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(Source)
Beautiful Street Art in Hollywood. Walk of shame. By the way .....FUCK DONALD TRUMP!
@since-times-long-forgotten Jesus Christ my homie you have booped me a shitton
Going over a year without suicidal thoughts brings a lot of awakenings. I am lovable, people can like me, although now I guess I have to plan for the future I never thought I could make it to. 13 year old me never gave a thought into high school classes, but now I'm being told to start thinking about what I want to do for college... It's so crazy to think that I've made it farther than I ever thought I would. And there's still more to look forward to. If you told 13 year old me that she makes it past 15, she'd probably break down at the thought of having to live that long. What she wouldn't think about is all the good things that have happened since.
I remember leaving my middle school for the last time, the best feeling ever. I remember going to summer camp. I remember going to my high school orientation and feeling hopeful for once. I remember the crash soon into the school year, yes, but I also remember how that led to the first moment of me feeling fully loved and accepted by my peers. I remember being comforted through a panic attack in the hallway at the Halloween dance. I remember my first audition at this school, I remember when I didn't get in. I remember trying again the next time and seeing my name on the cast email. I remember getting to be closer to all the people I had been admiring from afar all year. I remember all the fun outings, and the sleepovers, and the silly conversations that I get to have every morning. If 13 year old me knew I grew up, she'd think I'm still miserable. But now, even through the hardest times, I am loved and cared for.
Keep living yall. Things can work out.
Being like. Post-suicidal is so strange. Like hiiiii everybody im new I spent a good chunk of my life languishing and have like 3 or 4 lived experiences. But now I'm ready to fuck and party or whatever. Can we be friends. Im so happy to be here. Can we be friends
Never let anyone force you to put your dreams aside, no matter how many times you’ve heard people say that. Because believe it or not, but most people actually spread the truth, yet you only hear about negative things.
If living your life was really that hard, everybody would be depressed, but look around you. Almost everybody isn’t depressed.
It might be hard at times to get over obstacles and continue the race, but in the end, if the obstacle was that hard to pass, nobody would finish it!
Keep doing what you love!
Because even though we might never meet, I’ll still be here for you! Cheering you on from the other side of the screen!
“If you promise to stay alive just a little bit longer I promise that we are going to make this world a place worth living in by any means necessary. I ain’t giving up. I swear.”
Spotted in Clackamas, Oregon
“Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest—thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the under wood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated.”
— Beau Taplin (via quotethat)
“If you promise to stay alive just a little bit longer I promise that we are going to make this world a place worth living in by any means necessary. I ain’t giving up. I swear.”
Spotted in Clackamas, Oregon
Even though it late at night and I just spend the entire day with her I just want to say @qibsichan Happy Birthday 🎂
Congradulations of surviving another year wrighting story’s about our favourite Dog and Cat and our favourite muderus bunny’s
We all love you and love your work keep going and life dose get hard sometimes but you got through diffrent highs and lows of your life and to celebrate another year of living
Happy Birthday again @qibsichan and let’s make it to next year
from your emotional friend Caleb
renting crisis, part one. richie jerimovich x reader.
summary: in a last ditch attempt to save you both from the rising cost of rent and the loneliness you feel following mikey’s death, richie asks you to move in with him. a complicated relationship between you ensues.
a/n. first post ever. hopefully more to come soon 💌
slow burn, but not that slow.
————————————————————————
the beef - may, 2022
————————————————————————
you’re sitting at a table, counting tips, looking exhausted. richie leans against the counter, watching you. he’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s been thinking about something.
“yo.”
“what, rich?” you respond, without looking up.
he kisses his teeth. “you still getting fucked on rent?”
you scoff, rubbing your eyes. “what do you think?”
richie’s silent for a moment before he speaks up. “i think… i got a couch,” you finally look up at him, squinting, trying to figure out if he’s serious.
“yeah, so do i. what’s your point?”
shrugging, real casual, he continues. “i dunno. just saying. i got space. spare room. wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you, you know, crashed there for a while.”
you raise an eyebrow. “and why would i do that?”
richie mocks offence, hand over his heart like he’s just been shot. “jesus christ, i make one nice offer and you act like i just asked you to fucking marry me.”
“you’re not nice.”
“i can be.” he retorts, grinning.
you study him for a long beat. he won’t look at you and continues to pretend to wipe down the counter, like it’s no big deal. but it is. and you know it.
you nod softly. “okay.”
richie glances up, surprised you actually said yes. he covers it with a shrug.
“yeah?”
smiling back, you bite your bottom lip. “yeah. but if you piss me off, i’m keying your fuckin’ car.”
he grins, clapping his hands together. “ahhh, there she is!”
you both smirk at each other. it’s not sentimental, it’s not dramatic—it’s just two people who work in a shit hole finding a way to make it a little easier.
————————————————————————
richie’s apartment - a week later
————————————————————————
the apartment is small but decent. lived-in. you lean on the couch, folding laundry that definitely isn’t yours. richie walks in, stops, and frowns.
“uh, what the fuck is this?”
you don’t bother looking up. “your clean underwear. you’re welcome.”
he groans like you just kicked him in the balls. “i don’t need you touching my fucking boxers.”
“trust me, i don’t want to. but if i didn’t do it, you’d be freeballin’ at work in two days.” you deadpan.
grumbling, he sits next to you on the arm of the couch. “not the worst thing in the world.”
“you are disgusting.”
richie, now grinning, kicks his feet up. “yeah, yeah. you done hogging the tv? i wanna put the game on.”
quickly, you snatch up the remote, hugging it close to your chest. “i’m watching the vampire diaries.”
“are you fucking serious?” he groans.
“yup.”
the two of you bicker for another minute, but it’s easy, it’s comfortable. neither of you say it, but it’s nice not being alone.
————————————————————————
the apartment - june, 2022
————————————————————————
you walk into the kitchen, still half-asleep, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that is definitely not yours—it’s one of richie’s old bulls hoodies. richie is at the counter, eating straight out of a cereal box. je does a double take when he sees you
“yo, is that my hoodie?”
you grab a mug, yawning. “might be.”
richie throws his arms in the air. “you can’t just steal my shit, dude.”
“i absolutely can.” you retort as you pour your coffee.
he snorts. “nah, see, this is why roommates don’t work out. this is how wars start.”
you take a sip of your beverage, then flip him off without looking. richie sighs, throwing a handful of cereal at you. you dodge it.
“you’re a fucking child.” your insult doesn’t land and the man in front of you just rolls his eyes.
“yeah, and?”
beat. you eye the cereal box in his hand.
“that better not be my fucking cocoa puffs.”
richie lets out a laugh, his mouth full. “it’s our cocoa puffs now.”
you glare at him, then lunge for the box. you wrestle for it like literal children until richie finally lets go, sending you stumbling back. you hold the box triumphantly, out of breath.
“that’s what i fucking thought.”
he shakes his head, shaking with laughter. “you’re the fuckin’ worst.”
you shake your head back, mockingly. “nah, you are.”
you share a grin. it’s dumb, but it’s fun.
————————————————————————
the apartment - july, 2022
————————————————————————
more comfortable in your new living situation, you sit at the kitchen table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. richie walks in, downing a beer, eyebrows raised.
“oh no. what the fuck is this?”
once again, you don’t look up. “house rules.”
he snorts. “what is this, fuckin’ summer camp?”
ignoring him, you read out loud. “rule #1: if you leave dishes in the sink, i will kill you.”
dramatic.
“rule #2: no watching porn in the living room.”
richie furrows his eyebrows, the crease between them becoming more apparent by the second. “woah, woah. i don’t—,”
pointing at him, you avoid eye contact. “i don’t want to know.”
he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, raising his other hand in surrender.
fair.
you clear your throat, continuing.
“rule #3: If you eat my food, you replace my food.”
“you’re never gonna let the cocoa puffs thing go, huh?” he quips.
sneering, you tilt your head in a sarcastic manner. “not in this lifetime, asshole.”
richie snatches the paper from her, looking it over. you roll your eyes, snatching it back. he sits across from you, menacingly.
“you know, i kinda dig this.”
immediate confusion.
“the rules?”
shrugging, he picked at the label on his beer bottle. “nah, just… this. you here. dunno.”
you peer up at him through your lashes. it’s the closest thing to sincere richie’s ever been. you just nod, hiding a small smile.
“yeah.”
you don’t say anything else. he just sips his drink. you wring your hands together.
————————————————————————
the beef - august, 2022
————————————————————————
this time, you’re behind the counter, dealing with a customer who is very much testing your patience.
the horrible man grumbles, pointing at the menu behind you with a waggly finger.
“i don't get why you don't have more options.”
you force a smile, feeling yourself beginning to slowly die on the inside. “because it's a sandwich shop.”
the cunt across from you doesn’t miss a beat. “yeah, well, that’s stupid.”
dryly, you lean forward on your elbows. “i'll let corporate know.”
he scoffs at you. the nerve. “you got a real attitude problem, you know that?”
fuck you. you think, but you don’t have to say it because before you can, richie appears beside you. he grins, but there’s nothing friendly about it.
“you got a problem with her?”
the customer blinks, taken aback. “i didn't say that.”
"i-i didn't say that.” richie mocks. “shut the fuck up. you don't like the menu? go somewhere else.”
the man splutters. turning red.
“excuse me-,”
your coworker-turned-roommate drops his smile, eyes dangerous. “no, excuse me. get the fuck outta here.”
the customer glares, but ultimately backs off, mumbling something under his breath as he leaves. richie watches him go, then turns back to you, who's just staring at him.
you blink slowly. “jesus, rich.”
but he only shrugs, walking off. “what?”
“fuckin’ psycho.” you say to yourself, shaking your head. you turn back to the register, biting back a small smile as you move on to the next customer.
————————————————————————
the apartment - september, 2022
————————————————————————
the apartment is dimly lit, mostly by the glow of the tv. richie is on the couch, flipping through channels with another beer in hand. you’re is in the kitchen, rinsing out a glass, moving slower than usual. you’ve been quiet all night. though richie doesn’t think much of it—until he hears a quiet sniffle. he barely turns his head.
he’s casual, not even looking away from the screen. “yo, you sick or some shit?”
silence. then, another sniffle. he frowns, finally turning to look at you. you’re standing at the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter, your shoulders tense. he sees the slight shake in your back.
fuck. she’s crying. he thinks.
richie sits up, his voice softer now. “hey.”
you quickly wipes her eyes and turn your back more, like you’re trying to hide. you let out a breath, trying to play it off.
“it’s nothing.”
he throws his arm down the side of the couch, searching for the remote. “yeah, alright. you’re just standing there crying ‘cause of nothing.”
you exhale through your nose, frustrated, but your voice betrays you, wobbling.
“i don’t fuckin’ cry.”
richie tilts his head, tone dry as he finally pauses the tv. “yeah? what’s that, then?”
you huff a laugh, but it’s weak. you shake your head, rubbing at your face aggressively like you’re trying to scrub the emotion off. he watches you for a second, then gets up, walking over.
leaning against the counter next to you, close but not too close, he breaks the silence again.
“it’s fine, y’know.”
you mutter out a small “no, it’s fuckin’ not.”
“yeah, it is. you live here, don’t you?”
you sniff again, looking down at the counter. richie reaches past you and grabs the roll of paper towels, tearing one off and handing it to you. you take it, still not looking at him, dabbing your face.
the man next to you clears his throat. “you wanna talk about it or what?”
you swallow, staring at the sink. your voice is small when you speak.
“…don’t know.”
richie nods, like that’s a perfectly fine answer. he doesn’t push. instead, he nudges your arm lightly, pulling a shitty little joke out of his pocket.
“just don’t go getting snot all over my counter, alright? i keep this place immaculate.”
an actual laugh escapes you—quiet, but real. you shake your head again, eyes still wet, but there’s something lighter in your face. he smirks, nudging you again. “that’s better.”
you both stand there in silence for a few seconds. then, richie pushes off the counter and grabs another beer from the fridge.
he holds it up toward you in question.
“beer?”
you exhales and nod.
“yeah.”
he tosses it to you. you catch it, finally looking at him. he just shrugs, like this never happened. you pop the cap and take a sip.
then you go back to the couch, richie flipping the channels like normal. like it’s just another night.
————————————————————————
the apartment - november, 2022
————————————————————————
it starts small. at first, it’s just convenience. you’re on your laptop in the living room, but richie’s watching something loud and stupid on tv. so you roll your eyes, pick up your laptop, and disappear into your room.
no big deal, right?
then, one night, richie’s door is open, and he’s lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. you pass by, stop, and lean in the doorway.
“what are you doing?”
he doesn’t bother looking up. “bein’ fucking awesome, obviously.”
“mm. looks like you’re laying there like a loser.”
he scoffs, still not looking up. he scoots over slightly, making just enough space on the bed without actually saying anything. you don’t hesitate—you flop down next to him, on your stomach, scrolling through your own phone.
you don’t talk, just sit there in comfortable silence. blue light bouncing off your faves.
a few days later, richie’s walking past your room, and your door is cracked open. you’re lying on your side, curled up, watching something on your computer.
he stops. “what’s this?”
“a fucking movie, richard.”
he grumbles at your reaction. “no shit. what’s it about?”
“it’s french. you wouldn’t get it.”
richie pretends to be offended, letting his jaw drop. “‘scuse the fuck outta me?”
you smile, but then—you scoots over a little, thinking of when he did the same before. just a little. an unspoken offer. your roommate leans against the doorframe for a second, then shrugs and walks in, falling onto the bed next to you.
“alright, let’s see what kinda pretentious shit you’re into.”
then it just becomes a thing. you don’t say anything about it, but richie’s room stops being just richie’s room. yours stops being just yours. there’s no boundaries anymore—not in a weird way, just in a roommate way. in a ‘we live together and we’re comfortable way.’
you’ll be half-asleep in your bed, and richie’ll walk in and steal one of your hoodies off the chair like it belongs to him.
richie’ll be laying in his bed and you’ll wander in, sit on the floor, and scroll through your phone without saying anything.
neither of you question it anymore.
one night in particular, richie’s lying in bed, doing god knows what, and you walk in without knocking. you’ve got a beer in your hand and toss it to him without looking.
he catches it and cracks it open.
“you’re gettin’ real comfortable in my room, lady.”
not knowing what to say, you shrug, flopping down next to him. “yeah, well. It’s better than mine.”
he gives you a look, taking a sip of his beer. “your room is the exact same as this one.”
“yours has better vibes.”
he snorts. “oh, fuck off.”
you laugh, nudging him with your knee. richie rolls his eyes but smirks. you sit there, drinking in silence, the radio playing some dumb late-night talk-show in the background. and it’s fine.
neither of you say it, but—it’s kinda nice, not feeling alone all the time.
————————————————————————
the beef - february, 2023
————————————————————————
it’s a slow part of the day, that weird in-between where nothing really happens. you’re leaning against the lockers, sipping a coke, and richie’s bullshitting about something stupid.
sugar enters from the office, she had been around a lot lately because carmy was trying to convince her to renovate ‘the beef’ into… you didn’t even want to know.
her eyes eventually land on the two of you as she greets you both with a smile. “wow. you two are really attached at the hip these days, huh?”
you snorts, taking another sip of your coke.
richie just raises an eyebrow. “what the fuck does that mean?”
sugar sends you a knowing look.
“it means every time i come in here, you two are either flirting, arguing, or just—existing in the same place. it’s kinda strange.”
you angle your head away from richie to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. “thank you, natalie.
she eyes you both, unimpressed. then, she crosses her arms and tilts her head slightly.
“i’m just saying. it’s kinda funny. you guys live together, you work together—.”
richie interjects. “oh my god, is there a point to this?”
sugar only laughs.
i mean, it’s cute guys. like a little old married couple. mikey would prob—,”
you and richie both react at the same time.
“what the fuck—,”
“shut the fuck up.”
tina laughs from somewhere in the kitchen, obviously enjoying the show. sugar just smiles, like she’s oblivious to what she’s doing.
“i think it’s sweet, you guys! you take care of each other.”
richie scoffs, but he doesn’t have a real comeback. he just shifts on his feet and mutters “yeah, well, fuck off.”
she raises her hands in surrender, still smiling innocently, and walks off. you shake your head, downing the last of your drink before setting the can down with a clink. you look over at richie, who’s still scowling like he’s been personally insulted.
“you’re being so weird right now.”
“you’re being so weird right now.” he retorts, like a six-year old.
you roll your eyes, but there’s something in richie’s face—just for a second, something small and unspoken. neither of you acknowledge it.
instead, you nudge him with your elbow and walk off, and he watches you go for half a second longer than he should.
————————————————————————
the apartment - march, 2023
————————————————————————
the soft glow of the lamp lights the room, casting a warm, intimate glow. you’re lying on your back, the blankets scattered around you. richie is beside you, propped up on one arm, his other hand resting casually on the bed.
you two of you talk, but your words are light, almost nonsensical—just enjoying the simplicity of the conversation.
your faces are close, so close that it feels natural to hear each other’s breath and feel the warmth between them.
you laugh softly, pulling a drag from your cigarette and handing it back over.
“do you think… if we had an actual pet, we’d be good at taking care of it?”
richie chuckles, amused by the randomness of the question. “like a goldfish?”
“yeah, like a goldfish. what if we killed it by accident? i feel like we’d be those people who forget to feed it and then, like, find it floating in the tank.”
he laughs, his eyes sparkling with humour. “i dunno, i think we’d be fine. i mean, i could always blame you. you’re the one who’d forget.”
you playfully swat at him, but you’re smiling, your eyes soft and full of affection.
“right, blame me, huh? we both know i’m probably the responsible one between the two of us.”
richie pulls a very serious face, his lips fighting the urge to curve into a smile. “oh yeah? well, last time i checked, i was the one who made sure we had food last night.”
“pizza doesn’t count as ‘responsibility,’ rich.”
he smirks, and just then you realise how his face is only inches from yours.
“hey, that was a survival tactic. you’re welcome, sweetheart.”
you’re quiet for a moment, the air between you comfortable.
turning your head just slightly, you meet his eyes with a softness that says more than words ever could. richie’s face softens, too. there’s a brief beat of complete silence before he leans in, his nose brushing against yours lightly.
“is this the part where we get all deep and talk about our feelings or…?”
you laugh nervously at his words.
————————————————————————
💌
Depression collage
I made it with the power of sheer fucking depression heartbreak and betrayal
Please, spread this for those who might need it right now
U.S. suicide hotline: call or text 988 (available 24 hours)
U.S. trans lifeline: (877) 565-8860 (when you call, you’ll speak to a trans/nonbinary peer operator. full anonymity and confidentiality)
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – provides 24/7 confidential support and referrals for individuals and families facing mental health and substance use disorders, including panic attacks and anxiety.
LGBT National Help Center: (888) 843-4564
Trevor Project: Call (866) 488-7386, text START to 678-678, or chat online.
Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe ♡