venace

hiiiii i'm vee ‎:3│they/she│20somethin│thinkin about the pitt rn!

[angelof3ears]

about me ―୨୧⋆ ˚.ᐟ

hi i'm vee!│20somethin│they/she

୨୧ shows/movies i really like: the pitt, criminal minds, gilmore girls, frieren beyond journey's end, heated rivalry, pride and prejudice (2005), little women (2019)

୨୧ some fav characters: dennis whitaker, spencer reid, tbd...

୨୧ characters i will probably write about: dennis whitaker, mel king, tbd..

୨୧ um um there's more things i could type but soooo sleepy right now. pls say hi!!! <3

[belllllaaaaa]

hardcore running w mel’s two ren faire mentions

[sapiensecrets]

ten minutes - dennis whitaker x f!reader

summary: yours and dennis' routine on a cold december day, plus a little sneak peek into your future.

pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist) cw/tags: FLUFF!!!! non-sexual intimacy and nudity, just reader and dennis being domestic and cute and in love. swearing. mentions of nausea/vomiting/generally being sick but no depictions. dennis and reader celebrate christmas because i assume that dennis' family does, but you can also envision that they celebrate more than one holiday :) reader has hair long enough to tie up in a nondescript updo, wears jeans, a sweater, and a sundress donning and doffing is the process of putting PPE (personal protective equipment like masks and gowns) on and secure chat is a patient privacy compliant messaging system that hospital staff use to communicate :)) this was requested by an anon thank u so much for requesting!! word count: 3.4k dennis x RT!reader masterlist general masterlist

The alarm goes off at five thirty-five, Dennis’ phone lighting up and buzzing on the nightstand, dragging both of you out of sleep. He reaches over before it can ring a second time, hitting the power button, shutting it off for the time being. You don’t open your eyes, but you shift yourself closer to him, smiling when his arms curl around your waist and pull you against his body. He plants a kiss on your ear, then on your cheek, eliciting a hum from you. 

“Hi, lovely girl,” He murmurs, putting his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes to take advantage of the eight minutes remaining before the alarm goes off again. 

“Hi baby,” You mumble, half-coherent, relishing in how warm he is, not wanting to face the temperature of your apartment in the middle of December. It’s still completely dark out, making the prospect of getting out of bed even worse. 

“You want breakfast today?” He asks, slipping his hand under your shirt, warmth pressing lightly against your stomach. You whine, wiggling in an attempt to get even closer to him. 

“Yeah, I think so,” You say. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” He says. He presses another kiss to your cheek, squeezing you tightly. The two of you lay in silence until the alarm rings again, your cat lifting his head up at the sound, letting out a tiny chirp and hopping off the bed and onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” You whisper, rubbing your eyes, groaning when Dennis lets go of you and climbs out of bed, exposing you to the frigid air for half a second. He walks off into the bathroom, brushing his teeth while simultaneously turning the shower on, closing the door behind him once he’s done to make sure the whole room is warm by the time you manage to crawl out of bed. 

He comes back into the bedroom with your towel slung over his shoulder, opening the closet and pulling out a pair of jeans and a sweater for you. He grabs clothes for himself, then disappears down the hallway, tossing the towel and your clothes into the dryer before continuing on into the kitchen. You open your eyes again, sigh, and hype yourself up enough to throw the blanket off. 

You practically run into the bathroom once you’re up, not wanting to stay in the cold any longer than necessary. The shower is the perfect temperature, with steam curling up and over the glass door, clinging to the mirror. You smile to yourself, your stomach filling with butterflies as you think about how lucky you are, a regular occurrence in the morning as Dennis does everything he can to make your day easier.

Dennis is in the doorway a few moments after you turn the shower off, holding up the warm towel, wrapping it around your shoulders as you step out. 

“Clothes in the dryer, angel,” He says, leaning over, kissing your forehead. You smile. 

“Thank you,” You say, the two words a constant in the morning when you both work, no matter how many times he’s done these things for you. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” He says, like always. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Your smile grows. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head, closing the door, his footsteps receding back into the kitchen. You brush your teeth, do your skincare and hair, then grab the clothes from the dryer, climbing into them. You make it into the kitchen by six-fifteen, admiring the sight of Dennis for a moment, watching the way he moves as he makes your plate and pours coffee into a mug. He slides it onto the breakfast bar just as you take a seat, flashing you a small smile. 

“Thank you,” You say. He teasingly rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go pink, ruining his attempt to seem nonchalant. He notices the way you glance towards the food, early-morning nausea obvious on your face, making him frown. 

“You don’t have to eat it all,” He says. “Or any of it. Only as much as you want, yeah?”

You nod, sticking your fork into a piece of fruit, taking a small bite. “Yeah, I know, thank you.”

“I’m gonna’ start charging you each time you say that,” He says, picking up his own mug of coffee, moving towards the bedroom to take his own shower. You laugh under your breath, taking another bite of food, trying to get yourself to fully wake up. 

You try your best to help once Dennis is out of the shower, but you’re still a little sluggish, likely hindering more than anything as he packs a few snacks for the day, fills your water bottles, pours more coffee into travel cups, and starts the car. He scrapes the snow and ice off the windows after letting it warm up for a minute, then carries your backpacks out, setting them in the backseat. 

You tug your boots and jacket on, following him out, grabbing your keys off the hook and locking the door behind you. He opens the passenger door once he sees you, letting you hop in before getting into the drivers side. Music plays softly, buzzing from the speakers of the old car, filling the space perfectly until you’re awake enough to make conversation. 

“Feeling okay today?” You ask, reaching your hand over, threading your fingers through his. 

“Yeah, hopefully it’s not too crazy,” He says. 

You hum, smiling. “Can’t wait to don and doff for every single patient all day.”

He laughs. “Hard to enjoy the holiday season when it’s really just…flu season.”

“And RSV, covid, noro,” You add, rattling the diagnoses off, already envisioning the way the board will look when the two of you arrive. 

Cough. Congestion. Shortness of breath. Nausea. Vomiting. Wheezing. Fever. 

“Maybe we won’t get sick three days before Christmas this time,” He says, squeezing your hand. “I’d like to actually make it to the farm for a bit.”

You think about last holiday season, both of you sucuumbing to the same virus within five hours of each other, quickly devolving into feverish delirium. You exhale, leaning your head back, closing your eyes. 

“Oh my god,” You say, laughing through the words. “We were so fucking sick.”

“I was convinced a racoon had broken into the apartment,” He says, making you laugh harder, recalling the number of times he tried to convey that concept to you, all without actually saying the word ‘racoon.’

“You never said it was a racoon!” You exclaim. “I thought you were trying to tell me there was a man in our home, but I was too fucking out of it to actually process that.”

He chuckles. “I remember saying ‘he’s here’ over and over again.”

“That’s exactly what you were saying,” You confirm. “I asked ‘who’ like…one time and then gave up, accepting our fate of being murdered by this unknown man.”

“I had accepted that the racoon was going to get us,” He says. “My face was basically the surface of Venus with how high my fever was.”

“Ugh, and we were so sweaty,” You say, grimacing a little at the memory of sticky sheets and hair sticking to your face. “Then people were trying to Facetime us, we looked disgusting, and I’m sure we were completely incoherent.”

“My mom really wanted us to go to the ER,” He agrees. 

“We basically are the ER,” You counter. 

“That’s what I said!” He exclaims. “Or…at least I meant to. I probably said something incomprehensible.”

“Yeah, probably,” You say, running your thumb along the back of his hand. “Let’s not do that again this year.”

“Great idea,” He says, pulling into the hospital lot and into his usual parking spot. 

You spend the first few hours in the zone, running the occasional code, making eye contact while charting across the central hub, purposefully bumping shoulders as you walk past each other. You send him a secure chat just after eleven, watching him from across the department as he types on a computer. 

can you spare five minutes?

DENNIS WHITAKER, MD Yes :) 

He doesn’t need to ask what you want. 

You log off the computer, slipping into the locker room and grabbing a granola bar, apple slices, and crackers from your backpack, all of which Dennis packed for you this morning. You head through the double doors, into the back hallway, setting yourself up on the marble staircase while you wait for him. He rounds the corner a few minutes later, a tired smile on his face, his hands reaching for you first as he takes the seat beside you. One lands on your lower back while the other touches your forearm, his head resting against your shoulder briefly. 

“Tired?” You ask, passing him a slice of apple, raising your own and tapping it against his before taking a bite. 

“Very,” He says, sighing, shoving the entire piece into his mouth. You grin, cocking your head to the side, watching as his cheeks puff out for a second. He shrugs, swallowing, raising his finger up for a moment. 

“Sorry,” He says. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s very efficient,” You say, giving him another piece, watching him do the same thing again. You laugh, knowing that he only did it to make you smile. 

The two of you eat as much as you can within five minutes, then Dennis stands up, brushing his pants off and adjusting his badge. He kisses your forehead, his hands resting on your cheeks for a second. 

“I love you,” He says. “See you in there.”

“I love you,” You say. “Good luck.”

You’re dying to go home by the time three o’clock rolls around, the day consisting of never-ending respiratory and stomach viruses, just like you thought it would. Your hands are raw and sore from the number of times you’ve sanitized them, the shitty lotion at the nurses station doing nothing to fight the dryness that seems to seep down to your bones. 

Dennis stops beside the desk you’re working at, setting a small container down in front of you, pulling your attention away from the screen. You glance down at the object, gasping when you see that it’s your favourite shea butter, not one that he’d be able to get from the hospital gift shop. 

“Did you bring this from home?” You ask, already opening the lid and starting to slather it onto the back of your hands. 

He nods. “They were cracking last night, wasn’t sure they’d make it through the day.”

“Do you have a crush on me or something?” You ask, teasing, watching as his cheeks heat up. 

“I don’t know where you got that idea,” He says, but he stutters slightly, and you grin. 

“Thank you,” You say, then glance back towards the computer, remembering something. “Can I grab a VBG instead of ABG for thirteen? She’s been poked like, a million times already, and the VBG won’t hurt as much.”

It takes him a second to remember exactly who’s in thirteen, considering he’s spent the last two hours doing back-to-back traumas, but then he nods. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea,” He says. “Thanks.”

“Cool, I’ll do it right now,” You say, standing up, your hand finding his for a split second. “Four more hours.”

He sighs. “Four more hours.”

For once, Dennis is ready to leave before you, waiting for you to finish up your conversation with Cassie before actually walking over. He’s bundled up—his jacket zipped up to his neck, blonde curls poking out from beneath a grey beanie, thin gloves covering his hands. He’s holding the car keys, spinning them around his finger a few times. 

“Hey, sorry, I’ll be like fifteen,” You say, grabbing a tablet and logging on as you talk. “McKay needs an urgent neb and whoever’s supposed to be here after me is clearly running late.”

“It’s okay,” He says, giving your arm a quick, reassuring rub. “I’ll go get the car warmed up, text me when you’re done?”

The sun is long past the horizon by the time you get back home, limbs aching from the chill outside, each of you carrying a bag of groceries. Dennis has both your backpacks slung over his shoulders, and you’re tucked into your jacket, eyelashes starting to freeze as you race towards the door to your building. You yank it open, holding it for him, quickly shuffling in behind him. 

“Thanks,” He say, hitting the elevator button with his elbow. You press yourself into his side, shivering, wanting nothing more than to cuddle up beside him on the couch and watch movies until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. The elevator doors slide open, as though they’re protesting the cold themselves, and both of you step inside, hitting the button for the fourth floor. 

Neither of you speaks, you just stand side by side, shoulders brushing together. You unlock your door, finally, kicking your shoes off into the corner and setting the bag of groceries onto the counter. Your cat screams at your feet, twisting around your legs, making you grin as you bend down to pick him up. 

“Hi,” You say, kissing the top of his head. Dennis comes into the room, putting the other bag on the counter, then coming to your side, stratching the cat’s chin. He shoves his face against Dennis’ hand, nuzzling into him despite how frigid both of you are. You put him back on the floor after a bit, opening one of the grocery bags and starting to pull out ingredients for dinner. 

“Go shower, I’ll get dinner started,” You say, sticking your hands under the tap as he comes up behind you, sliding his arms around your waist, burying his face into the sweater you’re wearing. He says something that you can’t quite hear, his voice muffled against your clothes, but you take a wild guess. “I love you too, baby.”

He sighs, holding you for another second before letting go, trailing off into the bathroom to wash the day off. You roll your sleeves up, pulling out a cutting board and putting it onto the counter. You grab a frying pan, lining it up with the burner on the stove, turning the knob to the right temperature. 

Dinner is almost finished by the time Dennis comes back out, wearing plaid pajama pants and a black crewneck, his hair wet and face slightly flushed from the hot water. He leans back against the counter farthest from where you’re working, knowing better than to try and offer any help, certain that you’ll usher him away, insisting that he works too hard already. He watches you with a fond smile on his face, admiring the way your hair has started falling out of the updo you put it in this morning, how your left sleeve has fallen back down to your wrist while the right is shoved up past your elbow, the way you’re standing entirely on one foot, the other pressed against your thigh like a flamingo. 

This is his favourite part of his life. 

If he only had ten minutes left to live, he’d ask if he could watch you like this, one last time.

He’s so fucking lucky. 

You finish up five minutes later, and the two of you sit across from each other at the dining table, fancy wine glasses filled with juice beside both your plates. 

“Thank you for cooking,” He says. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Should we start charging for ‘thank you’s now, or…”

He smiles. “Let’s just call it even.”

You smile back. “Fine, if you insist.”

His eyes fall past your face, landing on the shelf behind you, his brows furrowing. “When did that plant die?”

You don’t have to look to know the one he’s referring to—the brown, limp fern that sits beside your books and a few other knicknacks. 

“It’s not dead,” You counter. “It’s…dormant.”

He squints. “Dormant?”

“Obviously,” You insist. “I just need to re-pot it. I think.”

He scoffs, smiling again. “Okay, whatever you say, lovely.”

Conversation drifts between topics until you’re both finished, but neither of you move to get up. You bring a foot up onto your chair, leaning back, holding your glass of juice as you talk about the gifts you still need to buy for your nieces and nephews and when you’ll actually get around to decorating for the holidays, which somehow devolves into a heated debate about the best Christmas movie, one you’ve had many times throughout the past six years. 

It’s only when you both start getting quieter that you actually stand, taking your plates into the kitchen, you starting to clean the mess from the day. Dennis stands off to the side for a moment, then opens his mouth, but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Absolutely not,” You say. “I’ve got it, you can sit down.”

He frowns, but he knows you won’t budge, so he takes a seat on the couch, picking up the remote and looking for a movie to watch. 

You load the dishwasher, wash and refill your water bottles, tidy up your abandoned jackets and boots by the front door, and wipe the counters off before going down the hall and into the bedroom. You pick up the basket of dirty laundry, hauling it over to the washer, putting a load on before folding into him on the couch. 

He catches you, like he has a million times, sliding his legs apart and letting you take the spot between them, your knees tucked up and cheek against his chest. He holds you, rocking back and forth gently, kissing your temple. 

“Tighter?” He asks. You nod against him, shoving your face into his neck, closing your eyes as he squeezes a little more. He feels the way your breathing slows, how your grip on his sweater loosens, your muscles slowly relaxing as his hand trails up and down your back. He sits with you, not speaking again until you shift, kissing just below his ear. 

“Better?”

You hum. “Thank you.”

The rest of the night goes the way it usually does—you watch a movie, switch the laundry over, take a quick shower, then get into bed. Dennis brings your water bottles with him, setting yours on your nightstand, quickly getting under the covers after switching the light off. The reflection of the street lights in the falling snow glows orange outside, the typical drone of the city muffled by the weather. You lay your head on Dennis’ chest, pulling the blanket up to your chin. 

“I think we should actually take that trip to the Poconos,” You say. “Now that you’re an R2 maybe you can actually get a weekend off.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, that would be great, angel. I’ll uh, I’ll check with Robby tomorrow, see what he says.”

“Okay,” You say, smiling. “Maybe this spring?”

He nods, kissing your hairline. “Let’s do it.”

*BONUS*

Despite how early it is, you’re up and out of bed before Dennis, flitting around the apartment as the early spring sun trickles in through the windows. You’re wearing a sundress, bags already packed and over by the door, trying to finish the final things that need to get done before your trip. Dennis stands in the bedroom, putting the last of his belongings into the suitcase, his eyes drifting over to the door before he steps towards his backpack, unzipping the front pocket. He freezes when he hears your voice from down the hall. 

“Are you almost ready?” You call. “We should get on the road soon!”

He swallows. “Be there in one minute!”

The sound of the front door opening suggests the coast is clear, and he reaches into the pocket, fingers grazing over a white box. He tries to convince himself that that’s enough, but his anxiety spikes, and he pulls it out, lifting the lid up to reveal the diamond ring that he had been saving for for years. He hears your footsteps come back inside, and he slams it shut, tossing it back into the bag and zipping it up. You poke your head into the doorway half a second later, smiling. 

“Good to go?” You ask. He nods, returning the smile and hoisting his bags off the bed. He stops to kiss you on his way out, lingering for a second, his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

“I love you,” He says, touching his forehead to yours. 

“I love you, Denny,” You say, brushing a few stray curls back. “Ready?”

He nods. “Absolutely.”

A/N - surprise! she's back :) i missed u guys :)))) i probably won't get back into the full swing of things for a little while longer but i'll be responding to all ur lovely comments and messages and DMs soon! also if you’ve left a comment to join my everything taglist within the past month ish or so i promise u will be added!! i just haven’t had time to update it. okay love u see u later bye bye!!!

tags:

@thenormreedus @sinoxima @serrendiipty @celiaisacaterpillar @xoxoloverb  @momdancingtomcr @arianna-r13 @starsbymars @outpostsworld @he6rtshaker  @ilocuras24 @hucklesbaby @laurenyas @true1411 @navs-bhat  @amelia-styles @barnes70stark @huang-the-geek @run-for-the-hills @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @noahcantread @princess76179 @the-perfect-gemini @arienic @llovekats @fishfishcaterpillar @macbaetwo @izzyyy-1 @waywardhunter95 @gilwm @lorosette @fudge13

[angelof3ears]

covet (dennis whitaker x f! reader)

summary: and what if god gave you a second chance? (aka you reunite with dennis whitaker after losing him the first time) wc: 1.3k other: audiologist! reader, afab! reader, reader and dennis became close in undergrad and lose contact and now here they are wow, this is my first fic in over 10 years bear with me <3

Having trouble hearing out of his left ear wasn’t even one of his top three concerns rushing out of his and Trin’s apartment that morning. He slept through his alarm, the freezer door had been left slightly ajar overnight, and he had to Uber to work because he missed the bus— 40 stupid bucks gone from his stupid bank account.

“Huckleberry!” He was walking away from the patient board, ready to see his next patient when Trinity grabs him by the shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention– are you okay?”

The concern touches him. But he really doesn't want to acknowledge his shitty morning any further, so he quickly apologizes and lies, saying he hasn’t had enough caffeine yet. It isn’t until he misses Dr. Al-Hashimi calling his name that he has to face the consequences of his choices.

“I want you to go to ENT and Audiology for follow-up, too, Dr. Whitaker,” Dr. Al-Hashimi says firmly. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that sudden hearing loss is an emergency– it’ll be quick. I already paged them, and they’re willing to see you now.”

Before he can protest, Dr. Al-Hashimi is already walking away. It’s not like they have any time to spare down here. But they’re already expecting him, so Dennis figures this will just be another thing to add to his shitty day.

But what he could not anticipate is you, standing right in front of him. Your features are different, less baby-faced, and your hair is longer, but it’s you.

“Dennis?” Your eyes widen at the sight of him. Suddenly, he’s twenty-one and looking at you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. You were undeniably beautiful back then. And now, you were just as distressingly beautiful, maybe even more so. Your badge displays your first and last name with Audiologist below it. His eyes jump to your left hand holding his patient folder, ring-less.

A knot in his heart unravels.

He says your name, a little breathless.

Without warning, you hug him, the squeal of delight you make turns his cheeks pink, his shitty morning long forgotten. He wraps his arms around you, holding you, and when you pull back to look at him, eyes shimmering in delight and disbelief, the desire he tucked away years ago rises up into his throat.

He wants to tell you that he did it– he went to medical school and became a doctor. But you seem to be taking him in already– his scrubs, his ID badge. And the awe on your face makes all of it worth it all over again. There’s a million other things he wants to tell you, ask you.

Did you really not marry him?

How’s your grandfather?

How did you end up here?

Are you happy?

But the reality of the situation hits you, and being the professional you are, you straighten up and tell him to follow you into the testing booth. He’s immensely grateful to see your toothy smile. Your last semester of undergrad, when you decided you were going to go through with returning to your hometown and marrying your then-fiancé, he couldn’t help but notice how your smile stopped meeting your eyes.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“It’s what they want me to do, Den. I’m their only daughter. I can’t let them down like this,” You had confessed quietly, but stubbornly. Your eyes were glassy, and Dennis could tell you hadn’t been able to sleep.

You had met him in your last year of college. There were not many people enrolled in The Scripture As Literature English course. Including you and Dennis, it had been 7 people total. You learned that he was majoring in Theology to potentially become a pastor back home. Home was Broken Bow, Nebraska. Based on the way he described it, it reminded you of your own hometown, minus the farming: a small, conservative community that raised you with its calloused hands.

Your parents had set you up with a boy from another well-respected family, with the promise that they would support you and your schooling if you married him after graduation. He was nice enough, you gathered. You had gone on a handful of chaperoned dates with him, embarrassingly eager to fall in love. But once you realized that wasn’t going to happen, you had resigned yourself to your fateful duty. You could learn to love someone, right?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“I woke up today, and everything just sounded muffled on my left side,” Dennis explains, sitting down in the chair. You try to ignore how handsome he is looking up at you like that with his wide blue eyes. And was that… a mullet?

“Any other symptoms? Like ringing or buzzing, dizziness or vertigo?” You ask instead, looking back at him attentively while you jot his answers down. Meanwhile, he's trying to not be distracted by how cute you look in your pink scrubs.

“I know y’all must be busy down in the ER, so I’ll make this quick, Dr. Whitaker.” You grin as you instruct him and set him up for the hearing test. “Press the button every time you hear the beep and repeat after me when I ask you to, okay?”

He watches you from the little window in the booth, noticing the confidence that radiates off of you when you're in your element. He likes hearing your calm and lovely voice through the headphones.

It goes by in a blip, and in the end, you identify some mild to moderate high-frequency sensorineural hearing loss in the left ear and adequate eardrum movement in both ears.

“I’m going to write everything in your report. Dr. Green is going to see you right now– it won’t take very long. I know they prescribed you Prednisone down in the ER, definitely finish that. But they might want to do the intratympanic steroid shots if there’s no improvement.”

You’re walking him back to another room, and the moment is ending too soon. Before he can ask you for your number, or whatever, to make sure he can see you after today, you stop a little short before reaching the doorway.

“I’m really glad to see you today,” you say, shyer now. It reminds him of when you first met, when you held yourself back in fear of saying too much. But Dennis had been too easy to talk to, kind and genuine in a way you weren’t used to. Fittingly enough, it had made you think he’d be a great pastor.

And now, here he is in front of you, an Emergency Medicine doctor. The pride that's been blooming in your chest wants to burst. But from your own experience, you have an inkling of what that must have meant for him–having to choose the hard thing, over and over again.

In that moment, you make a decision. You’re not going to lose him a second time.

“Can we swap numbers? I’d love to see you again.” You’re tugging your phone out of your pants pocket, letting yourself hope. Back then, you had been in no position to think of Dennis as anything other than your friend. At the very most, he was someone who made you think that God could be real.

It’s the easiest yes he’s given in a long time. You walk away, skin electric where your hand brushed up against his when he put the phone back into your hands, with Dennis Whitaker :) saved as your newest contact.

You don’t have any time to wonder what you’ll text him as you get whisked away to do a VNG. What you don’t know yet is that he’s not going to let himself lose you either.

[angelof3ears]

thinking real hard about writing dennis whitaker x reader fic :/// would write about them with religious undertones and lots of yearning. reader would be an audiologist because i said so. sigh.

[sadmortician]

(don't) look up to me

[cerayanay]

“Hey Trinity! I’m not sure if you saved my number, but this is Mel from work. I had a lot of fun the other night at karaoke, thank you so much for inviting me! I was wondering if you would like to hang out again sometime? I think you and I both have the next few days off, and my sister Becca is spending the weekend with her boyfriend. No worries if you’re busy! I know this is pretty sudden haha. Just let me know, and have a good weekend 😊”

“@ drag brunch pull thru” *Trinity Santos shared her location*

[abortionado]

can anyone hear me

[angelof3ears]

if you somehow make it to this page

hiiii i made a new account to interact with the fandoms i've been into as of late and also to fulfill my want of having a fan account. my previous account was @90ssuntime if i ever interacted with stuff about the pitt there :3 <3