MY CRUSHES ARE BOTH PERFECT AND GREAT. OKAY. ONE OF THEM IS SUPER CUTE AND LIVES IN KANSAS, AND MY OTHER ONE LIVES IN NEW YORK AND IS ALSO SUPER CUTE. ALSO HI.
CUTE AW LOOK AT U GUSHIN
ALSO HI <3
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MY CRUSHES ARE BOTH PERFECT AND GREAT. OKAY. ONE OF THEM IS SUPER CUTE AND LIVES IN KANSAS, AND MY OTHER ONE LIVES IN NEW YORK AND IS ALSO SUPER CUTE. ALSO HI.
CUTE AW LOOK AT U GUSHIN
ALSO HI <3

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echoingsentiment replied to your post “oh my god i get paid tomorrow. hello crab rangoon and sushi you will...”
I'M NOT EVEN JOKING THAT'S WHAT WE'RE HAVING FOR DINNER TONIGHT AND I AM SO GLAD SOMEONE ELSE KNOWS THE FEEL OF NEEDING IT
duuuuuuuude no, there's this place near where I live and it has, hands down, the best fucking crab rangoon i have ever tasted in the world period.
Man it's been a while since I've sent you an ask but I just went through your writing tag again and I just god damn it you are perf. I one day aspire to be a writer like you. And you definitely rekindled my undying love for Riku and Sora. God damn man. <3
*makes embarrassed whale noises*
Thank you so so much! I'm really really glad you like everything (and RIKU AND SORA ARE STAR CROSSED LOVERS I mean, seriously they're GREAT ALL THE TIME, SIGHS LOVINGLY)
Kaiden: You smell good! What kind of deodorant do you use?
Me: Oh uhhh. A clinical kind made for stressed out people
Jesus, cleaning out my inbox is always hard because the oldest messages I have are from people encouraging me not to kill myself and it's just so touching and I cry a lot about it, you're all such sweet, perfect people. Thank you.

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No that sounds cute. I'll do it. John/Dave Take one go go go (I feel like my obsession with measurements is really obvious in this .)
~ The minute hand on the clock hanging over the living room bookshelf had swung it's happy ass in a complete circle nearly two times now. That little ticking fucker had run a marathon in your boyfriend's absence and to be perfectly honest the more it moved, the more you proceeded to freak the ever-loving fuck out. For nearly two hours you sat patiently on the couch, tapping a rhythm with the ball of your foot that would rival any drummer’s ill beats as you tried to ignore the nails that your unreturned texts drove into your gray matter. For reasons only select deities and possibly a few psychics would know, John decided it would be a great idea to go to the grocery store for some late night snacks. On foot. At ten o'clock at night. In a skeevy as hell neighborhood. Damn, you thought to yourself, I really know how to pick 'em. Any minute now I'm going to get a call asking me to drag my ass down to the morgue to identify his body, all because that little shit couldn't keep his fucking sweet tooth under control. If John was as motivated about getting his driver's license as he was about crossing Middle Earth for some chocolate covered pretzels, you wouldn't have been in this situation. Or maybe if you didn't live in a neighborhood that was one step up from the fifth layer of hell, you wouldn't worry so much. But lo and behold, there you were, sitting at home, huffing and frightened like a small dog who shivers and tears up the curtains whenever it's left alone for two minutes. What you found even more frightening than your silent phone was the fact that you compared yourself to a puppy in a completely unironic sense. The click of the locks on the front door sliding out of place pulled you from your fur-driven existential crisis and you hopped to your feet. Exactly like an overexcited puppy, a comparison you were trying your damnedest to avoid, you tripped and faceplanted in the middle of the living room in a feat of record breaking clumsiness. Apparently that's what you deserve for trying to run on hardwood floor in swanky Hello Kitty socks (Completely ironic fyi). That animated bitch had better get some good lawyers, because if that fall broke any bones you were going to sue her her pixelated, non-existent pants off. You didn't have enough time to question whether or not animated cats wore pants, or shorts, or any clothing really, before John's voice was echoing through the front hallway. "Hey. I'm back." Yeah, no shit. You quickly flipped over on your back and slid your hands under your head. Despite the bruises that were going to start popping up on your skin in a few minutes, you looked casual as fuck. When John walked into the room, which was going to be in exactly 3.6 seconds by your calculations, he would be completely fucking clueless about that embarrassing faceplant. This is just a relaxing nap on the floor. There's nothing wrong with some late night Pilates. The ceiling looked so nice, I needed to see it from a different angle. Yeah. Perfect. Perfect. Just as you predicted, John was standing at the entrance of the living room after only a few seconds, staring down at you, grocery bags in hand.
"Dave what are you doing?" "What does it look like I'm doing? Obviously I'm getting my late night ninja on and practicing yoga." "But...You're in boxers and you're just laying on the ground. There's not even a yoga tape in right now, you're watching Knight Rider." You glanced up at the T.V, only to be greeted by David Hasselhoff's sultry, panty-soaking gaze. You fought the urge to vomit. "What's you point? Don't you recognize deep spiritual meditation when you see it? Maybe I need The Hoff's sweet calming voice to attain inner peace. Damn John, I'm ashamed that I'm dating someone so uncultured and close-minded." "No. That's stupid. Just shut up now and save yourself while you still have the chance." You didn't. "Frankly I'm offended that you shut down such a meaningful part of my life like that. Maybe I'm extremely passionate about my late night yoga sessions with The Hoff Man. Maybe your sass only contributes to my crumbling insecurities and shattering ego." The little shit scoffed. "Something tells me your ego could use a bit of trimming. But hey, shattering it completely works too. I mean at least if I knocked you off your pedestal you would stop parading around as some unwavering cool kid with at least 13 different complexes." You didn't have time to open your mouth and strike back with something that would almost definitely be clever, before he dropped the plastic bags about three inches from the top of your head. 19 years of your life flashed before your eyes and you jumped up with a girlish scream, fully prepared to strangle the shit out of your boyfriend. He was trying to kill you. You were already getting dangerously close to developing an aneurysm, but having your head crushed by several pounds of high fructose corn syrup, chocolate, and modified corn starch might have been enough to push you into an early grave. Death by pretzels twinkies, and energy drinks. What a tragic way to go.
"Christ. Watch where you're flinging your junk food. You almost killed me." The smug asshole only rolled his eyes as you straightened yourself up and brushed yourself off. John was about a foot shorter than you and the top of his head just barely brushed your chin. It wasn't that he was a munchkin, and you weren't some towering giant. He just happened to be a bit less vertically gifted than most people, while you were only a little more. At that moment he wasn't even being too insufferable, but you were on edge after the previous two hours so anything and everything was making you jump. "Speaking of being killed, did you get any of my texts? I thought you had been stabbed or something. I mean Jesus Christ, John, the grocery store is like 3 seconds away and you were gone for two hours. I thought someone decided to skewer you and throw you in a dumpster. " Normally you wouldn't worry about him. He was technically an adult who could take care of himself, even if he didn't act like it, but a snack run that extended past midnight set off at least 30 different alarms in your head. Most of them dealing with arranging a funeral. You may have been overreacting. "Well Nancy Drew, as you can see I'm perfectly whole and functioning. And I didn't answer your texts because my phone's not even charged. It's on my dresser." "Oh." The second blow to your ego that night. "Dork." He scoffed again, looking up at you over the rim of his glasses. Fuck his adorably condescending librarian look, you were still jumpy. "Oh screw you." You hissed, trying to gain back a few shards of lost dignity. "No. Not tonight. I'm kinda tired. Maybe I'll let you later." He shot you another shit eating grin and you pressed your lips into a tight line. His tennis shoes kissed the hardwood floor a few times and in a second he was standing toe to toe with you. If only he were another 12 inches taller. Maybe then you could have stood face to face. Having a hobbit for a boyfriend had a few disadvantages, one of them being you couldn't stand at eye level with him unless you bent your legs. Eleven out of twelve times that just made you look like an idiot who was living under the impression that he was a bird. You didn't bother tilting your head down to look at him. John would be wearing the same egoistic expression he always did when you were annoyed "C'mon Dave. It was only a joke. Now get down here." "No." "C'mon." "No." "Fine. I'll just come up there then." "Yeah good luck with that, shri-" You were cut off when you felt his shoes crushing you bare toes and his fingers tangling through your hair as he pulled himself to his tiptoes, using the back of your head as leverage. His eyes met yours for a moment before the same smirk crossed his lips. To be perfectly honest the hair pulling and toe-crushing hurt like a bitch. "Ow! Fuck. Get off-" Again you were so rudely interrupted by John when he closed the few inches of space between you by tugging you down and pressing your lips together. Your feet were screaming for mercy and you were positive John ripped out at least a few locks of hair, but you didn't break the kiss. Relief flooded over you and after the previous two hours of worrying, you finally let yourself relax and melt into him. ~ (Yeah, that's all I'm posting because I've got a really bad block idk. Anywhoo. I'm sorry this sucks.)