“Drink? ME?” Ray asked mocking offence. Goofy laughter bubbled from his belly, spurting out from between his lips. “At least 1, but maybe closer to 5 ‘er 7?” He plopped himself down in a chair, laughter continuing to bubble from his lips.
Cisco heard his best friend’s voice through the fog that invaded his head. He blinked a few times, bringing himself back to reality. “Follow through? Barry, I’ve been AWOL for five years. Where were you when I needed you at the beginning?”
here’s a little reminder for everyone, because this is something that I struggled with for a long time, and have come to learn that there are actually a lot of people who struggle with this.
you have a place here.
your place here is not defined by how many followers you have, how many people like your headcanons, or how many people send you memes. your place here is not determined by who follows you, or who unfollows you; your place here is not determined by who likes you or who ices you out. your place here does not depend on which “groupchat” or “squad” you’re a part of, or even if you aren’t a participant in any groupchat, or don’t have anyone in a squad. your place here doesn’t require that you’re someone’s “main” or “exclusive” and your place here doesn’t necessitate that you’re publicly lauded as someone’s “favorite” of your muse. your place here doesn’t equate to the number of anon asks you get, or the number of people who comment on your ooc posts. your place here isn’t equivalent to how many ooc posts you make or don’t make, or how quickly you respond to threads, or which topics you choose to publicly speak up on or even which topics you choose to publicly stay silent on. your place here cannot be taken or revoked if there’s a small part of the community that turns against you, and your place here is not contingent on you being accepted by a few. your place here is not contingent on the people who will or won’t write with you.
I know it hurts when people on the dash are constantly talking about things that go on in their groupchats or squads and you aren’t a part of that. I know it hurts when you reblog a meme and don’t get any sent to you. I know it hurts when you get replaced within a group of people you thought were your friends; I know it hurts when you get kicked out of a group of people you thought were your friends. I know it hurts when you see someone post a headcanon and immediately get a dozen likes, when you posted one five minutes ago and didn’t get any. I know it hurts when people reblog promos for others who write the same muse as you and say in the tags how that person is “the best” of that muse, or their “favorite” of that muse. I know it hurts when everyone on your dash is reblogging promos, and you reblog yours too, and no one else reblogs it. I know it hurts when you make ooc posts about being sad or lonely or needing to talk and get no response, and you see other people make similar ooc posts and get a dozen “I’m here for you” responses. I know it hurts when you’re let down by people you thought you were friends with; I know it hurts when you realize friendships were toxic. I know it hurts to feel lonely, or unwanted, or unneeded, or like no one cares.
but please, don’t forget: you have a place here. you add value to this community. you are important.
you have a place here, and don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t.
Tom had stayed late at work again to cover for his friend & co-worker. He parked the rig at the station and walked several blocks back to his car. He popped his headphones in his ears and started his playlist, humming along as he walked along the dark, wet pavement. He saw his car in the distance and began fumbling for his keys.
As he stuck the key in the car, there was suddenly something cold held to his back. Something that could only be described as a gun. The voice was firm, but feminine. Tom didn’t dare turn his head to look at the assailant, for fear of being shot. “Okay, okay. My wallet is in my back pocket, you can take it. Take whatever you want, just please, please don’t hurt me.”
“I don’t want your wallet. And like I said, I have no intention of hurting you as long as you do what you’re told…” Cara trailed off with a small gasp of air, pressing her free hand to her side. The pressure made her see stars, and the blood that had already seeped through her layers of clothing was now slipping through her fingers, but it couldn’t be helped. Not yet.
“You’re going to get in your car and I’m going to sit behind you,” Cara told him. “I will give you step-by-step instructions of what to do and where to go. You will follow them to the letter. And if you have any intention of trying to crash the car or flagging another one down for help, squash it now; not only am I an impeccable shot, but I’m a quick one, too.”
Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he realized the severity of the situation he was now in. He knew ways to covertly signal that he was in distress, but he couldn’t risk being shot. “No funny business, got it. I’m going to unlock the door now, okay?” Tom’s voice sounded small, despite his attempt at sounding manly and strong. He slowly turned the key in the door, reaching his hand in and unlocking the other doors of the older car. His heartbeat rose as he slowly climbed into the car, thankful for the temporary relief of not having a gun held to his back.
His breath caught once more as he felt the cold barrel against his shoulder. “Oh-okay, where to?” Tom tried to steady his voice, but the shake & stutter in his voice was evident.
Cisco backup 