with jobs and degrees and everything

As requested by @gjoriin, here is stuff I love about Pidge :D

  • loves her family unconditionally!!!!!!
  • rambles when worried
  • also rambles when excited
  • really didn’t want to cut her hair off
  • the more tense the situation/less sleep she’s gotten, the less tolerance she has for Lance’s shit
  • loves video games
  • always wants to learn new things & know how everything works 
  • can?? think in binary code?????? how
  • tilts her head and/or readjusts her glasses when nervous
  • reprogrammed and adopted a fighting drone
  • also named it
  • gets annoyed when people touch her stuff without permission
  • carries a picture of Matt with her
  • *team does something stupid* *ignores them completely and keeps doing her own thing*
  • has allergies & used to hate the outdoors because of that
  • despite that she appreciates pretty nature surroundings
  • *glasses glint*
  • came up with the plan to steal money from a fountain to buy that one video game
  • cries openly
  • talks to her lion and modifies it with castle tech
  • is?? actually totally comfortable in dresses????
  • seems to really get along with the mice
  • has a diary
  • easily gets sweaty hands
  • built trash robots of her friends when she was lost in space - probably because she missed them
  • makes puns and waits for people to get them
  • hates peanuts but loves peanut butter cookies
  • curse her short arms
  • so small,, gets blown away easily,,, needs to be protected,,,,
  • can be unexpectedly clumsy
  • continued doing her job even when she heard how Shiro got tortured over the intercoms
  • *gets forced to leave her laptop* *whines and pouts*
  • tried to learn Altean and actually was successful to some degree
  • “aww you’ve got a cute little bayard” *electrocutes Lance* “yeah, it’s pretty cute”
  • made it into the garrison with a fake identity
  • can hack into pretty much everything, anywhere, even while talking
  • is sarcastic at times but is genuine about her feelings just as often, if not more
  • smart af
  • agreed to stay with the team despite her family being more important to her than anything else
  • fell asleep in front of her laptop
  • is self-confident and knows exactly what she’s capable of
  • but was still worried about not being the right paladin for the green lion
  • has the smuggest grin
  • sees tech: ☆*・゜゚・*٩(*▿*)۶*・゜゚・*☆

CONCLUSION: Pide is adorable,,,, I l o v e her

[keith] [keith with meta improvement] [lance] [shiro[hunk] [allura] [coran]

"37 Slogans For College Majors If They Were Actually Honest"

Accounting: selling your soul for money.

Aerospace Engineering: “it actually is rocket science.”

Anthropology: it’ll get you laid, but it won’t get you paid!

Archeology: if you don’t know what it is, it’s probably ceremonial.

Art History: and you thought making art was pointless!

Astrophysics: “Eh, I’m within an order of magnitude…”

Biochemistry: spend 4 years aspiring to discover the cure for cancer, and the rest of your life manufacturing shampoo.

Chemistry: where alcohol is a solution.

Communications: “we’ll teach you everything you need to know about convincing your friends that your degree is actually meaningful.”

Computer Engineering: tons of chicks, just not very many.

Computer Science (for a straight girl): the odds are good, but the goods are odd.

Creative Writing: because job security is for pussies.

Criminal Justice: we’re here because of Law & Order reruns.

Dental Hygienist: “something to do until you get knocked up.”

Engineering: the art of figuring out which parameters you can safely ignore.

English: so you want to be a teacher.

Film: forks on the left, knives on the right.

Finance: “accounting was too hard.”

Graphic Design: no, we’re not artists.  We’re designers; there’s a difference.

History: history may repeat itself, but you definitely will.

Information Technology: let me Google that for you.

Journalism: learn how to construct an argument that no one will listen to.

Latin: because useful is overrated.

Linguistics: studied 17 languages, fluent in none of them.

Marine Biology: “I wanted to play with dolphins, but I’m looking at algae instead.”

Music Performance: if you don’t hate yourself, you’re doing it wrong.

Nursing: learning to save others’ lives while struggling not to take your own.

Philosophy: think about it.

Photography: it’s worth a shot.

Physics: “everything you learned last week was wrong.”

Political Science: your opinion is wrong

Pre-med: “I’ll probably switch majors in two years.”

Psychology: good luck doing anything until you get your Masters.

Speech Pathology: we have a way of making you talk.

Statistics: where everything’s made up, and numbers don’t matter.

Structural Engineering: because architects don’t know what physics is.

Zoology: because you can’t major in kittens.


Chelsea ( @opensmother-lippedlover​ ) and I ( @jessjust​ ) met December 5, 2012 on Tumblr (Yup, I remember dates well). Immediately I noticed how sweet, polite, and interesting she was. We continued to talk here and there, and making our relationship official months later. We dated for about six-months. Initially everything was great, but the long-distance was awful and we were too young to know how to handle it. We called it off. We went our separate ways; fell in-love here and there with other people. 

Years later I was working for the Texas Legislature, near done with my undergrad degree, and with the flexibility to move anywhere. I then realized how much I kept thinking about her, wishing to share the precious memories I was making at my job, how supportive and uniquely proud she would be — and truly how much love I still had for her. Not knowing where she was in life I decided to reach out to her, told her how I felt and she left me waiting (lol) Some time later she finally came around and told me she felt the same way. Well the rest is really history. 

(The day she asked me to be her girlfriend)

We left Philadelphia and houston, and we moved to Chicago after I got a scholarship at DePaul Law School, and she began her education to become a Veterinarian. Most importantly we created our own little family with our baby Gatsby, a cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Now I’m proud to call her my fiancée. I would give my life for her. 

We’ve had bumps here and there like any other couple, but we love each other enough to fight for each other. That’s what’s important. And why I proposed December 17, 2016 at the art institute!

She may still get mad at me when I forget to place the new toilet paper in the holder and I may still get annoyed when she talks through a movie. All in all, that’s what a relationship is about loving each other and ironing out the little differences.

We want to share our little story with details sometimes left out by the media. With our relationship on the spotlight I hope this encourages others to love and work hard for their relationships ❤️ love is out there, it’s just hard to keep.

(This is an old video Chelsea’s dad filmed of the first time we saw each other again after years apart)

More photos of the engagement can be found in our Instagrams: Cnicolem_ and J.essrdgz

inell  asked:

“I need a favor, and not the sexual kind.” Stiles/Derek

Nonsexual Favors

Derek woke to his phone vibrating on his nightstand. He rolled over and unlocked it when he saw he had two texts from Stiles that had both come in within the last two minutes. 

It wasn’t unusual for Stiles to text Derek at all hours of the morning, what was unusual was the lack of sexual content in the text.

Stiles: I need a favor,
Stiles: And not the sexual kind.

Derek was tempted to just roll over and go back to bed, but then he had a vision of Stiles laying in some ally, bleeding out because he was attacked by some monster, and he hit the call button.

“Oh thank god,” Stiles said as soon as he picked up, “My bike got stolen and I’m nowhere near a Metro stop.”

“Where are you?” Derek asked, already getting out of bed and pulling on his pants. It was 1:30 in the morning, there was no way he was letting Stiles wander around D.C. by himself that late. 

He and Stiles had been doing this, thing, whatever it was, since they ran into each other in D.C. almost two years prior. Stiles had grown into himself nicely and though he was still an asshole, Derek knew him well enough now to appreciate it.

“I’m in Alexandria,” Stiles breathed out, his voice sounded a little less strained now, “I’ll send you a pin with my location.”

Derek jogged out of his apartment, well it was actually a brownstone that he had bought when he moved to D.C. He had redone the basement so it was a full, though small, apartment that he could rent out. 

Not that he needed the money, he had plenty from his inheritance, but he kind of liked not having to live off of it. He loved everything about living in D.C., from the diversity to his job at an environmental non profit. 

When Stiles had walked back into his life it had felt like fate, they had run into each other at GW. Derek was working on his masters and Stiles was getting his degree in criminal psychology, on the fast track to the FBI. 

They had picked up right where they left off, snapping at each other and defending each other whenever someone else said a bad word about the other. Things escalated quickly, within a month they were fucking in Derek’s new Camaro. 

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anonymous asked:

what kind of chemistry do you do?

I’m an inorganic synthetic chemist who specializes in a few heavy metals and a specific type of structure using different flexible ligands (I’m afraid I can’t be less vague; my research is specialized enough that it would be rather identifiable).

In general, I design molecules with my metal/ligand components and synthesize (or attempt to synthesize) them in lab. I then work the compounds up through crystallization so I can utilize single crystal x-ray diffraction on an instrument like this:

This bombards the crystal with x-rays and allows me to collect data to produce a structure of the molecule, which gives me bond lengths, angles, etc. This is the crystal I’m currently running (it’s huge and awful, really, but I just need to confirm what it is before I care about a better collection). The crystal looks enormous on the screen - and it is large by my usual standards - but in actuality, the loop the crystals sit on are quite small:

The crystals go on the very tip of that loop, so I do a lot of work under a microscope.

It’s a pretty neat process (when reactions behave), and for the most part I do enjoy my work. Bonus perk is that many of my compounds display luminescence, so I keep a black light handy:

darkempressinfinitemind asked: How did you get into freelance?

The short version? Accidentally!

Longer version? It started with a friend hiring me to ghost write their memoir (before either of us knew what ghost writing was. Also he apparently had this awesome life before he knew me and never bothered to mention it before the idea of writing a book came along. Who knew? Random happenstance). I became more confident in the idea of writing for others, and then was referred to the site Peopleperhour.com by a friend of mine, who was trying to pick up freelancing.

I applied for my first job there, and it was literally months before I got any bites. My first bite ended up paying me $3 an hour. I was desperate, so I took it. It gave me a reference, and I got a better job, and a better job, and a better job, until I had enough references to apply for REALLY decent jobs. Fast forward, and here I am with my own Wordsmithing business.

But you want advice, don’t you?

  • Find a Freelancing Website

There’s Elance, PPH, and a wide range of others. Pick one that works for you (or multiple) and start drumming up your profile there. Get samples out so people can see your style of work.

  • Get Reviews at All Costs

Get people you know to write reviews. Take low paying jobs to get reviews. Take whatever jobs you can and get reviews, because they really are everything to a beginning freelancer. I started out with a GED (not even a high school diploma) and still got high paying jobs, because no one needs to see your credentials – they just need proof that real life people have given you a test run.

Degrees and all that? They’re to prove you know your stuff; that someone has tested you and written off on it. Reviews are the internet’s new degrees; be willing to invest some time and effort into them.

  • Take Any and As Much Work as You Can

Not only for the reviews, but for practice. There’s a new song and dance involved with freelancing that you won’t find anywhere else. Big companies are paying millions on Big Data to figure out what little nuances make customers happy. You don’t have Big Data, and you’re up against thousands of freelancers just like you – you have to figure out the key to standing out by hand.

Getting as many jobs as you can early on gives you a chance to test the waters and find your stride before you’re dealing with big clients that are less forgiving of your fumbles. You’ll learn something new from every job so you really ARE the top professional you claim to be.

  • Claim to Be a Professional

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I should give you advice about being honest and doing the leg work before you get started. But they say to dress for the job you want, not the job you have. So act like the professional you want to be, not the one you are.

If you’re 18 and this is your first freelancing job, make your profile and all your correspondences look like you’re 37 and have been freelancing for 10 years (don’t lie, just be indirect. Talk like you’re older. Say you’ve been freelancing for several years, even if you’ve only been freelancing for a few months. If you’re living at home with your parents and the topic of family comes up, just call them “family;” the client won’t know if you’re a married mother of five or are talking about your dad). People will look right over you if they THINK you’re not capable, without even giving you a chance to show what you can do. If you take away that first – sometimes incorrect – assumption, your foot’s in the door and you can prove yourself.

Then after you have 300 five-star reviews and a client list as long as your arms, you can reveal yourself as 20 with three years’ experience, and people will believe you’re a prodigy. Then you’ll get hired for being the talented young professional who IS their target audience, so you’re perfect to create a product FOR their target audience.  

  • Be Ready to Put in More Hours

Once you’ve been in the game a while and have established yourself, you can make your weekends sacred with no work stuff. But before then, you need to be on call all the time. What’s going to make you stand out against the rest in the beginning is timeliness.

If it’s a toss-up between you and someone just as qualified, the client will decide on whoever replies the fastest and most coherently. Reply to messages as soon as possible. Talk back and forth on the weekends. Offer as tight a deadline as you can for every project, and if you can deliver early, deliver early. Once you have your reputation and your reviews, then you can tone it back to the same level as any other job; you work on your work days, and you’re gone from the planet on your off days.

  • Follow Your Heart – But Follow the Money First

I’ll let you in on a little secret. I hate web copy. Detest it. A client can have the coolest website idea ever, but having to don my promotional hat and describe their services to a target audience is tedious and unfulfilling as all get out. What I enjoy is blog writing, where I get to explore a concept and tell it (sometimes) in my own voice. I love product descriptions even, where I get to sharpen my description skills to be later used in fiction. But guess what? Web copy writing pays well, because it is difficult and it’s in huge demand.

Here’s a quick insider look at the market: Today, every style of business in existence needs a website. That means web designers are the key holders in a world full of locked doors. They’re making a killing, but every website needs CONTENT. They’re cranking out 15 websites a month but they’re just blank pages without some writing to make them REAL. That’s where my industry comes in, the Tonto to their Lone Ranger, to make their home pages, their about pages, their service pages, etc. so their website is a real website. So long as online business booms, web designers are Sauron and copy writers are the one ring to rule them all.

That’s where the money is. So even if I really hate web copy, I’m good at it. That’s what pays the rent, grows my business, and keeps my employees’ checks signed – giving me the financial security I need to then ALSO do things I like. Ghost writing, book editing, blog writing, working on my own stuff.

If you want to make it in freelancing, you need money for bills. But you also need money to prove to your freelancing site that you’re worth promoting. Be willing to do jobs you’re not crazy about, so you can grow to the point of having enough income to afford doing what you really love.

  • Embrace the Uncertainty

One of the hardest things about freelancing is the irregularity. One month, you’re swimming in cash. The next, you scrape by. At the beginning of the month, you only have one project; at the end, you have 10. I’ve been at this for years, and I still have a mini panic during summer when I’m sure this is the year that my career finally ends. But it never has.

The upside to this uncertainty is you’re never sure when great things are going to happen. The security of a 9-to-5 lets you know exactly how much you will make, but robs you of the chance for those surprise miracles where a massive client falls in your lap and pays your rent for four months within two weeks. 

Take faith that a slow month is giving you a chance to rest up for when that tsunami of work comes in. Having a new client every week is giving you a chance to have fun before you have one client for an entire year (which can get boring at times). Freelancing can be a science, but you still need a little faith. It keeps you on your toes, it gives you unexpected bonuses none of your 9-to-5 friends can count on, and it gives you freedom.

Breaking into freelancing is slow going at first, but so long as you’re good at what you do, you will break in. There’s seriously never been a better time in living memory for it.

Hope this was helpful!

I’m short $70 on my light bill and and I need it by Monday, I could use some help. Its like 100 degrees outside and if my lights get shut off thats like 3 to 4 days in a house without air conditioning and i have a kid sister. My rent is also past due and if i dont pay something on monday, they will attempt to evict me. Ive been out of work this whole summer because of the nature of my job (i work at a school) and im just now getting started working again but itll be a while before i get paid again. I’m doing everything I can to make the money but I’m down to the wire and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come up with it by then. I feel so bad and embarassed and ashamed asking for help but I’m willing to take the heat for my fam so. If you can give anything, even a dollar or something please, my paypal is brittanyb1996@gmail.com and my square cash thing is $wallura. Thanks so much for your time and attention and god bless

The Only Exception (Part 6)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,725

Warnings: language, angst, self-reflection, discomfort, melodrama, mentions of trauma, fire, rescue (of secondary character), sad thoughts. I don’t know. I’m no Shonda Rimes, but, tread lightly.

A/N under the cut.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Originally posted by theworldisworthagif

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Love at First Hindsight;

Summary: Steve always thought Y/N was cute, but not much more than that. As Tony’s assistant, the girl was always around, and overtime started to grow on him. 

A/N: Sorry for not really being active the past couple days! I was at a concert last night, and I’ve been shopping getting ready to move away to college in the fall. I hope you enjoy, though! Let me know if there’s anything else you want to see. Also important: I KNOW Sam Wilson served in the military, but all the research I did failed to turn up what rank he was, which is why I didn’t mention it.

Trigger Warnings: Slight violence and mild harassment.

“Welcome back to the Avenger’s Complex, Captain Rogers,” a new, fresh face greeted the arriving ex-criminals, “Same to you, Sergeant Barnes, Miss Maximoff, Mr. Wilson. I can show you to your new rooms, if you’d like? Mr. Stark did some renovations during your absence.” 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Bucky pointed out to Steve under his breath, an amused look on his face, “Sure haven’t heard that one in awhile.”

Steve shushed him, trying to give the girl as much of his attention as possible. He knew she must have been nervous, addressing some of the worlds most powerful superheros AND ex-criminals. However, contrary to his assumptions, the girl carried herself with an air of self-confidence that Steve respected greatly. 

The girl pushed her large, round glasses back up her nose to settle back where they should be before she looked at them, addressing the group once again, “My name is Y/N, by the way. I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. He would’ve loved to be here to greet you himself, but the rest of the team is currently away on a mission.” She pushed here glasses up yet again, Steve noted they must have been too large for her slim nose. Y/N didn’t seem bothered by the stray hair falling out of her carefully crafted bun onto her face. “Follow me, your rooms are all in the same wing for maximum comfort and ease.” 

The group of former vigilantes trailed behind her, taking in the magnificence of the building around them, listening to Tony’s assistant as she chattered on about notable architectural and artistic feats Tony incorporated into the building’s structure. 

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Originally posted by wonhontology

Title: Arrangement
Words: 6137
Genre: Smut
Other: Callboy!shownu

Your name: submit What is this?

Shownu joined the business out of necessity, he had been friends with Wonho for many years but never actually considered it a viable career till he was in major debt. In fear of losing his apartment he called up his friend and asked him what were the requirements; after a week of auditions he’d been accepted as one of the few call boys who weren’t hired out for “companionship” - but more for lap dances or as a high class escort. He found that he enjoyed it after a while, even though the first week had been exhausting, sometimes working over 50 hours a week, he realized that he had skills that men and women alike both sought out.  

Shownu was highly charismatic, people enjoyed talking to him and women loved having him on their arm for the night. When it came down to the more raunchy side of the business his expectations were instantly risen - he didn’t have sex with clients who hadn’t reserved him less than five times - meaning they were extremely wealthy and wouldn’t skimp out on paying for his companionship services. To say he was a bit shallow when it came to who he slept with, was an understatement, he didn’t serve older men or older women as it just wasn’t his style. Most of his clients were between the ages of 20 to 40, and most of them were women with an itch only he could scratch.

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Becoming an adult is more of an elusive, sort of abstract concept than I’d thought when I was younger. I just assumed you’d get to a certain age and everything would make sense. Bless my young little heart, I had no idea!
At 28, I can say that sometimes I feel like an adult and a lot of the time, I don’t. Being a Millennial and trying to adult is wildly disorienting. I can’t figure out if I’m supposed to start a non-profit, get another degree, develop a wildly profitable entrepreneurial venture, or somehow travel the world and make it look effortless online. Mostly it just looks like taking a job that won’t ever pay off my student debt in a field that is not the one that I studied. Then, if I hold myself to the traditional ideal of what it means to be an adult, I’m also not nailing it. I am unmarried, and not settled into a long term, financially stable career. Recognizing that I’m holding myself to an unrealistic standard considering the economic climate and the fact that dating as a Millennial is exhausting, it’s unfair to judge myself, but I confess I fall into the trap of comparison often enough. Sometimes because I simply desire those things for myself, and sometimes because Instagram.
My ducks are not in a row, they are wandering.
—  Maria Eleusiniotis

OK but you’re a graduate student and Dr. Rogers (”call me Steve”) is your advisor. He’s smart and sweet and he wears glasses and these tight little sweaters that look like he bought them before he got big as hell and just hasn’t replaced them yet. And you have the biggest crush on him, but of course you don’t act on it because not only is he your professor, but also because everyone knows he’s gay.

That’s alright. No harm in fantasizing.

So one day he says that there’s a job opening at the history museum a few blocks from where you live. It’s a simple, entry-level position, but it’s a start and at least you can put your future degree to good use. 

Steve knows the director of the museum and he sets a date where the three of you can have dinner and there, you meet James Barnes, the director of the museum and also Steve’s husband. 

And how is it fair to have so much gorgeous in one room? You’re absolutely mesmerized, smitten with the both of them, half in love by the time you get dessert and Steve and James get coffee.

You start the job and everything is going well. And then one day James comes into your little office, perches himself on your desk, smiles and says, “You know Steve wants to fuck you, right?”

Hearts Don’t Break Around Here: The Divide Series

Here is a link to the song, if you’d like to listen along to help set the mood. x

It wasn’t often that Harry got to spend more than a week or two back at home, so whenever he did, he cherished the time deeply.

He’d been in Holmes Chapel for a week now, spending time with his family and catching up with the few old friends that he’s still in contact with. It was where he would go whenever he needed to wind down, or when he needed to ground himself from all the fame and attention. He’d been receiving a lot of it lately, with all of the lead-up to the release of his first single. And he knew that after the song was released everything would be crazy for a little bit, so he decided to get in as much home time as he could.

That afternoon, Anne had sent him to the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner—he was walking through the wine section, carrying a basket filled with different cheeses and a carton of eggs. It was a small locally sourced store that had been in business ever since Harry could remember—when he was a little boy, he would always come here and buy a chocolate bar on Friday’s after school. Everyone who worked there knew him, and greeted him cheerily.

The Beatles’s Here Comes the Sun was playing over the radio through the speakers, and he caught himself humming softly as his eyes scanned the wine rack. He was in no hurry—there was something about being back home that made it seem like time was frozen. He picked out a bottle of his mum’s favorite wine and set it in his basket—that’s when it happened.

He caught the familiar scent of Alien perfume.

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It’s officially been a year since I graduated from college as a chemical engineer and yet I haven’t done all the things that I thought I would have. That is exactly how life works, you think that finding a job won’t be hard, you’ll be a working professional in a big shot company just because you are an engineer, you think everything will be provided to you easily but all those things don’t happen. They don’t happen because they are not meant to happen, if getting a degree required years of work and effort then why will anything afterwards to be any different. I’m saying this in the most optimistic and positive way for people just graduating, know everything takes time. Getting your degree took time then why won’t finding a job a take time. Yes, some majors are more challenging than others and they end up paying more but you won’t find that dream job on day 1️⃣ And you won’t be where you had planned in the next year and that it is completely OK to be in that position. You’re not alone and you won’t be stuck here forever either😌 On that note, congrats to all the new graduates 🎓

journey’s end (of a sort)

fullmetal alchemist au.

The door to Neil’s room slams open, and he can’t even say that he’s surprised to see Andrew behind it. His grip tightens around the railing Hernandez had mounted along the wall, and Neil turns so his back is against it and he’s facing Andrew. He feels himself being observed carefully as Andrew shuts the door behind himself without looking.

Millport automail? This is where you’ve been hiding?” Unlike before, Andrew’s face doesn’t match the bite behind his words. His expression is blank, and Neil wonders if he’s imagining the steel in his eyes.

“I haven’t been hiding,” Neil points out. “Everyone on the team knows I’ve been here.”

Everyone except you, he meant. He hadn’t wanted to distract Andrew from his own recovery.

Maybe a month ago that would have provoked a reaction from Andrew, be it an uncontrollably manic smile or an ugly flash of rage. Instead, Andrew just stares at him flatly. “Do they know you’ve been trying to walk? They must not, because otherwise this room would be full of idiots trying to teach you what ‘recovery’ means.”

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this was supposed to be a funny drabble and somehow turned into sad, unrequited bittyholtz

“I don’t get it,” Holster said, sloshing his beer around. Ransom sighed, but reasoned with himself that the attic floor had seen a lot worse.

“Are we still talking about Jack and Bits?” Ransom asked, standing to grab another Natty from the 24-pack. Lukewarm beer was not the BEST, but the downstairs fridge was full of Lardo’s shit and the kitchen fridge was…off limits as long as they kept wanting pie. (And they sure as fuck did.)

“Yeah,” Holster said, taking another gulp and not even pretending to look at his International Finance notes. “I just don’t get it.”

Ransom managed to absorb a total of three words from his own reading before finding he was too distracted by Holster. “What don’t you get?” He asked. "Jack being g- bi or whatever? It’s a little surprising, yeah, but I mean…all that fanfiction was built on something, y'know?“ 

Holster shook his head, leaning back in his desk chair and contemplating the ceiling. "Nah, man, I mean, I don’t get why Bits would date Jack. Bitty’s, like, the nicest person we know – like, totally a three-way tie between him, Chow, and Mother Teresa-" 

 "We know Mother Teresa?” Ransom chirped. Holster chucked a pencil at him, glaring.

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I’m just gonna’ fuckin say it, I completed all major requirements for a sociology degree right, and let me tell you I learned fucking nothing about people and society. Absolutely nothing. 

I learned more about how the world works having my transcripts frozen and being forced to confront the reality of it. 

Why have I suddenly radicalized and rebranded the blog? Because I’m no longer being fed liberal propaganda that was taught at my university lmao. 

I’m still literally shit, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve definitely got a better grasp of things than I did while in school “learning.” I’m still learning, as will always be the case, but I’m learning far better things than what was course material.

Face it, our university system is hardly about learning, and innovation and creativity, and exploration of knowledge, etc. … and more about paying for a better job. tbh..

Studying mathematics was actually more helpful to me in understanding capitalism and ableism as systems of oppression, than sociology tbh.

Like if you’re doing a sociology degree thats cool and all, but be really wary of what they teach you tbh. 

This is where learning mathematics was really influential to me … learning mathematics basically taught me not to take anyone at their word but instead find a way to prove everything to yourself. 

If it can’t be proven to yourself, and you can see no way for it to exist or be true, then … you can disregard it and work on a NEW THEORY in replacement, or figure out what in particular is wrong with the previous theory.

Not to gush about math, but it really is about everything being fake until you make it ~real~ lmao. Like you can just sit at your table and invent math if you really wanted to, you just make definitions, and prove those definitions in your invented universe. It’s pretty cool.

not to say you can just invent how society works, but you can definitely become more critical of other’s opinions of how things work within reason and within your own boundaries.

Maybe I was a bad sociology student? But I got all A’s in every sociology course I ever took so like, Idk yall, I’m just saying be wary. 

Stalk (part one)

Title: Stalk (part one)

Ship: Dean x Reader

Description: The reader is in Sioux Falls visiting her father, Bobby, when her old childhood friends, Sam and Dean, stop by to do some research on a local monster. Dean becomes suspicious of the reader and questions her to find out she has a stalker.

Warnings: Threats; Lying; Stalking; Mentions of Molestation

Word Count: 1,915

(Y/D/J) ~ Your Dream Job

(Y/C/N) ~ Your City Name

(Y/E/C) ~ Your Eye Color

It had been a long time since she’s been in Sioux Falls. Hell, she was even beginning to miss it. “Dad!” (Y/N) smiled, enveloping her father into a big hug. “(Y/N), what are you doing here?” the older man wondered, but was still happy to see his daughter nevertheless. “I was just passing though and I thought that I should stop by to see you.” He welcomed her inside, leading her to the kitchen. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? A beer?” It was something he was still not used to but asked anyways. (Y/N) left home when she was nineteen… and that was seven years ago. Occasionally she would stop by for little visits so she wasn’t totally cutting off her father. “No, no. I’m fine, Dad.” She smiled at the man as she sat down at the kitchen table. “So,” he grabbed a beer for himself from the fridge and sat across from her, “Tell me everything that’s happened since the last time I saw you and, please, don’t leave out any details.” He was more than eager to catch up with his only child.

“Well,” she thought for a moment, attempting to remember if anything interesting happened lately, “I finally got my degree for (Y/D/J).” His eyes widened, a grin crawling across his face. “That’s great, (Y/N)!” As much as he exposed (Y/N) to the hunting life when she was a little girl, he was kind of hoping that the girl would get a normal job and a normal degree when she was older. The hunting life wasn’t for everyone and he had come to accept that once she left home for college. Just as the man placed his hand on his daughter’s, the front door of the house opened abruptly. “Hey Bobby?” a loud, husky voice called out and echoed throughout the home. A sigh escaped the older man’s mouth as two significantly younger men entered the kitchen. “(Y/N), you remember Sam and Dean Winchester, don’t you?” She nodded, although she hasn’t seen the two since they were kids. Their father, John, was a good friend of her dad’s and would swing by every once in a while and drop the boys off. “How could I not?” (Y/N) stood up from her seat to get a good feel of how much the boys grew, Sam shooting almost as tall as a sky scrape. Dean? Not so much.

“(Y/N), I thought I was never going to see you again!” The tallest on hugged her and let go after a couple seconds. Dean was more than eager to hug the younger girl. There was only one person that knew about his childhood crush on Bobby’s daughter and that was Bobby. Once the man learned of this fixation, he immediately put an end to it. He was only scared because of Dean’s reputation with girls. Of course, you can stop actions but you can never stop feelings. Dean’s hug was tighter, with more feeling, than Sam’s hug. “Well, I’m here guys. What are you two doing here anyways.” As much as Dean didn’t want to, he let go of the girl and turned towards Bobby. The boys explained themselves, needing a little help with a hunt nearby and decided to stop by instead of calling. As their conversations carried on, Dean stole as many glances at (Y/N) as he could when Bobby wasn’t looking. If he found out that Dean still liked her, he would get hung by his ass.

“So, (Y/N), what’re you doing here today?” Sam asked, a smile crawling across her lip as she explained that she was just passing through town and wanted to see her dad. But there was something about her story that was… a little off. A glimmer in her eye? A twitch of a face muscle? It was something Sam and Bobby did not catch, but Dean did. He went on listening to her reasoning, trying to absorb every twitch he could, picking out the lies. The truth was something he was going to have to pick out of her sooner or later.\

A little later in the day, (Y/N) was in the study rereading one of her favorite books when Dean strolled in and sat across from her. “Yes?” She looked up for half a second, not turning her head from the book. Dean leaned forward, his elbows on the top of his thighs as he sighs, “Sam’s boring and from the looks of it, so are you.” He teased the girl who smiled as she set her book down on the desk. “Reading is boring?” She crossed her legs and folded her arms, eager to hear what the eldest Winchester has to say about her favorite past time. “It is when you’re doing research twenty-four-seven.” (Y/N) raised an eye, releasing her arms and leaning on the desk. “What exactly are you guys researching?” A smile of curiosity crawling its way across her lips. “Oh, it’s nothing.” He shook it off, waving his hand in the air.

“Well, it’s obviously something if you’re both here bothering my father about it, isn’t it?” No one could fool her, not even the infamous Dean Winchester. The room became silent for a matter of seconds, (Y/N) considered picking the book up to make it less awkward in the room. Dean, on the other hand, had a different plan to set in motion. They kept eye contact as he opened his mouth, “I’ll tell you if you tell me the real reason why you’re in town.” Her heart beat began to quicken as the thought crossed her mind. ‘He knows. He knows. Oh shit.’ She silently panicked and looked away from the emerald eyes that stared at her intently. “I told you why downstairs. I was passing through.” Her voice was low and quiet, almost giving away the truth.

“(Y/N), you live in (Y/C/N), why would you just happen to be passing through Sioux Falls?” She felt the fear beginning to build up as he kept pressing her. If Dean found out about what happened last week, he would surely tell her father, who wouldn’t take it too lightly. All she wanted was a weekend away from home (or her Hell) to relax and feel safe in a house with a hunter who has many, many, many guns and weapons to choose from. Sweat beaded at the base of her forehead, making Dean believe was finally beginning to get her to crack. “I have my reasons, Dean. Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a book to read.” (Y/N) immediately picked up the novel and read the same words over and over again for at least a minute, not able to concentrate when she glanced up and saw Dean still sitting in the chair, staring at her.

“Are you in trouble, (Y/N)?” His words came out softly and quietly. Her eyes reverted back to the words. “Does it really matter?” she sighed, attempting to move onto the next sentence, but this one only seemed even more jumbling to her as the stress grew more and more out in the open. “It does. Obviously you’re running from something if you want to be in a house full of hunters. If you were visiting you dad for real, you would be downstairs with him, right now, in that kitchen chatting him up. Not… not in hiding in the study up here.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “So, are you going to tell me what you’re running from or do I have to go full interrogation on you?”

It was too much for her. “I have a fucking stalker, okay? Are you happy? I was trying not to think about it until I figured out a plan to get rid of him but you’re kind of fucking ruining that, Dean.” She slammed the book down on the desk before standing up from the chair and walking around the desk and heading for the door. Before she can even reach for the door handle, Dean gently grabs her wrist, prompting the girl to look at him. “I can help you, (Y/N). I just need his name and that’s it. No questions asked and it’ll be quick, I promise.” His emerald eyes stared into her (Y/E/C) which only widened in fear from his statement. “You’re not fucking killing him, Dean! What the fuck?!” She shook her wrist away from him, taking a step back. “Who said anything about killing? I have my ways to get him to leave you alone without harming the dumbass.” He rolled his eyes, standing up and stepping towards her and enveloping her in a big, warm hug.

“You promise that all he’s done is stalk you?” He pulled away slightly and looked down at the girl who seemed to be melting into his hug suddenly. “You… you said no questions asked, Dean.” She muttered into his chest.

“Come on, Sam.” Dean rushed out of the Impala, shot gun in hand. He didn’t care that he just left a monster behind in Sioux Falls. (Y/N) was in danger by a human, one of the worst monsters out there. They can be destructive, selfish, harmful… just down right dangerous and Dean wasn’t going to let (Y/N) get hurt. The brothers went up the steps of the old colonial home, presumably owned by the boy’s parents. From what (Y/N) told him, this kid was a couple years younger than her. He was smart, skipped a couple grades in intermediate school and graduated high school early. He just earned his degree the same time as (Y/N) and couldn’t bare to face the fact that he’ll never see her again.

So naturally, his instinct told him that sending her a message on facebook wasn’t enough for him. He had to stand outside her house every night, watching her bedroom, watching her in her kitchen, watching her as she got out of the shower. That also wasn’t enough for him… the week prior to (Y/N) making her way back to Sioux Falls, the boy broke into her home and groped her in her sleep. This was punishable by death in Dean’s opinion, but since that wasn’t part of his and (Y/N)’s deal, he settled to just scaring the kid into confessing to the cops about what he’s done.

“Hopefully mom and dad aren’t home, Dean. People don’t take too kindly to people knocking on their doors with fucking shot guns in their hands.” Sam looked to his older brother, nervously, taking out his hand gun. He was willing to do anything for his brother, even if that meant scaring the guy who was stalking his childhood crush. “I’m not knocking on the door.” Dean muttered as he pressed on the doorbell with the barrel of the shot gun and hiding it behind his back when he heard footsteps approaching the door. A kid about ten years younger than him answered it, rubbing his eyes. “Do you understand what time it is?” He groaned, studying the two suspicious brothers.

“Yeah, it’s time you leave (Y/N) alone.” Dean pumped the shotgun and aimed it at the kid. His eyes widened when he processed what Dean had in his hands. “Woah! Woah, dude, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

Part Two

anonymous asked:

can you do a tyler fic based on the song, "Oh Ms. Believer"? That would make my life, i love your writing and your blog so much :)


The snow listens to you. The snow listens to you like no one else does because you have no one to listen to you.

In your silent, shitty apartment on the bad side of town, you lay on a mattress, completely and truly alone, and still the ever present snow listens to you as you cry yourself dry again. It’s a bit of a promise - a thing you two have. You and the snow have a bond. The snow is your only friend.

But despite the snow’s company, you’re sad and you’re lonely and you have nothing. Nothing to live for.

Sometimes you think about what it would be like if you were capable of being normal. You think about your classmates who went on in school and you ask yourself why can’t you? Why can’t you attend university and why can’t you have friends and why can’t you go to parties like the other kids your age do?

And then you look out of the window and you see the snow falling and you remember that you can’t ever be normal.  And you sit and think about the reason that you like the snow is because people don’t like its cold and bitterness, just like they don’t like yours.

You have a job on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at the music store, three five hour minimum wage shifts that barely pay for your rent and a few take out meals. It basically requires showing up and standing in front of a cash register for a few hours and interacting with like 3 or 4 customers. To be honest, it’s hardly worth turning up for. It’s a lazy and sad job for a lazy and sad person and you hate it, but then again, you hate almost everything. But it keeps you alive and it doesn’t require a degree and since you are incapable of getting off your ass and earning yourself one of those, it looks like the record store is your best bet for now.

Still, it wouldn’t surprise you if the place went under soon and perhaps you should be a little more worried about it, especially considering the money you earn there is all you’re living on. But since when did you worry or feel anything other than emptiness? You don’t. The snow knows it, too.

Outside of the record store, it’s snowing. It’s snowing and it’s Saturday night and there are people stumbling drunkenly through the slippery streets at 11 o'clock, probably already on their way to their second bar of the night. They’re all smiling and laughing and you are empty. You can’t help but crave their happiness.

Briefly, you consider closing early and going out for a drink yourself. But then you think about how much you’d close early and go home instead.

And you suppose you could close early and go home now, because you’re the only one left in the store and it’s the last Saturday of the month, your turn to work the awkward and pointless late night shift that your boss insists that the store keeps. Apparently Saturday night is the prime time for record sales, but then again your boss says a lot of things that make no sense. Really, you know that James wouldn’t care if you closed up early tonight and went home now, because who are they kidding, there’s not going to be a customer rush at 11 o'clock at night when everyone’s out having fun. Nobody in their right mind goes out clubbing and spontaneously decides to pick up an album on the way home.

So, decision made, you grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, and exit the building after turning off the lights. You carefully lock up the store before pocketing your set of keys and speed walking away from the run down record store without looking back.

The snow has reduced to flurries and you start to think that maybe even the weather is tired, just like you are.

When you come to the steps that lead up to your building, you can feel your eyes becoming heavy, drooping like they’d like nothing more than to close. However, despite their exhaustion, your heavy eyes still catch sight of the figure sitting on the steps. People always sit on the steps. But most of the time they’re in groups and most of the time they’re not hunched over, making them look incredibly fragile and sad.

You eye the figure cautiously. He’s got his head in his hands and you briefly consider asking the person if he’s ok because you suppose you’d like that if that was you and someone was acting like they cared.  But you know nothing you could say would make a difference.  

You take the steps 2 at a time and do your best to get past the person unnoticed. Usually you’re good at being unnoticed, usually you can just slip by and blend in with your surroundings and  no one talks to you.

But this person obviously doesn’t know that you are the sad and broken weirdo from the fifth floor.

“You remind me of someone I used to know.” The boy says, voice choked but unmistakeable.

You freeze on the top step, blink twice and turn carefully to face the boy. He hasn’t moved his head from his hands.

“I used to know a girl named Anne in middle school who was sad and nobody but me spoke to her.  You remind me of Anne.”

You don’t move.

“At first I thought that she was broken beyond repair. I just spoke to her and sat with her and I never asked her any questions about why she was so sad. I just kept her company until we left middle school and went to high school. She moved away though.”

The boy pauses to clear his throat before continuing.  

“In November, they had an assembly for just our class.  They said that Anne committed suicide the night before.”

You stare as the boy finally lifts his head from his hands and stands from his seat on the steps, turning to face you. He’s still too far away for you to see him properly and the darkness is making him a mere silhouette to your vision. But you still manage to stare at the boy with a clenched jaw.

You’re about to ask the boy why, why is he telling you this? But the boy speaks before you can say anything.

“That weekend I went to Toledo, where I knew she was from, and I met her mom who cried when I asked her about her daughter’s death. She cried and I told her I was sorry, but I just needed to know why. She showed me the note she left. It was just a list of names. One was mine. And I realized that Anne wasn’t completely broken. She could’ve been fixed, she just needed someone to be there for her.”

You want to turn and run because the snow isn’t around to comfort you anymore.  Instead, it’s dark and your palms are sweating and you don’t know what to say to this stranger. You expect the boy to continue talking, but he doesn’t, he just walks towards you until you’re standing face to face.

Your eyes level with his and for the first time tonight, you can see the person who has been telling you the tragic story of Anne. Your eyes roam the unfamiliar face and you’re hit by the beauty of this boy, the perfect angular line of his jaw, the perfect shape and height of his cheekbones, and more evidently, his perfect eyes that are a shocking shade of brown, vibrant and lively, much unlike your sad ones. This boy’s eyes are shining with life and everything you’re lacking.

You wonder why he bothered to speak to someone like you, who’s sad and exhausted, wearing clothes that are too big for you and looking like a train wreck all of the time, feeling like a train wreck all of the time, is a train wreck all of the time.

A silence has fallen over you, one that remains present until you breaks it with “I don’t know why you told me that.”

To which the boy replies “I told you because you’re broken. Anybody can see that. But it’s not permanent.” Your eyes are locked on the boy’s pretty mouth as he talks, watching the way his lips form each word.

And you kind of want to chuckle at his words, you can’t be ‘fixed’; and you have no one there for you. So you look the boy in the eye and whisper just that.

“Well you have me.” The boy says, as if you’ve known each other for more than 5 minutes. “I’m Tyler, by the way.”

You rub your chapped lips together before saying, “And I’m Y/N.”

And so after exchanging numbers on the steps leading up to your apartment complex at almost midnight on a Saturday night, Tyler Joseph becomes your second snow. He calls you the following day and asks you how you’re doing, if you’re feeling alright today, and you tell Tyler that you feel like you always do. Tyler doesn’t question you. But it feels like a promise when just before Tyler hangs up, he says “I’ll talk to you soon. Probably tomorrow.” and you laugh dryly and say “If you say so.” because you’re not counting on Tyler to stick around.

But Tyler does call. He calls the next day and the day after that and even the day after that. They’re not long calls, just Tyler “checking in” mainly, but it’s so nice, it feels like all the support you’ve ever needed.

And Tyler doesn’t stop at daily calls, he even visits you that weekend. You sit together and don’t really say much.  You just watch the TV in a comfortable silence, but it feels like so much more.

Somehow it turns into a weekly thing. Tyler comes over to your apartment out of the blue, constantly finding reasons to be there for you. Honestly, you’re so glad that you have someone around, someone who isn’t pressuring you into laughing or smiling or doing anything with your life.

Eventually the hour long visits turn into Tyler staying the night, arm wrapped casually around you as they lay on your mattress in the darkness and stillness of your room. He holds you when you cry and it means everything to you, absolutely everything.

And, as time goes on, you begin to find that waking up feels less and less painful every morning.  It’s nice to not dread existing. It’s nice to feel wanted.

But of course, Tyler can’t be there 24/7. So when he isn’t around to listen to you cry and comfort you to sleep, you alway have the snow. It’s like Tyler and the snow are your sole support system, your anchors, the things that are keeping you alive.  Like the list of names Anne made before she died. If you made a list, all it would say is “Tyler Joseph and The Snow.”

But you should have known that Tyler wasn’t just your best friend and your support system. You should have known that you were going to fall in love.

You realize it when you’re lying in bed a few months after you first met, Tyler’s arms holding you closer than they’d ever held you before, when Tyler tucks his nose behind your ear and whispers “This is the first time we’ve laid together at night when you aren’t crying.” and he’s right, you’re not crying, you’re not crying and you don’t feel sad and Tyler is the reason for that.

“It’s because you’re here.“ You whisper in disbelief. "You’re always here and I love you.”

And you do love Tyler. You love Tyler and you don’t realize it until you say it.  But saying it makes you freeze, muscles locking up in Tyler’s embrace.

But Tyler doesn’t seem to notice. “I love you too.”

You spin around in the circle of his arms and look up into Tyler’s perfect eyes and you see the light inside them and you’re not sure what Tyler means by love, but you can tell he means it.

“For real?“

"For real.”

“Okay.” And Tyler leans over and kisses the top of your head for the first time that night, even if it feels familiar enough for it to have been the one thousandth.


“Honey, I’m home!” Tyler calls, smile evident in his voice as he swings the front door to your apartment open and enters, dumping his keys on the wall hook, slamming the door shut and bustling into the kitchen. “Y/N?“

She isn’t there; in her place is an unnerving silence, one that isn’t natural, one that sets a heavy feeling of dread at the bottom of Tyler’s stomach. His smile falls right off his face.

“Y/N?” he says into the silence. No response.  Tyler shakes his head, she’s got to be here.

He ventures into the living room and finds that the arm chair is empty.  He checks the bathroom and finds no beautiful eyes peeking out behind the shower curtain, ready to pounce on him and laugh at him for being so scared. He looks everywhere except her room, because he dreads what he may find in there.

But it’s inevitable, either Y/N is in her bedroom or she is out, and Tyler knows that she would have nowhere to go if she did leave the apartment.

So he opens to door slowly and looks in and the first thing he notices is that it’s snowing and the window is open and Y/N is laying curled in a ball on the mattress, phone discarded in front of her, in silence, crying. She’s a silent blubbering mess and Tyler is scared, but he still dives forward and envelopes her into a hug. He kisses her forehead and buries his face in her hair and whispers “Love, what happened?” because even when they first met, she never cried this much and there’s no way that this is Y/N just upset. This isn’t normal. This isn’t her.

She shakes her head against Tyler’s chest, leaning against him as he rocks them from side to side, mumbling “Shh, babe, tell me what’s wrong.” into her hair and waiting for her to be okay.

Slowly her sniffling seizes and she takes a deep breath, pulling her face out of Tyler’s chest and patting Tyler’s sweater where she’s gotten tears all over it. She smiles weakly but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and she looks like she could start crying again. Before she does though, she shakes her head and says “My mom died. Car accident. Last night.”

Tyler has never asked Y/N about her parents. He doesn’t know why they never talked and he doesn’t have a clue where they are or why they left their daughter to become so broken like this. But he knows that despite the fact that she rarely spoke to them, the loss of this woman who was his mother must be hard on her. Tyler couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain she must be feeling right now.

So Tyler doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and pulls Y/N back into his arms so that her face is not entirely in his chest this time, just so they’re hugging and can lightly sway without toppling over. “We didn’t speak, me and my mom.” she mumbles. “I know I shouldn’t feel so regretful because after we stopped talking a few years back, I barely knew her anymore. We didn’t speak, I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me. But I feel like I’ve completely missed the chance I had to get to know her.  She raised me and loved me as a kid. All I did was push her away. I was bitter and disrespectful and I blamed her for pushing me too hard when really it was just me not wanting to do what she and my dad expected me to do. I’m not surprised she left me.”

Tyler doesn’t have anything constructive to say. He just pushes his nose into your hair and says “I am so sorry. I love you.”

She shakes her head and says “Don’t be sorry.” and for the first time, she tilts her head up and plants her lips on his.  Tyler sighs into her mouth, wondering if this was the time or place to be sharing their first kiss together.  But he selfishly doesn’t want to pull away.   He wraps an arm tightly around her waist and for a long while, all they do is kiss.

And after they do finally pull apart, they lay there together for hours in the darkness, silent and not speaking, until when she assumes that Tyler is asleep and she whispers “It’s all my fault.” into his ear.


You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You don’t know what to do with yourself now that your mother is dead, you don’t know how to fix it, so for the first time in 4 years, you call your dad. And now, laying in the darkness on a creaky mattress, curled up against the wall underneath the open window as the snow falls, you hold your phone in shaky hands.

It’s cold and Tyler left a few hours ago to go to work and you feel so tired. You feel numb. Only when your father picks up to you realize that it’s been such a long time and you don’t know if your dad will even want to speak to you. You consider hanging up, you consider clicking the end call button and putting your phone away, never thinking of it again.


His voice is deep and so familiar and it reminds you of your childhood, it reminds you of the memories he created with him. And you’re completely frozen, paralyzed with guilt. You can’t speak. It’s snowing, you remind himself. The snow is here.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

You bite your lip, looking out at the snow as you say “Dad.”

And your dad exhales, like a breath of relief,  “Y/N.” The sound is static in your ear through the bad connection of your phone. “I thought you’d never call.”

“Mom died.”

“Yeah,” he says, sighing heavily.

Silence. “I’m sorry.” your voice cracks audibly and your fist tightens as you cough in a feeble attempt to cover up your weakness. You’re not breaking, you’re not going to show your dad how broken you are. “I’m sorry for not being there.”

“I know you are.  I know you’re sorry.” And now you don’t know what to say, but you can feel the tears coming, the ones you’d worked so hard to bury for the duration of this phone call.  

“I suppose you want me to beg you to come home now?” he asks then, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.  You shake your head, a method of calming only yourself down.  But you don’t respond.  Instead, you let the phone drop from your ear and you hang up, leaving you to sit, staring out at the snow.  

In the end, you don’t end up crying.  You don’t let any tears escape your eyes.  You just sit, asking the snow why bad things happen to you.  

And when Tyler finds you like this later, he knows what happened, he just knows, and he pulls you into his lap, stroking your hair and looking out at the snow, asking the snow why the world is has been so cruel to this beautiful and perfect girl. The snow doesn’t know the answer to that one.


Y/N/s sadness from the communication with her dad doesn’t fade; she refuses to eat anything, refuses to leave her room, hardly speaks and hardly interacts with Tyler at all. She doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t hug him.  Instead, she pushes him away whenever he lays a hand on her and rejects his affection whenever he tries to put an arm around her shoulders.

It’s as if she’s not even inside her body at all, it’s as if she’s disappeared and truth be told, it’s beginning to worry Tyler, because she’s never been this bad before.

So he takes a week off from work to keep an eye on her, and he calls her in sick at the record store, telling her boss about what happened.

When he hangs up the phone, he returns to her bedroom.  Tyler drops to the mattress at a somewhat respectable distance, crossing his legs as she angle herself away from him. Tyler tries not to take it to heart.

“James said that he hopes you feel better soon.” Tyler says to the back of her head.

No response.

“He also said that he’ll count the days that you’re not in as paid days off so you won’t be going poor or homeless this month.”

No response.

“James a nice guy, huh?  Very southern.”

No response.

"I like southern accents.”

No response.


Tyler suddenly feels sick. Something inside of him snaps and it’s as if all of the days Tyler has spent by her side this week are coming back up his throat. “Oh come on, Y/N! Why?” Tyler says with a raised voice, frustrated. “What’s wrong?! Why are you so distant right now?! Did I do something wrong?!”

Her head lowers and she sighs, mumbling something that Tyler doesn’t quite catch.

He sits for a moment, trying to make sense of it, before he chews his lip and says “What?”

“I said get out.” She says, clearer now. It’s unmistakeable, impossible for Tyler to have misheard. Y/N is telling Tyler to get out. It doesn’t sound like a joke. It sounds like a break up. It sounds like she’s crushing Tyler’s heart with her bare hands, fingers constricting around it, breaking it to a million pieces. “I don’t think we can be together right now.”

Tyler swallows around the lump in his throat. He feels like he’s about to throw up. “What did I do?”

“Just go.”

“But I-”

“Get out.”

And so Tyler gets out. He stands up with tears running down his cheeks, filling his eyes and blocking his vision as he stumbles out of Y/N’s room, out of her apartment, out of her complex, out of her street, out of her town, but hopefully not out of her heart.


After Tyler leaves, you are left to complete silence. There are no more sounds of him moving around in the kitchen or watching TV in the living room or showering in the bathroom. There are no more sounds of Tyler around you at all to remind you that you’re not alone. So all you can think about is the fact that you are so alone, and it’s all your fault because you were the one who fucked everything up.

You miss him. Your heart feels heavier than it was when Tyler was here and your apartment is colder, sadder, lonelier and you feel like everything is back to the way it was before you met Tyler. You’re completely reliant on the snow to listen.  Only now, it doesn’t seem to snow as much.

So now that Tyler is gone, and your mother is dead, and your father didn’t want you around, and the snow isn’t falling, you have no one to live for, nobody to rely on and nothing to cling onto. Just a lumpy mattress and a dark room.

You wonder if Tyler will ever come back.


Tyler tells himself that Y/N doesn’t want to see him. He tells himself that he can’t just go storming into her apartment, demanding to be taken back, because the reason why she told him to leave was because he was too invasive and wasn’t giving her the time and space she needed to think and heal.

He wanted to apologize.   But, he also wanted to stay away, and give her the distance she wanted.  Which is what he is doing.

Tyler hasn’t gone back to Y/N’s apartment for 5 days. Not like he’s been counting, but he’s been counting.

Tyler isn’t sure how long he can stay away.  But on day 6, he decides to say fuck it to space, he needed to check on her. He’s going to go to her apartment and apologize to her and Y/N is going to love him again.


It had been 6 days since the last snowfall.  You gazed out your open window into the clear night and let the cold air hit your face.  

You tapped anxiously at the wood of your window frame, wondering how much longer you could go on like this, completely and utterly alone.  

A soft knock coming from your bedroom door brings you back to reality.  You immediately stir, turning around and looking over at your shut door.  

You know who it is.  Because who else would it be?  You hesitate, feeling nervous about telling him to come in.  What could Tyler want?  

If it had been snowing, you would have told him to go away again.  But it wasn’t.  It was clear and you were so lonely.  So instead you clear your throat and tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, anxiously lingering at the door frame even after he’s seen you.

You keep his gaze and smile as much as you could. “Hi.”

“Listen—“ he says, rubbing the hem of his shirt between his two fingers.  “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at him, in shock.

“I was intrusive and I didn’t give you space, and I said I’d be here, but I was pushy and not what you needed, and I’m sorry.”  He sighs out a heavy breath once he’s finished, like he’d just exhaled all the poison in his lungs.  

You stare, partially stunned, but mostly ashamed with yourself, because standing in front of you was everything you’d ever wanted.  It was love and support and compassion and you’d treated him like you’d treated everything else in your life; with apathy.  You’d neglected Tyler and pushed him away and only focused on yourself.  You hated yourself for it, because truth-be-told, Tyler deserved so much more.  

Despite the distance you’d expressed the last time you’d been together, it’s you who closes the space between you and him.  In three quick strides, you’re colliding with him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your ear into his chest.  

As you feel his arms wrap around you and his face nestle into the familiar spot on top of your head, you finally let yourself inhale properly.  Air and Tyler’s scent all flood into your lungs, reminding you of what you’d let slip away before, reminding you of how crucial he was to your existence.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” you say.  And then, “I love you.”  The words come out louder than you’d ever said it before and you feel Tyler soften in your embrace, like he’s let out a breath of relief.  

“I love you,” he says into your hair. “So much.”

In the coming days, evidence of spring appears.  The snow begins melting from the banks, creating puddles in the road, and on the night when the clouds emerge, it’s rain that falls instead.  You sit briefly on your bed and stare out into the dreary night, listening as the drops fall to the pavement below and you realize that you were okay without it.  Because even without the company of the snow, you had Tyler.  And somehow, he was infinitely better.  You were still sad and afraid.  You still cried some nights and felt like the world was closing in around you.  But Tyler’s company gave you hope and something to live for.

you know… I am so tired of millennials being called lazy… I have a Master’s degree, I teach at a university, I had to work up to 3 jobs at a time this semester to make things work. My semester ended so I had to find yet another job to try to piece everything together. 

This year, I have… 

- sold livestock feed at a general store once a week at $9 an hour

- cleaned real estate offices once a week for a friend for $25 an hour

- driven for a ride share app when I’ve had time for roughly $12 an hour

- worked as a sub in inner city schools as needed for $15 an hour

- tutored kids three times a week $11 an hour

- taught college freshman English for $900 a course a month for 3 ½ months

and I STILL am struggling to piece everything together because no one is hiring full time for a livable wage. 

No one is hiring full time for a livable wage.

No one is hiring full time for a livable wage.  

And no one is hiring full time for a livable wage in the field I got my degree in.