soda stack

The Smart Way

A long time ago, I worked at a big-box store, pulling boxes off trucks, stacking them on pallets, and sending the pallets out to the sales floor to stock. It was hot, tiring, and not particularly fun, but they paid me, so that was good enough.

I had a coworker that those of us in the warehouse liked to call Crackhead. Crackhead wasn’t really a bad guy, but his choice of vice was really beginning to affect those around him. Unfortunately, he had an industrious, git-‘er-done attitude, which management absolutely loved; if a supervisor told him to run head-first into a brick wall, he’d do it with a smile. Which, I suppose, isn’t all that bad either, at least as far as management is concerned. Except… “charging head-first into a brick wall” was his go-to strategy. If the boxes on the beat-up conveyor belt got stuck, his solution was to shove as hard as he could, slamming the boxes into each other until something broke or fell off and everything started moving again. Of all the breakage we experienced that wasn’t broken in transit, 90% of it was from Crackhead. We lost gallons of paint because he wanted to know what the bottom of the paint box looked like. We lost a case of shampoo because he opened it to see what it smelled like, and dropped it on the cement floor. We even lost our lunch hour once because he somehow broke the time-clock so we couldn’t clock in or out for lunch, and told management that everyone had “totally had taken lunch already” and “oh man, those guys are so lazy, they want two lunch breaks.”

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Sometimes a Memory is not Enough

Entry for round 8 of the ‘Choices Creates Carnival’

Prompt: Friendship

Relationships: Diego and MC (Endless Summer)

Hosts: @hollyashton @firefly-hwufanficwriter

A/N: I read the deadline for the Round 8 entry wrong, so this is late. It’s also long. I wanted to brush off the rust and start writing again, so I wrote this thing because Diego is awesome.

Set just after the group skip into the future and find Rourke in that hybernation pod.


Its Estela’s idea to post sentries, because of course it is.

It’s Zahra who groans and says she’s too tired for it, tells Estela to do it herself if it’s that important to her.

Their bickering – if you could call it that – is as snappy and quick as it is to end. It’s Sean that shuts it down, because of course it is.

It’s Grace who figures out who’ll work sentry when. She draws up a timetable in messy scribbles, her eyes darting over to the elevators every few seconds.

It’s Quinn who worries aloud if Jake, Michelle and Aliester are alright upstairs with Everett Rourke. Though with the way Grace is acting, you guess Quinn’s not the only one.

It’s you that watches it all and you know, you know there’s more you should be doing.

You’re not upstairs with the others, waiting for Rourke to wake up from his post-hybernation pod slumber.

You’re not out there, scouring the jungle for Diego and Raj like your heart longs to. The rest of the group would come after you and you won’t do that to them. That’s not your particular brand of stupid.

You’re just there, standing stock still in the middle of The Celestial’s lobby, hating how it’s Craig by your side and not Diego.

You can’t look at Craig, at the rigid set of his shoulders or the tight balls of his fists because that anger is on you. It’s on all of you. Not going back for Raj settles a guilt so deep in you that you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to reach it; to grab it and scrape it away, even if you do manage to get him back. Anger has more use and you almost envy Craig his; wonder at how it is he got past all the other stuff and landed there. Meanwhile all you’ve got in you is your useless guilt and the ache of Diego’s loss.

“I’ll take first watch,” you say, because this isn’t you. You don’t just stand around watching other people work at the problem, no matter what you’re feeling.

The way Sean looks at you is soft, the hand he lays on your shoulder, comforting. “No,” he says gently. “I’ve got the first shift. You should… get some rest.”

You let him have it, because you can see how he wears the weight of losing Raj to the Watchers; how it leeches some of the light from his eyes and you know he carries more than his fair share of the guilt.

Sean wants to say something more, you can see him figuring out how to and you know this is about more than Raj, the Watchers or Rourke. He’s here, comforting you when Quinn is the one with lashes that are still wet from tears.

You take a step back and let Sean’s hand fall from your shoulder. You don’t want to hear it, whatever it is he has to say about Diego; about losing him. Since arriving in La Huerta Diego’s bonded with the group plenty, but Sean doesn’t know him – not the way you do. It’s not fair to Sean, to any of them, but the memory of Diego slipping away from you is still too fresh, too raw, for you to care.

You turn away before Sean can say anything, and it’s not just his eyes you feel watching you leave.

Watching Rourke sleep is about as appealing as standing around the lobby, so instead of making your way to the others, you head towards your room.

Except – God.

Diego had died in your arms in that room and you hesitate outside the door. It hadn’t mattered so much when you’d been given a second chance; when you’d gone back and saved him. He’s gone now though, and there’s no magic necklace for you to grip tight and rewind time. You’ve got nothing to get back the six months he’s spent locked up with the Watchers or worse – dead.

You can’t go in there.

You stand in the hallway, at a loss until something knocks at your shins. You look down to find Furball tugging at the hem of your jeans, trying to pull you along. You don’t know much about the tiny creature, but you know enough to trust him.

It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do, so you follow his bushy blue tail down the hallway. He leads you along to the East Wing and up two flights of stairs before halting in front of the busted in door of Diego’s room.

You’ve kept your room as clean as you found it but Diego’s is the kind of mess that would’ve driven your last foster mother into hysterics and you know it isn’t all the fault of ransacking Watchers.

Empty chip packets and an inordinate number of socks litter the floor. Dirty dishes and discarded clothing cover nearly every other available surface. The mattress has been overturned and on the bare base of the bed you spy Diego’s portable hard drive, battered and cracked open.  

Everything is cast in a gentle blue glow from the aquariums that line the walls; the dead fish in them floating somewhere near the ceiling. It’s fitting, you think, to be find a place that looks as sad and as lonely as you feel.

You take one step forward, then another and another and surround yourself with Diego’s things. Furball is busy freezing the dregs of soda in the bottles stacked by the bathroom and you sit down on the floor at the edge of the bed, turning the broken hard drive over in your hands.

Diego would be heartbroken, with actual tears in his eyes if he could see it. Hours and hours he’d spent selecting the best, most absolutely necessary, movies that he had to have with him when he left the house. Just in case. Hours more, he’d spent downloading and copying them onto the thing.

Carefully, you tuck the battered plastic into the pocket of one of Diego’s hoodies and fold it up on the floor next to you, to take when you leave.

Not ten minutes later, Furball is nudging something out from between the bed and end-table. Diego’s phone slides face-down on the carpet, towards you.

A sad smile curls your lips. Diego can’t go more than a couple hours without the thing. He’s the type of person that has six apps running in the background and endless notifications littering his lock screen. He’s that person that snaps dozens of selfies and captures every memory like holding it in your head, in your heart, isn’t enough.

You almost wish you were that person too, because right now the memory of him isn’t enough.

You reach for the phone and find it’s still connected to the charger but it’s powered off. The loud melody it makes when you turn it on slices through the quiet like a knife and the luminescent screen is so bright it makes your eyes water.

When they clear it’s a picture of Furball’s face poking out from the head of Diego’s Batman robe on the lockscreen. Your smile is warm this time because yes, Diego would bring his ratty Batman robe to a tropical island.

“His wallpaper used to be a picture of Wonder Woman,” you tell Furball as he clambers onto your lap. You tilt the phone down so he can see. “It takes someone pretty special to dethrone an Amazonian warrior princess, you know.”

“Gotta say, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the comic-book type.” The sound of Jake’s voice startles you so bad you have to fumble to keep ahold of the phone.

You look up to find him leaning in the doorway to Diego’s room, arms folded across his chest, the side of his mouth kicked up in his trademark smirk.

This would be the part where you’d tell him that you’re a woman of many mysteries or that comics were filled with enough awesome they were everyone’s type.

“Diego’s my closest friend,” you say instead, like it’s an explanation, and in a lot of ways it is.

The smirk slips from Jake’s face and he jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know, Princess.”

“No you don’t,” you reply quietly. “You don’t even know Diego.”

“Maybe not,” he replies, “but I know you.”

You snort, want to laugh but you can’t. The number of people that really know you amounts to one, and you’d let him slip right through your fingers.

“You don’t think I know you?” Jake asks and you can hear him moving closer but you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I know you,” he says again, with more force this time. The toes of his boots edge into the field of your vision. When he crouches down before you, your vision goes blurry – and oh look, there are those tears you were looking for earlier.

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is too quiet – too tender. Heat envelops you as he moves to put his arms around you but you jerk back, away from the warmth, from the comfort he’s offering.

“No. I can’t –“

“Okay,” he says, in that same tender tone and settles beside you instead. “Okay.” He’s close enough that his shoulder is pressed up next to yours; far enough away that you’ve got room to breathe.

You sit in silence for a good long while, the both of you pretending to ignore the tears that roll fat and heavy down your cheeks, the sniffles that are the only things that break the quiet. You were looking for them before, when you were alone and now that you’re not, here they are. You try and will them to stop but typically, they just won’t quit.

Your eyes are so bleary it takes you four attempts to enter the password to Diego’s phone correctly and the picture of Furball is replaced by Diego dressed as Indiana Jones and you as Gandalf. Affection sweeps through you and though the tears don’t stop, they slow.

Beside you, Jake snorts. “You never told me you were such a nerd.”

I thought you said you knew me, you could say – you could tease. That’s too much just now though, and you don’t have it in you to be zippy either.

You tap through to the photo gallery. “I met Diego at a costume party,” you tell Jake as the pictures fan out before your eyes. “It’s our thing.”

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning closer. “Tell me there’s one of you in a princess c-“

“There isn’t,” you reply too quickly.

Jake raises one brow and ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth ticks upwards. “Liar,” he breathes and before you even have the thought to tighten your grip on the phone, it’s plucked from your fingers.

You lunge forward sending Furball leaping off your lap, but Jake’s too fast and he pulls his arm back out of reach.

“What is it, huh? Frilly dress with pink taffeta? Sexy Princess Jasmine? Slave Leia?

Your cheeks tinge pink and your efforts redouble. Jake scrambles to his feet, holding his arm above his head as he dances backwards. You follow and the two of you stumble and trip on the overturned mattress, going down in a flurry of limbs.

“Oof,” he grunts as you land atop him. “Those are my kidney’s you’re crushing.”

Uncaring, you climb up the length of him and just as your fingers brush the cool glass, the speakers cackle to life.

“SURPRISE!” Diego’s voice shouts tinny and loud.

Beneath you, Jake freezes but you know this memory, you know it. You pull the phone from Jake’s slack hand and see yourself standing in the doorway to your apartment as Diego throws bits of Christmas wrapping paper at you from behind the camera.

“Why are you throwing rubbish at me?” asks the you in the video.

“It’s confetti!” Diego replies brightly. “Homemade, because that’s how much I care.”

The smile that stretches your lips mirrors the one you wear on the screen.

You don’t need the video to remember this, but you let it play anyway.


(Five months earlier)

The wrapping paper is that foil stuff and it glints in the low light as Diego continues to throw at it you from behind his phone. He’s wearing a blonde wig, a red tank that looks awfully familiar and light wash jeans.

“Are you wearing my clothes?” You ask, squinting at him.

“People dress up as Jesus on his birthday. I can dress up as you on yours,” he says, throwing confetti over himself.

He’s the only other person in the room, but you realize then, that this is a surprise party. It’s the giant strip of butcher’s paper hanging behind the television that you notice first. ‘Happy Birthday’ it reads in Diego’s elegant cursive.

Your eyes scan the rest of the apartment and find a white plastic table-cloth patterned with streamers and polka dots taped to the studs of the plaster-less wall that separates your bedroom from everything else. Brightly coloured paper plates are stuck to the other walls in the shape of wonky ‘20’s and crepe paper dangles down from at least a dozen balloons on the ceiling.

“It’s nearly four a.m.” you tell him. The words are curled around a smile as big as the sparkling thing that sits on the counter in front of Diego. “Is that – what is that?”

“Any time is party time and this,” he says, rolling the papier mache over, “is a piñata, also homemade. I’m an awesome friend.”

It looks more like a giant blob of congealed glue rolled in glitter but you love it because not only did he have the thought to give you something like this, he’d made it.  He’d made the effort – gone to the trouble of doing something nice just you on your birthday.

He’d come all the way over here at four in the morning on New Year’s just for you.  

“No,” you tell him, striding forward to wrap your arms around him. “You’re the best friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs. “Tell me that when I haven’t just handed you a giant paper ball filled with candy.”

“You threw me a birthday party,” you say more to yourself than to him. “I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

“I know.” His tone is disbelieving. “The only thing sadder than that is this party.”

“It’s great,” you say, pulling away to look around properly. He’s stolen his Uncle’s chilli-pepper lights and wrapped them like boa-scarves around his life-sized cardboard cutouts of Han Solo and Ripley, making them glow an ominous red and the party hats he’s stuck on them, sparkle.

“Prettiest fire hazards you’ve ever seen, right?” He asks. “I know the decorations are ugly, but I thought Han and Ripley’s pretty would take the edge off.”

“It looks amazing, Diego.” You turn back towards him so he can see just how much you mean it. “I love it.” You say it to reassure him, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“You love the party because you’ve never had one before,” he points out with a roll of his eyes.

You consider your next words carefully. He’d covered his insecurities with humour and faux bravado only moments ago, but he’s letting you see them now and you know this is your chance. You’ve been trying to help Diego with his insecurities for a long while but assuaging them with words alone is surprisingly difficult.

“Maybe not,” you hedge, “but I’ve had friends and I’ve had family and none of them have ever done anything like this for me.”

He already knows it, but he needs to be reminded of the kind of friend – the kind of person – he is. It’s hard to find any as thoughtful or as sweet as he is.

Diego winces. “Stop trying to reassure me. It’s just depressing the both of us.”

“Not me,” you say brightly.

Now that you’ve come around the counter you can see the craft supplies on the table; the little tubs of facepaint that looks like Diego’s already had a go at and yeah, you see it now, the photo of you and him on the bookshelf has been defaced.

“I got bored waiting,” Diego offers in explanation.

“It’s New Years,” you say softly. “You didn’t have to waste it waiting around here for me.”

“The only thing that could make this party worse is if you got off work early and came home to all of this,” he says, swiping a party blower off the table, “with no one here.”

That he didn’t want you to be alone on your birthday goes unsaid.

There’s a warmth that has settled in you since laying eyes on all of this. It swells in your chest now, and you can feel it as it works its way up and out. Your smile broadens, your cheeks lift and for the first time in a very long time, you feel tears – happy ones – pooling in the corners of your eyes.

The sight of them brings Diego up short. “Umm,” he stutters, patting at his wig nervously. “Way to kill the mood.”

You laugh, turning away to swipe at the wet on your cheeks. He’s not comfortable putting things like emotions out in the open; doesn’t like to talk about them at all, if he can help it.

“So, what? Facepaint first?” You ask thickly, trying to lighten the mood for his sake.

“Noob,” Diego sighs, reaching for the bucket full of water next to the couch. “If you’re going to go bobbing for marshmallows, you put the facepaint on after.”


The video cuts out there. Water and electronic didn’t mix, Diego had said before tucking the thing away in the bra he’d worn beneath your tank, because, well. Because he was Diego and if he’s going to dress up, he does it right.

“That was the ugliest damn piñata I’ve ever seen,” says Jake.

There’s a lot Jake could have said and your heart warms because of all the things he didn’t.

“The one he made me this year was even uglier,” you say.

Your tears have stopped, but wet still clings to your lashes and with both hands, Jake reaches up to thumb it away.

“Better?” He asks.

You didn’t need the video to remember that night, but seeing Diego’s smile, hearing his voice? It soothes the ache in your heart.

You smile at him, small and wavering. “A little.”

They’re too young to purchase cigarettes, but Annie any sneaks them packs anyway. They’re small and easy enough to hide and Jean and Eren always try to sneak her a couple extra bucks they find in change on the ground to make her shitty job a little bit more bearable. Sometimes Jean thinks $1.50 in change just manages to piss her off more, but she’s never mentioned it, so he never brings it up.

They decide to shop around tonight, rolling around on carts through the empty aisles of the 24-hour grocery store at 1:30 in the morning. It ends up with Eren inside a cart and Jean running behind him, trying not to crash into the cereal displays and the packs of sodas stacked high.

“Turn down here.” Eren gestures vaguely, pushing his hood back from over his head.

“The pop-tarts are down the next aisle.”

“No, they’re not. Just fucking turn.”

Eren doesn’t hear Jean’s response, but he’s completely sure Jean rolls his eyes, holding in an I told you so for later. He never gets to use it, though–Eren grabs boxes from the shelves as Jean rolls past and holds back a pout.

Between them they have almost thirteen dollars, only thanks to a ten dollar bill Jean managed to find stuck on someone’s windshield wiper earlier in the day. He doesn’t ask why it’s there or who it may have been for. He just takes it.

“We have like, 3 bucks left over. You want a soda, or something?”

Jean shrugs, and turns Eren around in the cart, pushing him towards a row of liter soda bottles that are stacked high on the shelves. Eren can’t reach from the cart, so Jean grabs at it instead, dropping it down to Eren.

“We can split the change.” Jean says, but they won’t have much to share, anyway.

Annie eyes them, but says nothing as Eren puts the items onto the rubber belt from the cart. Her late shift manager is a few registers down, refilling the change in the cash drawers and doesn’t pay them any mind. Probably for the best. He doesn’t quite hate them, but he isn’t fond of them, either. They’re the same age as his own kids but that much more rambunctious–the type he’s glad his own didn’t grow up to be like. Jean and Eren know they’re everyone’s bad example, but they never really gave a shit about that.

Jean leans over the cart handle, close to Eren’s ear and whispers something that makes Eren laugh. It’s too quiet for Annie to hear, so rolls her eyes and tosses what they bought into a clear bag, missing the kiss that Jean plants on Eren’s cheek.

“You guys want cigarettes tonight?” The look on her face is bored and Eren shakes his head and hands her the cash.

“You guys are 30 cents short.”

The boys both mumble curses before reaching into their pockets, trying to find something. She holds up her hand and digs into the donation jar on her register to grab the extra change.

“I could fucking kiss you.” Eren beams a white smile and claps his hands together. This gets a small smile out of Annie, too, but she hides it quickly enough. He thinks about the crush she had on him when they were seven or eight and remembers liking her back then, too, wondering if it helps him pull some strings when they check out right before closing.

Jean pushes Eren past the register and he grabs the small bag, waving at Nile who sighs and continues counting rolls of coins.

“We could roll the cart down to the park.”

Eren laughs. “If you really think you can push me that far.”

anonymous asked:

Hi there, I really enjoy your blog and appreciate what you do :] I've never sent a request before so I'm super nervous, and I hope this hasn't been asked before but *snickers* Could I please have Nishinoya, Kenma and Kageyama reacting to their s/o on their period and just having the worst day? Thanks for all your hard work!

Sure thing, anon! Thank you for your kind words of encouragement! 

~Admin Rika

Nishinoya wasn’t sure what to do. His S/O was crying and eating two chocolate bars at the same time while watching The Notebook. An empty pizza box was strewn across the floor nearby, and a few soda cans were stacked on the coffee table.

“(N-Name)? I-Is something wrong?” he asked, carefully picking his way through the jungle of trash on the floor. Whirling around to face him, (Name) responded by just bursting into more tears. Panicked, Nishinoya bounded over to the couch and snuggled into his S/O, stroking their hair. A lightbulb went off over his head when he realized what week it was.

“Is it that time of the month?” he asked gently. (Name) nodded, mournfully glancing at the chocolate in their hands. 


“Well, I’ll just sit and and rest with you for a while, then! No one can feel sad after they’ve been hugged!”

Kenma had an inkling of what was going on when (Name) started getting angry at random things.

“If I hear that damn dog next door bark one more time, I’m going over there with a shock collar,” they growled. 

“Not sure that’s the best idea,” Kenma sighed, looking up from his PSP. “You should just put headphones in or something. You can borrow mine.” Huffing, (Name) took their boyfriend’s offer, sliding the large headphones over their ears. After a few minutes of silence, Kenma stood and made his way over to (Name). In a rare moment of affection, Kenma wrapped his arms around them, pulling off one side of their headphones.

“If you need anything like a hot water bottle, let me know, ok?”

Kageyama was totally clueless when it came to matters of female anatomy, so he completely freaked out when he came home from practice to find his S/O sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain. 

“(Name)? Are you ok? Did you stub your toe on the table again?”

“Ugh, no! Tobio, could you just shut up and toss me the pain meds, please?” Doing as he was told, Kageyama fetched the bottle and sat on the floor with (Name), handing the medicine and a glass of water to them. 

“Could you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked, gently running a hand down their back as they eagerly downed the medicine. 

“Tobio, we’ve been dating for two months. This has happened twice already. I know you have a good memory, so don’t do this,” (Name) responded harshly. After a moment of thought, it dawned on him.

“Are you on your period?”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.”

“I-I’ll rub your stomach…will that help?”

The Lords as Best Friends // Modern AU: Oda Nobunaga
  • Goes to your house unannounced, probably has keys to it too (with your permission ofc)
  • Usually mostly out of town for work and stuff, but always pays you a visit.
  • Probs met him in college. He lost to you during a debate. Well, not exactly a formal debate, but more like a class discussion, which he took seriously. Since then, he liked your ideas and thought you worthy of his time.
  • “You’re my best friend now. I’ve decided.” “Excuse me?”
  • He’s Oda Nobunaga but you call him out on his bullshit. He’ll just laugh and mock you, but he’ll actually listen.
  • Would ask you to pretend to be his lover just because. 
  • Would also pretend he’s your lover just because.
  • He’ll probs scare your suitors away.
  • Would be a little bit protective. “Where did you meet this guy? What’s his work? Is he financially stable? Is he better than me?”
  • Buys you presents. Lots of presents. For no reason.
  • Often goes awol, you’ll be surprised to receive an email he’s somewhere overseas. Of course, you’re the only one who knows. You’ll be dead if you tell anyone.
  • Your mom likes him. He gives her presents too. But your dad is suspicious.
  • You always get to ride first whenever he buys a new car.
  • Would hang around at your home for movie nights. No alcohol for him though, so you have melon soda stacked for him. Somehow your fridge always has melon soda.
  • You’d probably be a dump of whatever he finds. “This puppy I found looked so pitiful. You keep him.” You can’t refuse. Then he’ll start sending stuff for the dog so you don’t complain.
  • You’re the default date whenever he needs one for business purposes.
  • Makes plans on a whim. You’re busy? Sorry, you’ll have to come with him. He’ll understand if you refuse though, but he’ll go rambling, “this is why I told you to work for me.”
  • Would laugh at your misfortunes but actually do something about it.
  • Would straight up tell you when you’ve done something wrong, but doesn’t exactly comfort you after. He’ll regret that. Secretly hoping you’d be the first to contact him so he can find an excuse to talk to you.
  • When you’re sad, and he’s not there, he’ll send you memes and funny videos. When he’s there, he wouldn’t mind giving you a hug. Plus a ticket to you fave band’s concert. VIP passes, dear.
  • When you’re angry, he’ll just let you talk and talk. Would probably let you break some of his stuff too. Because that’s what he does. But don’t lay your wrath upon his robot/gundam collection.
  • Always will ask you what you think of this woman, and this woman, and this woman he was arranged to meet. You think they’re wonderful and he should pick one to settle down with.
  • He has to conquer the world first he says. You believe him, even if it’s ridiculous, because you know he has the people’s interests at heart.


  • after a long practise, neil’s in the changing room and just leans his head on his locker and is asleep in -00000.7 seconds
  • the foxes move around him super quietly and take like 767565768 pics
  • he’s with andrew on a couch leans on andrew, starts snoring almost immediately
  • andrew pushes him on the floor
  • andrew what the fuck
  • “don’t look at me like i’m your pillow”
  • lmao
  • neil & matt grocery shopping, neil disappears for a moment, matt finds him leaning on a stack of soda bottles
  • matt ends up carrying him away, bless
  • neil curled in his blankets, eyes tightly shut, andrew looking at him and going 45678% in his mind
  • neil leaning on the other foxes when he’s tired, ALSO ON WYMACK
  • “what the fuck kid get a grip”
  • nicky always leans back and they end up tumbling on the floor
  • dan always pulls him into a warm hug
  • matt is just like “bro, you’re the purest bro on earth, my bro, go to bed early today, bro”
  • kevin is super pissed off but tries to be civil and pushes neil off more gently than he wants to lmao
  • kevin you’re such an ass
  • allison & renee just look smug as fuck every time neil leans on either of them
  • they’re probably winning some obscure bets at that moment
  • there’s this video clip circulating, it’s just neil snoring for 2 minutes
  • “i don’t understand why me snoring is so funny”
  • “shut up josten this is comedy gold”
  • “you sound like a small dog trying to breathe”
  • one time he’s on the roof with andrew, lays on his back on the roof and falls asleep
  • andrew doesn’t wake him up, just sits with him there, smokes his cigarette
  • and then leaves
  • rude, minyard, rude
  • but yeah

can we please just talk about the fact that after the komaeda got all of those free sodas, he just took them and instead of giving it to a worker to put back in the machine when it was fixed or putting them in a fridge or something, he just fucking took them back to his desk and STARTED TO STACK THEM

the signs as their rooms
  • aries: probably has a bunch of indiana jones posters and cool stuff they found while taking a walk
  • taurus: fairy aesthetic(tm) probably also has some trading cards stashed away
  • gemini: a bunch of electronics. probably has at least 2 game consoles
  • cancer: has a bunch of romantic movie posters on the walls
  • leo: pet cat or w/e probs likes hanging out in there
  • virgo: twilight novels and that dress you're working on. also tons of makeup you may or may not use.
  • libra: really colorful, also probably has a loooooot of plushies
  • scorpio: broken toys everywhere probably, dice from all your old board games scattered around. spiderwebs in the corners.
  • sagittarius: furry art on the walls and a lot of spare parts from things you're working on laying around
  • capricorn: empty soda bottles and food stacked high, motherfuckin' clown posters
  • aquarius: bunch of jewelry piled up, also plenty of historical texts
  • pisces: has a smaller pet, also horse plushies!!
Possum Skin

Sarah awoke as her car was pulling in to a charge station. She must have fallen asleep somewhere after Mobile. 

When the car had plugged itself in, Sarah stepped out into the hot, humid afternoon air. 

There was some sort of store on the charge station lot, covered in several peeling shades of paint. Sarah thought that was odd, until she realized this must once have been a gas station. That would have been where people went to pay. 

Sarah walked over. She was astonished when the door opened with a push.

Inside, it was like something out of an old movie. A couple of buzzing coolers that looked about a hundred years old, full of soda. Stacks of chips. Road snacks. Even magazines.

“Howdy miss,” said the teenager at the counter, pushing up his glasses, looking annoyed. 

There was something furry tacked to the wall behind him.

“Um, Hi,” Sarah said. “What’s that?” 

“Possum skin,” sighed the teenager. “Hundred bucks.” He pulled the tack out and tossed the pelt on the counter. Sarah spread it out. 

It was soft fur, but of a strange color, almost iridescent. 

“Hang on,” Sarah said. “This has six legs.”

“Yup,” said the teenager. 

“Some sort of freak?” 

The teen gave Sarah a withering look. “Nope. They all like that round here.” 

“Wow, really?”

“Least they have been, since that airliner crash over in Baldwin county a couple of years back.”

Sarah stared at him.

“So you gonna buy this or what?” he said.

Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi || Drumsticks & High Kicks

Kaia stood by the end of her improvised bed made up of both the singles in her dorm room, admiring her handy work from the last hour; She’d baked two batched of gooey triple chocolate cookies which were stacked neatly on one of her floral plates on the coffee table, along with several chilled bottles of soda and a stack of xbox games stood next to the console on the floor by the tv in front of the couch.

Turning to cover the birdcage, the blonde decided that leaving them in the dark was kind of cruel and dragged the cage over to the window, throwing a blanket over the cage, only covering the front and sides while allowing them to get light from the window; It meant that the room was darker than usual but it was either the birds or darkness and if Dom didn’t want the birds in sight then he’d have to deal and they had more than enough to distract them.