a weird thing that a few seconds of phone googling told him was a fingerprint scanner. Shit. He hit the space bar experimentally. Something flashed on the screen, and then was replaced with just a plain black screen with red text: ACCESS DENIED

Derek swore. He started to look through the rest of what was in the briefcase, but was disappointed to find it empty except for the laptop’s charger, three packs of gum, and receipts from a lobster shack in Maine. Shit. Nothing in here would tell him anything about the redhead he’d launched a latte at. 

He closed the laptop dejectedly, ignored his editor’s text messages, and went into the kitchen to make himself lunch and feel sorry for himself. This was the universe punishing him for covering a cute guy with coffee. If he had just kept his focus and waited to call his editor later, he could have sent the draft along and saved it and not be desperately trying to remember his inspiration.

Just as the self-pity spiral was really taking off, the doorbell rang. Derek sighed, put down his tea, and walked to the door. When he opened it, it wasn’t Girl Scouts or Jehovah’s Witnesses, but the guy from the airport.

“Cancel whatever you’re doing today, I need to teach you the most basic principles of digital security,” the guy said, pushing past Derek into the dining room. He shoved a stack of papers onto a chair and pulled Derek’s laptop out.

“I’m Will, by the way, I make software that’s hopefully a step ahead of viruses.”

“Is the draft still there?”

“The draft of what?” The guy looked confused.

“My third act breakthrough. I’m a novelist, I need to get it to my editor and I couldn’t remember if I saved it,” Derek explained.

“You know you can set up an auto-save every five minutes or so, right?” Will asked.

“This might be surprising to you, but I’ve never had a cute guy storm into my house and yell at me about computers before.” Will looked up from Derek’s computer, blushing.

“I haven’t had a cute guy dump a gallon of coffee all over me and steal my laptop before, either, but here we are.”

“Maybe you can yell about computers over lunch with me?”

3. Zimbits

Button downs. Tank tops. Slacks. Shorts. Three rolling pins. A pie tin. A half-emptied multipack of sharpies.

No lucky puck. No clothes in his size. No jerseys.

Jack sighed. It would just be too much to ask for anything to go well today. He picked up his phone to call someone with the Falconers, in the hope that they could talk to the airline and sort all this out. At the same time, his phone lit up with Tater’s face.

“Zimmboni! Look on twitter. Small internet baker has your suitcase!” Tater hung up before he could reply, so Jack just opened twitter instead. 

omgcheckplease: A bunch of pucks, some dirty jerseys, and a history textbook. Either I’m back in college or this isn’t my suitcase.

omgcheckplease: .@falcsofficial please tell your #1 player to DM me and come get his shit

omgcheckplease: and @falcsofficial tell him to give me my shit back. my hockey days are in the past, I need rolling pins, not a mouthguard

Jack smiled and laughed in the way a person laughs when they’re alone, just blowing more air than normal out of his nose. He looked through the twitter for a minute– the guy, Eric Bittle, was a Providence-based chef, whose latest tweets were mostly greetings to the various cities he’d been visiting on tour. Jack clicked the media tab on the account, and looked through the pictures. Bittle was cute. He wrote a reply.

zimmboni: .@omgcheckplease how do I send u a DM

omgcheckplease: .@zimmboni you don’t deserve to be verified, oh my god #verifybittle2k17

A few seconds later another notification popped up, and he tapped it to be brought to a DM window.

omgcheckplease: hey! sorry about the mixup. I can only imagine how confused you were to find all my book tour stuff.

zimmboni: Probably as confused as you were finding hockey stuff?

omgcheckplease: I wasn’t joking in my tweets, I did play hockey before I got into the whole cookbook/food show thing

zimmboni: Exactly, I did a book tour last year in the off-season :-)

omgcheckplease: oh my gosh, isn’t it the best and the worst?

zimmboni: I know. It’s great to meet people and talk about your work, but it’s exhausting.

omgcheckplease: that’s why I’m so excited to be back in Providence! at least until the next cookbook.

zimmboni: Well we should probably meet up to trade suitcases. Want to meet somewhere for dinner?

omgcheckplease: don’t trust me to learn where your house is?

zimmboni: I mean, if dinner goes well enough…

omgcheckplease: OH. okay, then, Mr. Zimmermann, it’s a date.

Jack smiled to himself, and got ready for his date.

Coach Bittle: What might have been

The stadium was slowly emptying. The locker room was empty, the players gone to celebrate their win, Richard Bittle was busy closing and locking doors. When he turned around, he was surprised to see one of his players waiting for him, twisting the hem of his Georgia Football sweater.

- Huh… Coach? can I talk to you?

- Sure, Masterson, what is it?

- Huh…

The kid looked behind him, at the closed locker door. He seemed afraid.

- It’s about your son, Sir. The guys made us swear we wouldn’t tell, but-

Something cold grabbed Richard’s insides. Soon he was running to a deserted corridor, opening a locker door that was never used, and finding his own son lying on the cold ground, covered in bruises.

- Dicky, Dicky answer me-

He took the shivering boy in his arms. Dicky, thank the Lord, opened his good eye.

- …Coach?

- I’m here, son, I’m here. What happened to you, who did this-

- They- they said I was a faggot, Coach. I’m sorry, I should have been stronger, I should have-

- Nonsense, it’s not your fault, come here.

And holding his son against him, he barely heard the tiny voice whisper:

- But what if I am? What if I’m gay?

Richard didn’t have the words, so he held his son tighter.

Richard had made his decision before even reaching the house, so when later, that night, after the tears and the reassurances, after Dicky finally fell asleep, his bruises and cuts tended to, he sat down at the kitchen table with Suzanne.

- Richard, I know they’re your team, but-

- I will send my resignation in the morning. Madison High School wants me, I’ll call them as soon as I can.

- Oh. Okay. I was afraid that…

- Suzie, he’s our son.

- Yes. I’m sorry. But what about his figure skating? You know Katya is the best…

- That’s up to him.

If Richard was relieved that Dicky chose to play Hockey instead, he kept it to himself.

The front door slammed, and Dicky let his hockey bag fall to the floor.

-That Tyler is a real-

- Language, interrupted Richard without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

- Sorry Coach, mumbled Dicky, sitting down in front of him, crossing his arms. It’s just that he’s been acting like a real jerk, showing off and saying stupid stuff…

- Last week you talked about how good he was at hockey for a good ten minutes without breathing. What happened since?

Dicky placed his head on the table and mumbled something.

- Didn’t hear you, son.

- …He got a girlfriend.

- Ah, said Richard, turning a new page. Sorry to hear about that.

- Yeah.

Dicky spent the afternoon transforming the kitchen into a war zone.

Keep reading

The Black Envelope: Letters of Love

PART FOUR of The Black Envelope series

OTHER PARTS: Sehun | Jongin | Joonmyeon | … | Chanyeol | Minseok | Baekhyun | Jongdae | Yixing

Originally posted by smileysoo

Do Kyungsoo (D.O of EXO) x Reader

Genre: Fluff; Arranged Marriage/Soulmate!AU

Summary: Who knew it was possible to fall in love with someone through letters? 

Word Count: 3,9K

Do Kyungsoo was always a bit different from other kids his age. He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, nor was he an excellent student (as much as that disappointed his parents), nor a very good sportsman. He was just the plain boring lonely Kyungsoo.

By the time he reached his teenage years, even he gave up on ever getting a girlfriend. It seemed he was destined to be forever lonely. No girls his age ever looked at him. It wasn’t until his 14th birthday that he finally found hope.

Keep reading

{hi hello hey here comes a wall of text because I haven’t blogged in soooo long and I have all this stuff built up and I’m on mobile and have no idea how to do a read more so sorry just keep scrolling if you don’t wanna read okay bye}

so my Grandmaster posted this on my Facebook today.

(and yes, before you ask, he has “Master” listed as part of his name because he’s trained for like 50 years and nobody refers to him by his first name okay enough disclosures here)

if you’re just tuning in, I train in taekwondo. I have been for a couple years now. I’m currently an advanced blue belt. and I’ve loved it for the most part. It’s been a huge part of my life, yadda yadda yadda. read my “steph does taekwondo” tag if you want more backstory

recently I’ve been having a hard time. I have thought about quitting a lot. my main instructor predominately teaches at another dojang now, I only see him in passing maybe once a month. I miss him a lot. There was just a black belt class that tested, and most of them will stop training regularly. We’ve had a ton of changes in people, class time, focus, etc.

sometimes I’m the only adult training with a bunch of kids. sometimes grandmaster is too busy and the class is largely unstructured. sometimes he’ll tell the black belts to do one thing, he takes the white belts, and then I’m left to just figure it out. I do a lot of poomsae on my own.

in fact, since my instructor is at the other school right now, I’m alone a lot. Grandmaster largely ignores me.

the other day, we had an unusual class of 10+ people, 8 of them lower rank than me, so I was at the front of the room (we line up in order if that makes sense). Grandmaster stood opposite of me, calling out various kicks and drills he wanted us to do. he commented on everyone’s performance - “B, nice job. C, kick higher. R - switch your feet.” etc etc. except me. he said nothing to me or about me and I was two feet in front of him. it was as if he was looking through me. I even purposely did the wrong moves for one drill just to see if he’d notice or say something. He didn’t.

a couple Saturdays ago, we had a “poomsae seminar” with a master from Korea that Grandmaster has known forever and really respects. it was three hours long. THREE HOURS. and guess how many times we did each Taeguek form? once. the first 2.5 hours were spent on just punching, kicking, stretching, and having to do punishment push-ups and stuff because the younger belts couldn’t focus and kept mouthing off. I got a good workout, but I was sooo frustrated by the end. I was anticipating spending much more time going through each form, getting specific feedback, etc. the seminar was for colored belts, they had a separate seminar later that afternoon for black belts, and that’s exactly what they did. they all said they loved it.

Monday’s class, Grandmaster asked students what they learned during the weekend’s seminar. Each black belt stated something that the visiting Master taught them - the timing for a poom, clarification on whether it’s a blade hand over a fist, the height of the kick or the degree of the turn. they were all happy with it.

Grandmaster turns to me and asks me what I learned. I said “nothing new” which I immediately realized was the incorrect answer. He said, “nothing?” and I explained that I had envisioned spending more time doing the actual poomsae forms, since the seminar was called “poomsae seminar.” I said that I felt like it wasn’t for me and that I wasn’t interested in doing another seminar.

He. Went. Off. On. Me.

And I know I’m overly sensitive. but he began ranting about how dumb I must be to think that we would have done poomsae for three hours, that poomsae is made up of each individual movement and that the focus was to strengthen each piece so that the whole would be stronger, and that he was watching me at the seminar and I was making a lot of mistakes and that it’s foolish of me to think that I don’t need to work on the basics and how dare I think I deserve to go to nationals if I can’t even withstand a simple seminar

I just kinda bowed my head and said okay and tried to not cry. he walked away from me and left me to practice my poomsae. but how do you practice after that? he just told me to do individual pieces, not the full forms. I have four different forms that could be selected for competition - which do I choose? do I pick the part I’m least familiar with, knowing he’ll come by and tell me every little thing I did wrong, or do I do a part I know real well? but then I’m not practicing really.

I was kinda frozen there when he turned away from the other students and back to me. he said, “well go on then, Stephanie.” and I replied, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

he began speaking again but honestly I didn’t hear any more of his words. because now is when I started crying. I work so hard, spend countless hours in the dojang, practice over and over, watch videos of other competitors to see what they do, and all I want is for him to see me and acknowledge me. I don’t care if all he does is correct me, at least that’d show that he’s watching. at the state competition last month, he didn’t watch me perform. He didn’t give me a pep talk before or criticism or praise after. he didn’t even wave from across the room. my instructor watched me; he was the only one.

I had just burst into tears in the middle of class and he. Kept. Talking. He didn’t soften his tone or do anything to show that he even realized I was upset. I, completely embarrassed, said “I gotta go” and ran off the mat. I went into the bathroom where I proceeded to have a full blown anxiety attack. It took several minutes for me to calm down. Finally, i got it together enough to leave the bathroom, grab my gym bag, return to the bathroom to change my clothes, and walk out. I heard him ask, “are you okay?” and I said no and just kept walking. I cried all the way home.

that was April 17, the last time I went to class. the next day, he called me. at least, I think it was him. I don’t have his personal number. He called at 8:30pm, the time the last class ends - no one calls me then. But I was too scared to answer. He didn’t leave a message.

I have a lot of other things going on in my life right now, including a job promotion that starts Monday and my continued house hunting, and I decided to take a little break from training. It’s been a major source of stress and I don’t need that negativity right now. I didn’t really choose a specific timeline for a break - I had my gym bag in my car but each day chose to drive home instead of to the dojang. As each day passed, the more anxious I felt about returning. I thought - “what if he’s mad? what if he yells at me again? what if I have another anxiety attack?” So I haven’t gone back.

I also thought - “what if he doesn’t care? I could just never return, would he notice? Would he say something?”

So on one hand, I’m glad he reached out to me on Facebook. Because he must care at least a little. On the other hand, I’m apprehensive. What if this just blows over and then he goes back to ignoring me?

Sigh. So that’s where I am right now. I don’t know if I’m going to nationals. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know when I’ll see my instructor again. I don’t even know how to reply to his Facebook post.

but I do know I’ll be in class on Monday.

So I was scrolling through the tumblr void, and I found this ask that @bananannabeth had gotten. I screenshotted, and replied to it, since her ask was closed and I really liked the prompt. I hope that’s okay! But anyways, here’s a thing. Side note- I did skip the tattoo artist thing… Sorry!

Part 2 here:

Nico isn’t sure how many more hippie sun doodles he can take on his wrist.

“Will you quit doodling those stupid Suns?” He writes on his right wrist. A few minutes later, the reply comes in on his left wrist. “Only if you’d tell me your name already.”

Nico sighed. Alright, so he hadn’t even given his soulmate a hint about who he was. He hadn’t told him anything, his name, his age, nothing. It’s just- he’s not ready, in every sense of the word. He’s learned so much about Will, he’s 17, is a junior at his school’s rival high school, and he wants to be a doctor. From the doodle he drew of himself, he looks like he’ll be tall, blond, with a ton of freckles. He’s funny too, and really witty. He’s happy go lucky, and a bit of a hippy.

In short, he’s everything Nico isn’t. Nico just turned 14, he’s only in 8th grade. Too big of an age difference right now. He wears all black and skull tee shirts and an old aviator jacket he got from the thrift shop down the road from school. He’s quiet and unpopular and awkward.

And the worst? Nico is a he.

What if Will didn’t realize his soulmate was a guy? What if he’d never thought he might be bi, or gay, or anything else entailing him liking guys? And Nico doesn’t even feel ready to come out himself. He’s in 8th grade for crying out loud! 13 year olds are cruel, and he knows he wouldn’t be accepted yet.

So for now, Nico lets Will pour his heart and soul onto his left forearm, while Nico gives little of himself in return. Most days, Will as come to accept that he knows so little about his soulmate, and that he hasn’t gotten to meet him yet. But there are a few days when he’s just frustrated.

“Anything. Please. You know everything about me and I know nothing,” appears on Nico’s arm during Earth Science. He sighs, seeing Will’s messier than usual handwriting. He’s probably had a bad day.

Resigned, Nico writes back “I had a sister, and she was the best person in the world. She went to Artemis Academy in upstate New York.”

Will replies almost instantly. “What happened to her?”

Nico uses his hand sanitizer to wash his last sentence away to make more room. “She died. She was walking to a cafe with some friends, and it was icy. The driver couldn’t control the car, and he hit her,” Nico wrote. Further up his arm, he added “that was when I was 11, and Bianca was 14.”

Will didn’t write anything for a minute. Nico finished his work sheet the teacher had assigned, and as he was turning it in, new words appeared on his left forearm. “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks. It really sucked. She was my only real family so”

Nico could tell Will was happy to learn something about him, even if it wasn’t good things, because he continued to reply quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom died when I was little. Dad-”

“Mr. di Angelo,” his teacher, Mr. Minos said. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”


“No, sir,” he replied, smirking. He was a jerk, but Nico couldn’t afford another trip to the office, so he repeated the teacher.

By the time class had ended, Nico’s left arm was covered in “and?” “What about your dad?” “Are you still there?” “Haha I’m so funny” “but seriously, you okay?” “Oh god please be okay” “I don’t even know your name you can’t be not okay and leave your soulmate hanging like this.”

More continued appearing, so Nico finally wrote back “Chill, my teacher yelled at me for writing you during class, so I had to stop.”

The writing on his arm started to smudge away, and was replaced by “oh… Sorry…”

“It’s okay.”

“So… Your dad?”

“Straight to the point, huh Solace?”

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me”

“No, I was going to anyways, it’s fine,” Nico replies. He takes the hand sanitizer (bless this stuff) and clears his arm. “My dad runs a huge funeral home business. I mean, really big. He cheated on his wife with my mom… Twice. She had me and Bianca, and she died in an accident when I was four. So he moved us from Venice to the states and had us put into boarding schools.”

“Holy shit,” Will writes back. “That’s… Wow. It’s just my mom and me, as you know, but I still couldn’t imagine not having any family for so long”

Will doesn’t write anything for a moment, but before Nico can reply, “I’ll be your family,” appears on his arm.

Nico’s glad he’s already back in his dorm room, because he gets ready eyed at that.

“My last name is di Angelo,” he finally replies. He’s still not ready to come out, but he’s already given Will a lot today. Besides, he doesn’t have a Facebook, so he can’t stalk Nico and figure it out.

“di Angelo. I like it,” Will replies. “Thanks for today. I didn’t expect to learn so much.”

In reply, Nico just draws a little sun. He’s still not ready to go much further. But he’s making progress, and that’s what matters.


Annabeth is totally that one girlfriend who’s can be heard across the school during the swim meets. She will fight anyone that says anything bad about Percy, and Piper has to keep an eye on her to calm her down. Afterwards, she doesn’t care if Percy is all wet and dripping from pool water or if he didn’t place, she’ll hug the crap out of him and say he did great.

Grover doesn’t really like getting wet, and he’s not sure if he can really go at times, but once he’s missed one too many, he’s there for all of them. Usually with Annabeth to beat the shit out of the judges because that is a son of poisedon what you mean that his form wasn’t perfect?! Plus, he wasn’t with this kid for four years rooting him along and to have the judges disrespect him.

Jason kinda likes being at Percy’s swim meets because you get to watch from up high. Other than that, he’s not that into sports. But it’s usually him and Annabeth that go down there, and he waits for Annabeth to be done hugging him to give him a highfive.

Nico doesn’t really go but he will if he’s nagged about it. But he does like talking to some of the kids who are dragged there.

Piper cheers with Annabeth but tries to calm her down if she starts to threaten to hit the judges. Sometimes she’ll go down with Jason and Annabeth, but she usually waits for when everything is calm to say he did well.

Chiron would go, but gosh darnit there are so many more kids at camp now. But he’s happy to hear the reports from Jason.

Frank and Hazel are usually too busy or too far away to go, but they always send Percy their regards. When they do go, Hazel roots along with Annabeth, and then becomes embarrassed. Frank teases her about it all the time, and she threatens to post pictures of him as a bulldog on Facebook. (Which she’s still getting the hang of)

Sally is so proud of her son. She’s so glad to see that he’s done well and all of her hardwork has paid off. All of the soccer moms talk about her behind her back but once they get down to the pool for their kids there’s usually a “freak accident” that results in all of them with ruined make up, hair, and clothes.

Paul believes in standing back when it comes to school sports, but he shows up nevertheless because, well. That’s his step-son. And he’ll be there for him, because gods know that Percy could use an actual god damn father figure in his life.

Throwing Cellphones

                    Feliciano gets himself a sugar daddy.

With only 10 minutes left to Tuesday, woo! Sorry guys, was doing things and got distracted :’D Once again I remind that I update Throwing Cellphones…very late into Monday, but it’s Monday none the less. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

                                                    Chapter 2

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anonymous asked:

Thank you for your readings, they're so accurate! I asked you a while back if my next bf would be a cancer, fast forward to last Friday when I met this great guy at a party. We clicked immediately and went on a date yesterday. I think he's a keeper. I checked his Facebook for fun today, and he's a cancer and then I remembered that I had asked you about that and it's just so crazy! Keep up the good work x

Oh my gosh, I am very glad to hear that!!!! I hope he’s good to you! 

(and we’re back with the newest part of “Harris gets a cat in the stupidest possible way.”  To find the others, check the tag ‘Harris is a walking tire fire.’)

“All right, we’ve given him a very mild sedative, just to relax him.” Maria tucked the receipt into the folder with Slink’s medical records and a wide variety of helpful pamphlets for new pet owners. “But I actually think he’ll be fine, he’s traveled quite a bit.”

Terri put the bag of supplies on the counter. “He’s been to ever PetCo adoption event in a fifty mile radius.” She folded her arms on the edge of the counter and leaned over, bracing her chin on her wrist. Slink was curled up, the tip of his striped tail flicking slowly up and down. “Ready for your trip, Slinky-Dink?” she asked him. He yawned, his paws flexing.

“Warner’s loaded a bag of litter and a bag of food into your trunk, and we can help you with the rest of this.” Maria handed Harris his credit card back. “If it doesn’t work out-” Her eyes darted towards Terri, and Terri pushed herself upright with a sigh.

“All of our cats come with a money back guarantee,” she said with a grin.

Maria set one hand on the counter, and the other on her hip. “Stop telling people that.”

“It’s true,” Terri said. She gave Maria an innocent look. “Isn’t it?”

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anonymous asked:

A while ago I asked you for a reading and you mentioned people in their 20s and stealing and loss of trust... I a few days before had agreed to sell my phone to a long time "friend" they were having really hard times and we agreed to do payments. Then and their SO had a huge fight at my house and then he sub posted on Facebook so I texted him and he accused me of lying about my partner having cancer for attention... and I still haven't been paid

Well now. I’m glad that I at least let you know ahead of time, but I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. Hopefully you’ll be paid soon and you can turn your back on both situations. 

"Hey Wanna RP?"

Warning: rape threats.

I used to be in this rp group on facebook who was super active back then, like really active. There were people rp-ing Here and there and basically you just post a starter on the wall and people can come and rp with you through the comments section. I was never really that good of an rp-er since I used asterisks because I was lazy, but that group was like my escape from the real world. It used to be pretty cool.

I recently got out of my weaboo phase when I met him. As much as I’d love to just print his name out for everyone to see , I’ll just stick to covering up his identity.(because im nice.)

Lets call him A. A for annoying. A for atrocious. A for Abrasive. A for…Antelope..? 

..ignore that.

You see A was your typical weaboo: uses broken Japanese he learned from Anime, Calls himself “otaku”, is obsessed with Japan, overuses the word “kawaii”..etc. I met him through that said RP group where he bombarded the group with his starters, but to no avail, they remained unanswered.

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When in Tokyo 💕

So I always love reading the stories submitted here but never felt the courage to submit mine but now I feel okay sharing mine with you.

I apologize in advance because it’s gonna be a very very long one because there are three stories in it ! Please bear with me 😔 

So during the beginning of the summer holidays I went to Tokyo for 2 weeks to visit the city. It had always been a childhood dream and the trip was amazing and along the journey I found myself caught with unexpected encounters. 

Story 1 : Californian Loverboy 

I remember in Tokyo, I met other young travelers at my hostel and since it was Friday evening, they all wanted to have dinner at ramen restaurant together and then go clubbing in Roppongi (busy area in Tokyo known for its nightlife).  Now mind me but I didn’t plan to go out on this trip so I didn’t have any outfits to go clubbing and didn’t feel like going out that day but those newly-made friends insisted. So I gave in!  

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I fell for a dark haired boy with a sad face last summer. Fell for the way his mouth moved when he talked to me, and how it would set into a firm line when he would not. Fell for the way that we talked, that every time, even the first it was like picking up a mutual stream of dialogue that was a quarter of the way in and it just, kept going. No end in sight.

I fell for the way his hair was crazed half the time, the way his sun soaked skin shone. The dark slash of his eyebrows over his dark brown eyes. The way his hands moved, and the angle of his shoulders.  Eyes that were so seeking, scanning, collecting things, then focusing wide. Almost questioning you, why were things like this, how could they be? He looked like something I had dreamt up. I fell. Hard. 

I fell for him the summer that I never expected to find a soul out there in the world like mine; hopeful, and terrified, still mending, learning to love itself. 

He left me a bit of a mess when he wasn’t ready, and to think back, neither was I. So days, weeks, months passed, grew into a year, and we didn’t talk. According to pictures and updates, he grew a beard that cover the cheekbones, and jaw line I had admired. A short smiling girl appeared in photos with him. I was glad to see him happy.  

We exchanged words a few weeks ago, he reached out the line and I was there. I felt the feelings bubble up, and I walked into a friendship, because I’d known, not because he shared, but because of Facebook, that he had a woman he was with. I knew nothing of them. He didn’t bring her up, and I only did when I steered the nostalgia back to reality. The very occasional “what if”s came up, we are human of course. Mostly, we talked of summer, of vacations, rivers, lakes, time, and space, or bread baking, celebrations, of music, and darkness.  Very rarely, phrases he brought up when we became nostalgic for that last summer would pummel my heart; “It’s wonderful and heartbreaking” he’d say looking back at our old conversations. That we were “like a damn firework”. I felt the same, it was like a firework, it was glorious and heady. It was a spark, a whirling ride up up up, a bang, and a glorious show of lights, fire, and magic. It was the mass of smoke that builds against the night sky and floats away like a cloud, and it was fleeting, but memorable. I was relieved that he remembered it the way I did. 

It wasn’t soon after that I knew I had to cut the line. So, I did. 

Honestly, it felt more like I couldn’t find a knife or a pair of scissors, so I took it in my hands and I worked in determined and focused  movements to severe it. I felt like I left with bloodied fingers. I broke it because I couldn’t even think of him without a slight revolt of feelings. Admiration, kinship, ease of friendship, but then longing, want. That was when I realized that it would never be fair, ever to take as much as I could out of the friendship and not admit to myself that it was selfish, and petty.

 That he had someone to love, who loved him. And no matter the way he described he and I that “we are lovers”. We weren’t and had never been lovers in the sensual sense because I’d never laid my hands, or lips on him. That he’d never, even that summer, held my hand, never felt the texture of my skin, or captured the scent of my hair. 

But, we had made love with our words, with our sentiments last summer. We were romantic to each other that summer because we shared each of ourselves fully with each other. Offered up pieces of ourselves back and forth, like packages in various wrappings and boxes. Envelopes with single words, sometimes it felt like he and I had a beat up leather journal that kept changing hands, him then I, back and forth. Filled with sketches, pressed flowers, recipes, pictures, lyrics, quotes, analysis, ripped out pages of our favorite books, words, declarations, secrets. Filled with pieces of paper, napkins, reciepts we’d find and write our thoughts on them and tuck them into the pages. I’d never felt so free to think aloud, to hope aloud, to trudge through despair aloud. But with him, it was just another part of me that I could share, like my middle name, or how I liked my bacon.

I saw him in person once. On purpose, nearly. I was so determined to, and then not to, and then to over the course of three hours when I was in the neighborhood of his work, a historical district of a city about an hour away from my town. If we’re going to be friends, we should meet, finally, in person. I’d told him so. I was about to chicken out, glancing into his shop, then walking past. When he opened the door by mere chance, and it was awkward and unceremonious, but it broke my heart. Because there he was, and he belonged to someone else, and being just his friend wasn’t ever going to work. 

It’s been a couple weeks since I severed it. I haven’t searched him out, nor made word to him. I know it was the absolute only thing I could do to preserve three people’s hearts. Sure, mine got a solid tumble, a few bruises. Nothing that I didn’t deserve, even though I tried, very hard, to be friends. But as soon as my heart tried to swell up and be involved, I knew. I knew that I’m not a second choice, I’m not to be loved in just words, or memories. I knew that no matter what my heart seemed to think was possible, that it was better to just disappear, get out of the situation. 

So, I did. I started actively looking for dates, common connections, attraction, humor, compassion. And that all is an entirely different story, one I haven’t even had the chance to write.

Inspired by Misha’s soppy tweet about not deserving us and being thankful for us all.


Jensen glances up and sideways at Misha, away from the magazine he’s not actually been able to concentrate on because Misha’s been acting off all morning - quiet, pensive, chewing lightly on his bottom lip as he stares into space, deep in thought. Misha’s doing it again now, chin tilted up, neck stretched out, his focus a long, long way away, far beyond the cloud his eyes are subconsciously tracking.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jensen asks for the at least the third time since breakfast.

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Syrian refugee cooks, serves homeless people in Germany

Alex Assali, a 38-year-old Syrian refugee in Germany, is paying his gratitude to the country that hosted him by helping its homeless people.

Every Saturday, Assali sets up his mobile kitchen at a train station in Berlin’s Alexanderplatz square aiming to feed the homeless people in the city.

Assali’s act was noticed when Tabea Bü shared his photo on her Facebook page.

“This man has impressed me deeply … I’m so glad to have met him and to see what he does,” she wrote about the photo that shows Assali standing in front of his food stand. One of the sings on the table reads: “Give something back to German people.”

Assali started the project in August with the help of Christian Syrian Project and uses a chunk of his money that the German government provides to refugees with no income source. He is unemployed, so he gets approximately 500 US dollars from the government each month, out of which he saves around 140 US dollars for this project, according to a story on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s website.

Assali arrived in Germany in 2014 after escaping an ISIS prison in Libya, he told CBC. He had fled Syria in 2007 and now feels at home in Germany.
After the photo started spreading in the social media platform, Bü said she was overwhelmed by the response.

“Alex and me are really overwhelmed by this feedback,” Bü said in a separate Facebook post.

“We got messages from people all over the world. We both never imagined what this little post could do, but we are happy that we did bring a little light into the world!”

As the world grapples with refugee crisis due to the ongoing crisis, mainly in Syria, Germany has become open to accepting them unlike many of its European counterparts. The country has accepted more than 100,000 Syrian asylum applicants before October.

While Assali thanked Germany for the country’s gracious attitude toward refugees and is giving back in his own way, he had a larger message for everyone.

“Don’t reject any homeless person who asks you for something. They really do need it”, CBC quoted him as saying.

anonymous asked:

please tell us about the time you started a fight in a library over lavi

Oh boy, that’s honestly probably one of my most shameful experience and yet I’m still proud of it.

Okay so it was a few years ago, and I went to a manga library in my city to buy the latest volume of D Gray Man that was out at the time (volume 22) with my best friend. 

The thing is that there was a guy in the shop who was, kind of an asshole? And my friend told me it seems the guy was trying to flirt with me but whatever? Anyway, the guy tried to get my attention by talking to me about the mangas he thought were dumb (not that he didn’t like, /dumb/, you see the kind of asshole) and after realizing I wasn’t paying much attention to him, I think he saw the manga in my hand and he said “D Gray Man is third dumbest tho.”

I was slightly pissed, but even there, I’m a good girl. And especially I was with my best friend who was my impulse controle and basically dragged me away from the guy so I wouldn’t start arguing with him. 

So we ignored him, we kept doing our things, looking at the other mangas, and I suppose the guy didn’t really like the fact I was ignoring him, so he went to the shelves with the DGM on with his friends  and he started to insult all the part.

“What the hell is that main character anyway” “that fat man is ridiculous” “that guy with the hammer is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen”

And I started to throw mangas at him.

I was trying to ignore him but I basically just snapped, I was chill, just mindly annoyed when he mentionned Allen and the Earl, but as soon as he mentioned Lavi I was furious, and apparently I threw them pretty hard because he seemed terrified and in pain. My best friend had to drag me to pay and to leave the shop because according to him I “looked possessed” and I was still taking others books to throw them that was a mess. 

I came back to the shop the next day to apologize to the owner for my attitude, but they were actually really, really chill with it. They said it was actually pretty funny and that, anyway, that guy has the tendency to be really harsh with all the manga fans and people usually just ignore him but he was annoying a lot of people, so they were actually glad I reacted this way. Apparently it made the staff laugh a lot and I scared the guy. 

Eventually (what is my luck) the guy came back in the shop while I was in, and I totally ignored him and quickly left, but it happens he was apparently terrified and he tried to stay away from me as much as possible, and after he got behind the shop owner, he asked me if I wanted to share Facebooks “in case I wanted to fight again.” I totally ignored him and I left the shop.

And it sounds so unreal honestly, but I still remember it and I’m still quite ashamed because I was violent and it was rude? But then that guy was an asshole and apparently it was a lot of fun for the staff and it was for Lavi so I’m stilla bit proud still?

So that was the time I started a fight in a shop. For Lavi. 

First Strike/Last Strike

It was midway through the week by the time Kitty and the rest of the Cheerios stopped limping and looking pained every time they had to twist or bend, but at least it had given Kitty a few days of peace.  If Bree couldn’t move she was less likely to do something awful - then again, as long as her mouth was still working she could be horrible.  And on Wednesday morning she proved that there wasn’t a limit to what she was willing to stoop to.  Kitty had seen Marley off to class and was walking through the halls to her locker with a couple of her friends from the squad.  As she turned a corner, though, she felt time slow like she’d walked into quicksand.

He was there.  Standing at her locker, looking like he didn’t have a single care in the world.  He turned to look at her and the smile that lit his face made her sick.  When she thought of him, as she had for years, the very idea of him was nauseating, and clearly he felt that she had some sort of positive feelings for him and that was the worst thought she could imagine.  He had haunted her thoughts, right down the core of her being, and somehow he felt like she would be pleased to see him.  Kitty stumbled, falling backward despite the friends who tried to catch her.  And he moved toward her, extending a hand, like she would take it and be pulled to her feet.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed - it would have been a scream, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention.

“One of your friends called,” he looked curiously down at her.  “Said you wanted to take back what you said back then, that you knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.  I was so glad to hear it…”

Bree.  She’d lost the diary but remembered his name.  Probably found him on facebook, got his number.  It was a line crossed that Kitty could never, ever forgive.  To bring the source of her trauma, the boy who’d molested her, into the place that she was supposed to feel safe…she was going to pay.  Kitty shot to her feet and left him standing there, charging into the class that Bree shared with Marley.  The teacher said something she didn’t hear, but Kitty approached her desk with murderous intent.

“You are the worst human being I have ever met,” Kitty’s voice wasn’t quiet any longer.  “And I don’t care who hears me say this, I’m not ashamed of it anymore and I don’t need it to be a secret.  You sought out a boy who sexually assaulted me when I was twelve years old.  You called him here.  You got him a visitor’s pass, because people can’t just walk around the halls of this place.  And you sent him to my locker.  Because you knew that I would panic, and you knew that I didn’t want every sordid detail of my past getting leaked around this school.  You did it because you think it makes you stronger than me.  You’re nothing to me.  You’re nothing to anyone.  What you did today-”

“Sounds worthy of expulsion,” came a voice from behind her.  Someone had alerted Mr. Schuester to the commotion, and he’d followed her into the classroom without interrupting her.  “Bree, get your things and get to the principal’s office.  Right now.  The boy you brought into the school is already there.  NOW!” the sound of his raised voice was a shock to everyone, and amazingly enough Bree looked shaken.  She vanished from the room, and all of Kitty’s righteousness and strength went with her.  She sat down hard on the floor, paling at the realization of what had just happened.

“I know this will be around the school before I even get up,” she added, her voice softer but carrying through the room.  “I hope that anyone who feels the need to share it feels really great about themselves afterward.”  The tears had finally started, and she sat there helpless to stop them.  It was over.  Everything she’d worked for, the whole reason she’d changed schools, the whole reason Marley had committed a break and enter for her.  Whatever reputation she had left had just been burned on the pyre.  But if she was honest, it felt good.  She’d spent years hiding, running, avoiding.  It was her senior year.  If her reputation was going to burn, let it be a fire that could be seen for miles.