take no shit;

sigourney "ziggy" simmons // 17 "Life's a bitch. You gotta go out and kick some ass." - Maya Angelou

[ziggysimmons-blog]

heather-cohen:

“I don’t think anybody’s said whiz kid since this operating system was relevant, but sure. It’s convenient.”

“Golly, then I guess I should brush up on my techno mumbo-jumbo. And I hate to point out the obvious, but I’m pretty sure she’s gonna notice when all your shitty grades start turning stellar. Got a fallback for that?”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

[crownjulia-blog]

“No, I don’t think you understand. You can’t elect a dead girl to homecoming court,” Julia snipped.  It hadn’t even been a week into class, and already people were wanting to do write-in ballots for Emily. “I was on the committee last year, I think I know how it works.” Besides Em being dead, Julia was pretty sure you couldn’t be both prom and homecoming queen. It was ostentatious.

[ziggysimmons-blog]

It was hard not to overhear the conversation, even when she had no interest in eavesdropping. Ziggy crammed the last of her belongings into her locker, slamming the door shut before a landslide of textbooks and crumpled-up lunch bags could bury her. As the freshman slunk away from Julia Hwang’s presence, Ziggy shot her a sidelong glance- they might have been locker neighbors, but the rest of their existences at this school had very little overlap. “Think of it this way,” she said, raising her eyebrows at the other girl. “Doesn’t every religion wants to canonize it’s saints?”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

heather-cohen:

“So… Are you gonna be cool about this or what?”

“Gee, didn’t peg you for such a computer whiz kid. Must be a handy trick to have up your sleeve.”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

itsrajparekhbro:

Her reply pulled a smug little smirk out of him– not that he was laughing at her pain. It was more a satisfied curl in his stomach as he made a mental note to present her case to his dad as proof later. Why he shouldn’t have a job, exhibit A. With a consenting hum, he hopped down from the dumpster he’d been perched on and moved to follow her inside. “Um, always. So have you, though? Eaten a paycheck’s worth of ice cream? It seems like a satisfying way to mark the end of a summer job.” 

They trekked the short distance towards the back door, where inside, the cranked AC hit them with full force. Ziggy grabbed her apron from where she’d tossed it and tied it loosely around her neck, leaving the waist strings to dangle freely by her sides- if her manager wasn’t around to tell her off for her sloppy appearance, then she could give a shit less.  “Yeah, well, that was the plan until the plan changed. Not only is a paycheck’s worth of icecream actually a shitload, but it looks like I’m not leaving this dump anytime soon. I get to enjoy employment for the rest of the school year.”

[nmimarks]

fangirl challenge: [1/10] tv shows ↳ it’s always sunny in philadelphia

[ziggysimmons-blog]

leah-burke:

“Yes you do.” Leah hadn’t wasted a second in offering her slightly slurred response. Her tone was firm but lacked aggression - in her mind, she was merely confirming a fact. Ziggy judged her and that was fine, Leah thought, because most people did. There seemed to be no limit of anecdotes in her arsenal worthy of the cause. For years now she had been the poster girl of questionable decisions that, when discussed, seemed to almost encourage disapproving expressions and tones that bordered on sanctimonious, and Leah had long ago grown used to both. They came with the territory of being Leah Burke, didn’t they? It was as if she had genuinely forgotten that self-destructive behaviours weren’t a prerequisite for existing.

She glanced over at Ziggy, trying hard to make sense of the blur of facial features that her tired eyes kept jumbling. Her expression somewhat suspicious, Leah wondered if her defensive block had been automatic or if it had been motivated by genuine offense. “Whadda’you care what I think?” In her mind, Ziggy had always been above it all - unperturbed by all of the bullshit that got flung around in high school. Then again, people who were truly unconcerned with what others thought usually didn’t tend to throw as many punches as Ziggy did. Leah liked to think that her perpetually purple fists were badges of honour; that they represented a demand for respect. And, whether Ziggy knew it or not, she had Leah’s. She had always had Leah’s.

“I just thought you’d have a better offer.”

Yes you do. Ziggy had never been the type to try and defend a lie after it’d been found out- her commitment to it usually didn’t extend that far- and she certainly saw no point in arguing now. It wasn’t like the truth was some big secret that everyone kept from Leah; people were nothing if not obvious about their prejudices in this town. Even when they thought they were subtle. Especially then. What else could keep the flowers smelling so sweet if not for the abundance of bullshit that fertilized them?

“No offense, but I don’t care what you think.” The words shot out of her with such ready conviction that even Ziggy felt the need to wonder why she’d said it that way. The truth wasn’t supposed to require force; she made sure to course-correct with an extra dose of indifference. “Which is why I don’t wanna hear what you think, either.” Sliding down from the top of the washing machine, she lifted the weight of her hair and bound it up in a thick, precarious ponytail of curls; her mother had always been fond of saying that her hair was as thick as a horse’s mane, which had never convinced Ziggy as a compliment. Personally, she would’ve been happier with a buzzcut. There was always next summer for a new look. “Sorry to disappoint, but I gotta get home and make sure my sister hasn’t fucking set fire to anything.” Shouldering her backpack, Zig cast Leah a sidelong glance- though her eyes were narrowed, her expression was somewhat less hostile than her earlier retorts had been. “You should probably call someone to pick you up. Driving’s not a good idea.”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

jd-tanner:

Her bewildered blinking mixed with the tickle of pot and caused another chuckle to erupt from him, a crooked slant of a smirk planting itself on his lips. It didn’t even budge when she narrowed her eyes in another scowl. It was a look he knew well. The two of them weren’t known for their patience, to say the least. Their anger rippled directly under the surface, ready to break forth at the slightest of provocations; a clumsy brush against the arm or a poorly placed glance and it awoke, foaming at the mouth and snapping at the air, craving blood. Once it got the first taste…

It’s the least you can do. Her comment bumped up his brow, marking his forehead with creased amusement. “You’re right. You don’t owe me one.” He watched the glowing embers as she took a hit, some form of relaxation lowering her shoulders and mollifying her sharper edges. Just a little. J.D swiped his palms over the front of his torso, then sides, then waist, in search of a cigarette chaser. It always made the high a little better. Only he was left empty-handed, recalling he’d left his pack in the kitchen when he’d ducked away from a power hour. He didn’t need to see another kid projectile vomit across Kovak’s stove. Then the joint was back between his fingers, pinched delicately as he took a pull, faint clouds of smoke wafting from his nostrils after a beat or two. “So what? No Ziggy showdown tonight?” J.D realized the two of them had never been in a room alone together before. It made sense, they ran in different circles, and J.D had been a grade above her. But more than that, they were pitbulls, their owners knowing full well that if they left them unsupervised for too long, it was possible they’d come out with more than a couple bites and scratches. He found himself wondering how solid her hook was, a ghostly ache throbbing through his jaw at the idea. It’d been too long since he’d delivered one himself. Keep yourself in check, Tanner.

Standing around like a chump in this tiny bathroom was growing old, so in one quick motion, Ziggy hopped up to sit on the edge of the sink- propping Converse-clad feet on the closed lid of the toilet while she was at it. "Why, does your boy want a rematch? 'Cause I’m thinking, maybe if try another angle, I might even be able to straighten that nose out. Save him a consultation.” She mimicked the arc of her swing from the left, her non-dominant hand forming a loose fist. A self-amused smirk had tucked itself into the corner of her mouth. 

But as a second passed and she watched him smoke, something uncharitable returned to her expression; the mention of his boy, maybe, had reminded her who she was having this conversation with. J.D Tanner had always been condemned by affiliation as far as Ziggy was concerned. Her court of personal judgement required nothing as pesky as due process; BFF’s of the Antichrist could be convicted on sight. “Or maybe you want a replica? It’d be cute, y’know, like friendship bracelets. Matchy-matchy.” 

Nasty could come to her as easily as instinct, but even the brief flicker of satisfaction she felt after she said it didn’t mean it was worth it- for starters, she probably wasn’t going to get offered another hit now. At least, not the kind of hit she would’ve preferred. And despite the slight claustrophobia that came with being boxed in by four periwinkle walls and a toilet, plus some unexpected company to share the space with, Ziggy had already decided that it was better in here than it was out there. It was in her best interest not ruin this encounter as fast as she usually could; with only minor reluctance, she pulled something from her back pocket and threw down her own peace offering- a squashed carton of cigarettes. It was easy to guess what he’d been patting himself down for. “Here, Smokestack.”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

8.16.15

Standing over the kitchen sink, Ziggy was staring at the yogurt cup with a look of disgust better suited for roadkill or the infectious sores in a health textbook. The label that had boasted “real fruit chunks!” had made no mention of the artificially-flavored slime that actually waited below the lid. Well. Thanks, Yoplait. Nothing says a good day like nausea for breakfast. 

August 16th was already a day she would’ve preferred to skip, if it’s beginning was anything to go by: the milk had expired, the stack of bills on the counter was starting to wobble like a Jenga tower, and the soundtrack of this morning- like many mornings before- was the shrill screaming of a seven-year-old. 

“I don’t wanna go to Jemma’s!”

Ziggy leaned over the sink on straightened elbows. Her hangover was weighing her down like a lead blanket; there was a dull thudding somewhere between her temples and behind her eyes that was not making anything better right now. Should she have drank over half a fifth of Jack last night? Well, it was an easy question to answer in the light of day. She felt the bitter desire to punch her past-self in the face for having all the fun, and leaving her to deal with the consequences. You couldn’t have your cake and eat it too.

“Jemma never lets me choose what we play! Like last time, when I said I wanted to play safari, she said that was stupid, and-”

“Boo-hoo. Too bad. I already told them I was dropping you off.”

“NO! NO, I’M NOT GOING!”

She decided to save her gag reflex the trouble; the half-finished yogurt met it’s untimely end in the sink, and as Maddie went on screaming, Ziggy found herself staring at the closed door down the hall. She wasn’t expecting it to open. It never did. For that, it was the second most hateful thing in this house.

It’s not like she doesn’t fucking hear this. It’s not like she doesn’t know.

“Can we call Britanny’s mom instead? Pleeeaaaseee? Pleeeeeaaase!” Maddie was moving through her tantrum stages rather quickly today, already departing from the angry outburst to try her hand at plea-bargaining.

Somewhere, distantly, Ziggy heard her phone ding softly- once, then twice. She was leaning over the sink again, head drooping like it was too heavy to hold up.  “Maddie. You are literally. Killing me. Right now.” Short staccato sentences were all she could manage; uttering more than three words at a time felt like a challenge that her body and brain weren’t quite ready for. “Get your lunchbox. We’re leaving.” 

And that was all it took to propel the argument from petulant whining onto it’s third, inevitable stage: full-scale sobs. 

Five unread texts, and a group chat blowing up with notifications. It was barely 9 a.m.; she wasn’t that popular. Ziggy managed to glance at the screen once they hit the first red light.

did anyone see her at the party last night? 

idk it’s not like i remember a ton of it. i really hope she’s ok though :/

honestly she probably just went to get breakfast at ihop or something. like this isn’t CSI guys

yeah but why hasn’t anyone gotten a text from her or anything??

So something was definitely going on- she felt the immediate itch to know what, exactly, but the light had changed before she could scroll any further. Luckily, Jemma Burbank didn’t live far; her house sat at the beginning of Birch Road, a little roundabout street that looped right off of Marshall. 

As the Honda Civic rumbled down West Cypress, Fairhaven slid past them like blurry flashes of a fever dream. The familiarity of her surroundings irked her like a deep splinter under the skin; she felt it in the echoing bark of a fenced-in dog and saw it in the leaf-laden branches that hung limply over telephone wires. She knew this town so well, and resented it so much, that she could turn it into one of those pointless games for long-distance driving: I Spy The Things I Hate. I hate the mailboxes. I hate the sprinklers. I hate the bumper stickers. I hate the potted plants. I hate the street names.

When they pulled up into the Burbanks’ driveway, Zig caught a glimpse of her sister in the rearview mirror. Maddie’s chipmunk cheeks were still slick with fresh tears, and her skin was a blotchy, rugburn-red from all the crying- but somewhere along the way to Jemma’s house, her theatrical sobs had subsided to a kind of quiet, internal demolition. The tears were still rolling down her face, but she wasn’t making noise anymore. She was staring out the window with hard, bright eyes and a mouth set into a straight-edge. 

When she’d been younger, Ziggy remembered crying like that a lot. There'd been so much anger in her heart and not enough room to keep it contained; when you were always overflowing, you were bound to sprout a few leaks. Maddie would eventually learn how to plug them up, too. 

“Yo, Madz-” The leather upholstery squeaked against her bare skin as she turned to look at her sister before the latter could shuffle out of the backseat. Ziggy levelled her with a stern look- the best she could muster. “If you want to play safari, you tell that brat that you want to play safari, okay? And if she doesn’t want to play safari, you can tell her that I’m gonna have a chat with her about it.” Sometimes, it was good to have a reptuation that preceded you.

Blinking through lingering tears, Maddie nodded seriously. Ziggy returned the nod with one of her own. They parted ways with the slam of the car door, and as soon as Maddie had disappeared through the Burbanks’ front gate, Ziggy snatched up her phone. The backlog of messages had grown considerably.

I heard that she didn’t even come home from work yesterday.

yeah apparently no one’s seen her since yesterday and she definitely wasn’t at the party, which is why her parents called the police

Ziggy kept reading, picking up bits and pieces in search of a bigger picture- a concrete explanation for whatever the fuck had everyone so riled up this morning- until a sudden, unmistakeable flash of red and blue distracted her. The lights blinked like a strobe in her periphery; there came a quick flare of panic that seemed to plague even the best of citizens (a distinction she could not boast of) in the presence of a cop, but it died away once she realized the lights were only a distorted reflection on her windshield. She squinted up the road in search of their source.

Why did the Burkes have a police car in their driveway?

Not a hard guess. There was only one Burke with the potential to be name-dropped on a police scanner; in the privacy of her own car, Ziggy didn’t bother to repress a snort along with that thought.

Her attention returned to her phone. A few more minutes ticked away on the dashboard clock before she did find the explanation she had been looking for: an automated alert that had been buried beneath the rest of the debris in her inbox. 

[8:05 AM] WIRELESS MISSING PERSONS ALERT FROM THE FAIRHAVEN DEPARTMENT OF POLICE. 18yo Emily Burke reported missing at 7:30 am today. Description: 5′6″, blonde / blue eyes, blue jeans and a grey T-shirt. Last location unknown. With information, please text 302-111-2133.

Huh. Apparently, someone was having a shittier morning than she was.

Ziggy eyed the red-and-blue glow that flickered against her windshield like Christmas lights in August, her forehead creased thoughtfully. She wondered if the police car in the driveway was just protocol, or precaution. She wondered if the statistics were true; if the likelihood of good news really did come with an expiration date. She wondered if Emily Burke was stuffing her face with pancakes at IHop right now. If she knew about the commotion she was causing. If she’d planned on it. If she’d have the decency to show up before her parents started prying up the sidewalks in search of her. If maybe she’d wait a little longer- wait it out until they’d learned what could be taken from them when they weren’t looking.

She wondered if maybe the Better Burke was a lot more spiteful than Ziggy, or anyone else, had ever given her credit for. 

If maybe that was point.

[slayerage-deactivated20191115]

[ziggysimmons-blog]

chloemrichter:

“Ew. Gross.” Chloe wrinkled up her nose. She liked little kids, but she didn’t like the screaming, or the diapers, or the messy food all over their mouths. She liked kids more in concept than in practice, really.

“Tell me about. By the time they got out of here, the ice cream was already dripping all over their hands and shit. It was a nightmare.” She shuddered, as if trying to shake a terrible image. “No rehearsal today? Or is this like, post-workout treat yo’ self?”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

adriandemarco:

The ruffled anger in her voice was understandable and Adrian gave an unhappy, guilty smile which flickered briefly over his lips for a second before dissolving entirely. “Advice taken,” he responded flatly with a nod (though not in an unkind manner but rather that of someone who had given up slightly, as if arguing with her over the fact that she had stepped out into the road was too much effort). He study the girl for a moment, her face familiar. Without meaning, or in fact wanting to, he found himself remembering sunny afternoons after practice, stood beside Emily as she picked out a new flavour of icecream to try at Sprinkles. The teenager stood before him had often been behind the counter, occasionally rolling her eyes at those who took too long to order. 

“You want to get a ride off the guy who almost mowed you down?” Adrian rose his eyebrows, unseen, and very nearly let out a single chuckle but the humoured huff of air died in the back of his throat. “Sure, I guess I can give you a lift.” With a kick of his foot, he lowered the stand and let go of the bike, allowing it to stand on its own. The helmet was removed and he ran a hand through his hair, still dishevelled from having only just gotten out of bed a few minutes prior. “Here, I don’t have a spare so you had better wear this.” He offered the black orb to his new acquaintance, having no desire to see her fall off and crack her skull on the tarmac should he make the mistake of losing his attention whilst driving again.

Swinging back over the Suzuki, he gestured for her to jump on. “Sit behind me and hold on tight. You can put your feet there.” He pointed out a narrow ledge on the bike’s side. He waited for a moment, watching a cat stalk a bird on someone’s front lawn. It pounced too early and watch its prey fly off with a flutter of wings before grumpily slinking away around the side of the house. “Where is it we’re going?” he asked, turning slightly on the seat to look the girl in the eye. It dawned on him then that he had no idea what her name was. “I’m Adrian. And I promise I have a license for this thing, if you’re worried. Or if your parents find out.”

“Well, my choices are pretty limited,” she answered dryly, with a pointed look around at the otherwise empty street. Truthfully, a ride from Adrian was a probably the most favorable outcome she was gonna get, all things considered. Her only other option would’ve been to knock on elderly Mrs. Faure’s door across the street, and subject herself to a slow-as-hell crawl in that 1984 Subaru and an exruciating conversation about college plans or the woman’s twenty cats or some shit. Zig watched him carefully as he dismounted from the motorbike, and she took the helmet without argument when it was offered. His driving had not inspired confidence in her yet. “Thanks.”

Sit behind me and hold on tight. He’d said it as an innocent instruction, but Ziggy’s eyes narrowed a bit behind the visor anyway. She made a point to grip the edges of the leather seat once she’d sat down- though she did put her feet on the proper ledge he’d pointed out. “The high school,” she replied, and when Adrian turned to introduce himself, Ziggy instinctively answered with, “Yeah, I know.” Nice, that didn’t sound fucking weird at all. “Your family owns the pizza place,” she followed-up lamely, but really: it was hard to be even two grades below him and not have some inkling of who Adrian DeMarco was.

“I’m Ziggy- and honestly dude, if you can get me there before 8:25, I’m not planning on asking questions about licenses or speed limits or anything.” 

[ziggysimmons-blog]

adriandemarco:

When Adrian finally stepped outside, the sky was a strange pink hue. He couldn’t tell if it was sunrise or sunset, and if he was truthfully honest he wasn’t entirely sure he cared. Time had become irregular since he had received a single, life changing, world-shattering text:

                                                   [They found her. I’m sorry.]

The media had only used two specific pictures of Emily for all of the news stories and articles. One was from when she was five, an angelic looking thing grinning out through missing teeth. The other had been taken last year at high school, a familiar necklace dipping below her collar, the smile on her face looking almost sad as she stared at him through the television screen.

The whole thing felt like a punch to the stomach.

A day had passed since then. Or maybe a week. Perhaps even a month. Then again, maybe it was in fact only a few hours previously that he’d been sat on the couch in shock and he’d misjudged how long he’d spent locked inside completely. His feet felt heavy as he dragged them over to the pizza delivery motorbike (he liked to think it was his, but his father said otherwise), pulling on a dark coloured helmet and setting off.

The entire neighbourhood seemed silent as he rode through it, uncertain of a destination. He let it all slide past, attempting to concentrate on the hum of the machine beneath him. It wasn’t long before his mind began to wander, however, fixating itself back on the one thing he’d not stopped thinking about: Emily. Before he knew it, he found his vision blurring and barely noticed the hazy figure stepping out into the road before him.

“Fuck,” he yelped, muffled beneath the helmet, swerving the motorbike sharply out of the way. After a moment was spent getting his breath back and regaining some form of composure, he dismounted to turn and address the person he’d narrowly avoided, visor flicked up with a gloved finger. “I am so sorry. Jesus, are you okay?

By 7:55 am, Ziggy's brisk pace had taken her only as far as Cypress; this knowledge did nothing to soothe the increasingly self-righteous aggravation that was roiling in her gut, and simultaneously propelling her forward like diesel fuel. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make it to school by lunch- it was a little early in the year to already be racking up tardy’s, especially when she knew they’d come back to bite her in the ass before she knew it. But was it her fault that the Honda’s engine had chosen today to give a pathetic death rattle and refuse to turn over, or that her bike chain had been sitting unfixed in the garage for weeks? Well, maybe the second one was a little bit. But Ziggy firmly believed in a vindictive universe, a universe which took pleasure in fucking her over whenever it was least convenient, and now here she was, walking forty minutes to school like a tool.

The rumble of an approaching motorbike caught her attention, and without doing much thinking, Ziggy threw up a determined hand and strode towards it. The next part happened in a split second: she felt the rush of hot air knock her a step back, as brakes squealed and the motorbike came skidding to a stop a few feet past her. Recovering her balance with a weak, unfamiliar feeling in her legs, it took Ziggy a moment to realize the guy had almost run her over. What the hell, were they fucking blind? She’d stepped in the way of the motorbike with the intention of being seen, not becoming another Fairhaven casualty on the side of the road.

“For fuck’s sake, dude, keep your eyes open when you’re on the road,” she snapped, though there was still something shaky about her voice that her anger couldn’t entirely mask. Beneath the visor, she easily recognized the visible section of face- and instantly regretted her previous thought about casualties, though luckily, she hadn’t spoken it out loud. “I’m, uh- fine. But I kinda need a ride. And you’re the first person to come down this street for like, ten minutes.” Which wasn’t entirely true; there’d been a few cars, but at least she’d had enough common sense not to try stepping out in front of them.

[ziggysimmons-blog]

leah-burke:

Ziggy’s retort, dismissive as it was, was met with a cackle that effectively disrupted the atmospheric hush that had settled in the laundromat with its rumbling machines and television noise. A few people looked up, wearing their desire for the barefooted drunk girl to stumble back out the door clearly in their expressions of impatient irritation. Leah was like a bull in a china shop - destructive and loud and unwilling to leave unless someone took the time to gently coax her out. On a good day, Emily could have had her out the door before she’d reached the vending machine. On a bad day, Emily might have prompted Leah to stand her ground for hours.

On a bad day, Emily might have told she was better off staying there.

Legs swinging, her heels colliding with the dryer’s front in a dull thump thump thump, Leah followed Ziggy’s gaze to the wide window, a waxy jelly worm flopping between two fingers as she threw out what was likely intended to be a sweeping motion. Motor skills suffering, the gesture fell somewhat flat. “Why the fuck would you want to kill time here?” She cast Ziggy a tight-lipped, disbelieving look, and then, under her breath (or so was the intention), “Boring.”

“It was until you got here,” she observed darkly, obviously not seeing it as a good thing. Why the fuck would you want to kill time here? She thought of the broken plate that’d been sitting in the kitchen sink for three days now. She thought of Maddie, pouting in front of the TV just as she’d left her. Probably sleeping in front of it by now, because God fucking knew, she wasn’t capable of turning that stupid thing off without a screaming fit. That had become their dominant form of communication. 

“You said you’d buy Fruit Loops! I hate hate hate Cheerios!” “WELL, Cheerios won’t give you fucking cavities! Just- please watch your stupid show and shut up, because I have to go buy coffee for tomorrow.” And then, somehow, she’d ended up here for the past three hours, surrounded only by the dull thump of diligent washing machines and Ren & Stimpy playing on mute. Empty, clean, silent. The Quick & Ready might as well be heaven.

“Listen, I don’t judge what you do,” Ziggy said, giving Leah a pointed up-and-down sweep of her eyes that made it clear that really, she did, “so don’t fucking start making comments about the way I spend my time. Capiche?”

[ziggysimmons-blog]

shaylevitt:

Okay, whatever. 

Okay, whatever, but I think we’ve got English together. Who’s math class are you in?

[ziggysimmons-blog]

chloemrichter:

“Oh, sorry Ziggy, I was going all space cadet over here.” She spun her finger in a circle next to her ear.

Ziggy sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on top of the ice cream case. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m still pissed at the lady who was in here before you. You should’ve seen her- she had like six kids and no control over any of them.”

[rand0mllama-deactivated20140511]