#thoughtlessthinkythoughts

I started this at some point last year when I was still working on my big wip, so when I couldn't decide where I wanted the second half of this fic to go it was kinda pushed back and abandoned. But I really liked the beginning, so maybe I'll go back to it. The basic premise is that Jon is a witch who is hunted by the Eye, and he summons an entity of the Forsaken in the hope it can hide him from the Eye - and that's Martin of course :D Here's a snippet:

Finally, amidst the ancient trees and thick overgrowth, a small cobblestone cottage comes into view. Jon nearly lets out a sob of relief, but he doesn’t have the strength for it. Instead, he uses his last breath to whisper a spell, letting it carry in the wind towards the wooden front door that springs open as soon as the spell touches it. Without slowing Jon barrells through, whirls around, and slams the door shut behind it. Breathing hard and head spinning, he stares at the thin layer of wood separating him from his pursuers.

It’s the difference between “here is how to meet society’s standards regardless of your wants or needs” and “here are some ways to be a happier, healthier version of who you are and present the best possible you”

She didn't notice it because she's "Emily." She is absolutely brilliant when it comes to everything except what is directly in front of her. (Also, I want a fake tumblr name)

I miss freaking you out by following the cars with my eyes. :) Also, the bus was a way of life. An exhausting, cramped, awesome way of life.

You fiend. (You are a darling, but I’m giving you a bad pun reaction face)

Okay, this is about the misinterpretation/generation gap understanding of a word. I may have told you this story, but here goes.

Once when I was really little (7 maybe? All stories about when I was young I tend to round to 7 or 11 for some reason) my parents and I went down South for a family reunion on my mom’s side. At dinner one night, one of my great uncles in the middle of a long silence asked me “Are you a Yankee?”

I was horrified. How dare he excuse me of loyalty to such an over-hyped baseball team. 

“No!” I said, proudly defiant. “I am an Oriole!”

The whole table burst into laughter, while I sat there very confused. How is being the fan of perfectly good baseball team something to be laughed at? (I think my father was very proud. I know I did make my maternal grandmother very happy and proud because I didn’t understand regional distinctions and that kind of nonsense prejudice.)

This took me a while to come up with, but I did the best I could!

So itlooksbetterinblack recommended the connection of a school bus to yellow to me, and gosh do I have bus anecdotes.

I went to an all girls private Catholic high school, and lived very far away from it. So, all the girls in my county who went to that high school put our money together and took a single yellow school bus there every morning and back every afternoon. A lot of the times I would sleep on the way there, or study, or deal with an ex friend who would sleep with her head on my lap (what do you do with your hands on that occasion, I ask) or talk to thoughtlessthinkythoughts. Sometimes thoughtlessthinkythoughts would talk to me when I was trying to sleep, the darling, but she is still great so all is forgiven.

Now thoughtlessthinkythoughts has this uncanny ability that freaks me the eff out. Sometimes when we’d talk her eyes would kind of shake and zoom left to right really fast. Apparently she’d be watching cars pass out the window, but it is a bit terrifying to watch your friend apparently be possessed when you’re trying to discuss her band trips (bother her about leaving Emily in a different country and time, please).

A lot of times, especially on our way back from school, we’d also play theater games. Our favorite was RANT, where you’d act out a scene and a designated person would occasionally interrupt to say “Rant X”, x being the person to then proceed into a monologue while the others in a scene would pretend to be frozen. And we’d have a great time.

One time, on the way back, this girl from school who was an absolute terror and bully in me to middle school, heading back with one of her friends, actually wanted to join us playing RANT. Because we were having a great time and her friend was asleep. And I was like...is this a trick? am I dreaming? is pig’s blood about to fall from the roof of the bus? But we ended up having a great time. She got really into it and we were laughing and everything.

Of course, I still never trusted her (there’s some bullying and trauma stuff I don’t think anyone can get over). But a few months later when my mom told me that her mom had told me that she had written a lettter in religion class (ah Catholic school) regretting how she’d treated me in middle school...I somehow actually believe she was serious about that.

Well, that was a series of long and unrelated digressions. But I hope you enjoyed!

Okay, here’s a story about when I first got into marvel, before the mcu was a thing, way back in high school. The summer before my Junior? year of highschool, I think, one of the first summers I was not at summer camp the whole time and actually had to spend a good chunk of time by myself, I started watching X Men evolution. I got into the show. Like really into it. Scarily into watching X Men evolution. That whole summer I must have watched the entirety of that show a total of 3 times.

So then when I went back into school, I got all my friends into it. Or tried to. Bought the dvds and dragged them all kicking and screaming into watching it with me at various sleep overs. And because they’re wonderful people, they watched it with me. We had some fun with the show, dubbing over the voices (one of my friends who I’ll call Emily for this, would add extra cursing while the rest of us read the lines as written. Scott Summers reactions to Jean would never be the same).

One of these sleepovers, my mother had left early in the morning and left me in charge of my friends. I’d gotten breakfast ready for most everyone, except Emily who really wanted an omelette. So I set her up with the skillet, told her how to work the stove, and went down to turn on the next episode of X:Men Evolution for the rest of us. No sooner had the sound turned on than the fire alarm began blaring. All of us downstairs scattered and ran around, grabbing phones, and opening windows and doors. I ran upstairs, and there was Emily, calmly flipping her eggs over a stove top that had turned orange red in color with smoke coming out of it. Why she did not notice this, I DO NOT KNOW.

Long story short, my house did not get set on fire, but the fire department was called, we had to throw out Emily’s omelette, and we never finished watching season 4 of  X Men Evolution all together. It’s still a great show, though.