I'm a fighter

You know, normally, when Annie had been thrown through something on the interdimensional fuckery scale like she had the past ten days (holy shit, it had not felt like that long), Summer would be her first stop just to try to make a little sense of what she'd been through with someone who got it.

But now that Annie had caught up on how much time had actually passed, and how much she'd missed, her own various issues were firmly in the backseat when she ventured across the hall with a pair of ice cream pints in a bag over one arm. She'd not only missed sangria night -- which was going to be a discussion they needed to have for multiple reasons -- but she'd missed sangria float night, which was supposed to be about Summer's breakup. Worst best friend ever, right here.

Hopefully Summer was around for a raincheck. Or the closest Annie's non-sangria-consuming self could come to one, anyway. So! Knocking, knocking -- chipper, perky, annoying-to-a-hungover-person, Annie-style knocking, la la la.

[for she whose apartment it is! and omg baby stuff is still NFB here!]

It was a Christmas miracle: an even tackier, way-too-early ugly sweater party.

With way, way too much alcohol, and a kinda ridiculous number of activities.

There were, of course, the ubiquitous plastic snowmen haunting (almost) every corner of the apartment, and one out on each of the Smokers' Balconies for good measure. There were strings of lights lining the ceiling, as well as tracing the edges of each window. There were cookies to decorate (and eat, because you definitely should eat, and there were moddable snacks aplenty as well.) While there was, of course, Christmas music playing, those with keen eyes (or at least, enough wherewithal to look around an apartment before you started potentially drinking heavily in it) might spot a karaoke machine that would come out later. One particularly tinsel-y corner had an abundance of Santa hats and reindeer antlers and wearable strings of lights to wear while taking photos, and in the guest room -- of course -- there was a much-fabled craft table, where you could make an ornament that didn't have to be in an immature shape, but definitely could be.

There was also, hovering slowly through the party, a drone with mistletoe dangling from it. A Mistle Drone, one might call it, even.

And, because this was the Christmas Rager, there was alcohol. There was so, so, so much alcohol. The kegs of Christmas ale had once been reordered, there was a Make Your Own hot chocolate and coffee bar, and while Annie would never argue that Summer's shot table wasn't the star of every party...this year was a little different. Mostly because of how they'd decided to serve Annie's punch: in a freestanding bathtub, just slightly off-center from the room.

Welcome to the third annual Christmas Rager. Hope you wore a sweater, because the hostesses both have glitter cannons in case you didn't show up festive enough!

[please hold for way too many threads and we're off! open to literally every single adult on the island -- students are welcome to attempt to crash, but they'll be busted.]

The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the temperature was hovering comfortably in the 70s over here in Baltimore. Not that the weather mattered much, aside from allowing for outside photos at some point, but at least you didn't have to try to find a fancy coat for this, right?

Welcome to the Belvedere, where the January-Hargreeves wedding was taking place in a pair of elegant ballrooms. Admire the surroundings, find a seat for the ceremony, and get ready for a hopefully apocalypse-free wedding!

(Hopefully! Everyone here was pretty sure, anyway!)

[y'all are gonna need to hold for a truly absurd number of threads. and we're off! wedding is open to all!]

After the events of the night prior, Annie had barely slept.

It had taken everything to put her uniform back on today, because every impulse in her body was screaming that she didn't want to do this anymore. Hughie had said she had to stick in there no matter what, but this was a what that really pushed it too far.

"I don't know what we're going to do," she said aloud, probably not for the first time, as she sat curled up on her apartment couch, knees drawn up to her chin.

Other than, apparently, get married with Homelander as Best Man and Vought probably filming every second of it, possibly honeymoon included.

( A morning visit! )

( And then Annie makes a visit of her own )

[we are now on The Boys 3.04, 'Glorious Five-Year Plan.' Warning for Homelander being really inappropriate/gross/predatory/you name it, preplayed with knife_bender, and NFB for distance but if you would like to call or text Annie you can catch her here!]

The sun was out, and the party was over. Hatefully.

The apartment was covered in glitter, and Santa hats still were strewn across just about every surface. The kitchen was a mess of wassail and jello, and Annie didn't even want to look outside at how many cigarette butts were probably on her precious balcony.

But. Traditions were traditions. She'd started the coffee before she'd run out on her little errand, and it was done when she returned with a big box of bagels from JGOB, and a cup of coffee for herself. More to go around that way, see?

And now to...pick her way, hungoverishly, through the wreckage and put things back together.

But at least she hadn't thrown up in a shower this year. It was the small things.

[totally open for anyone who would like to say they stayed the night, or who'd like to come help clean up! flying OCD free because I'm tired from yesterday still.]

Let the record show that no one had asked Annie to throw anyone a birthday party, but that really hadn't stopped her from throwing the full weight of an Annie January effort into all of this.

The apartment was decorated fairly tastefully, she thought -- just because this was an unsolicited party didn't mean she wasn't keenly aware of who they were celebrating, here. So while there were streamers, they were a tasteful charcoal gray and silver combination. While there was glitter, it was black and vaguely iridescent. The napkins were printed in a tartan pattern that didn't exactly match Five's uniform, but the intent was clear. A banner carefully hung across one wall -- interestingly, also across a door that led into the guest room, since no one needed to go in there today -- that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIEGO & FIVE.

And, most importantly, there was a ton of food and drinks in the kitchen, not to mention the shots Summer was providing and the two -- yes, two -- cakes that Annie had ordered. (It hardly seemed fair to make them share, especially when this was the first time either of these guys had really celebrated his birthday at all.)

So: welcome to a birthday party for a man turning thirty, and his brother who was turning fourteen-slash-sixty-four. Probably the most normal birthday party you'll attend this year.

So, it turned out that you couldn't just deliver a big, dramatic, speech and end it with a mic drop about your own sexual assault without -- weirdly! -- most of your friends wanting to check that you were okay.

Sounds fake, right?

In any case, Annie had received a text from Rey today that she hadn't headed back to Fandom just yet, and thus, she'd made a few arrangements.

First and foremost, she had called down to the front desk with some basic sizing information, and within an hour, a discreet employee had appeared at the door with clothes for both herself and Diego (and then had left with an absolutely massive tip, since Annie had added to it when he'd given her a second look, just to be safe.)

With that taken care of, Diego had headed out on a run just to get out of the room for a little while (since he wasn't the one with the famous face running around dropping truth bombs on television), and Annie ordered basically half of the room service menu for brunch while waiting for Rey.

Clearly the cure for her hangover, amongst her other less physical ailments, was pancakes.

[for she who is mentioned, but also open for phone calls or boyfriend or whatever, too! eta: warning for discussion of sexual assault in the Rey thread!]

So, Annie had almost made headway with feeling like she was normal again. She'd done a little crying on a friend a few weeks ago, and she'd at least addressed that things were bad and told Diego as much, even if she hadn't been able to bring herself to get all that specific. And while she was sort of settling into a routine, and had even managed to invite a bunch of people to Believe this weekend, she had been acting sort of...weird.

And she knew she was acting weird, because Annie felt weird. She was still having trouble feeling totally comfortable in her own skin, like she was still the same person she'd always been.

Not just with the...awful stuff. The Starlight stuff was almost as bad, in terms of making her just, like, endlessly question who she was and what she even wanted anymore. It didn't help to have your identity thrown into question right when you were already feeling confused.

Which, you know, was a little heavy for a sangria night, but Annie had mixed up a pitcher anyway. She could always just pour like, another cup of red wine in there if she felt like she needed it. And, honestly, as weird as she was sure she had come across when she'd suggested this to Summer, she wouldn't be surprised at all if Summer ended up bringing something harder.

( There was no such thing as too heavy for sangria night )

[preplayed with the ever-fabulous somethingwithturquoise, and while it is cool to say that the girls had a sangria night, contents of conversation are NFB. warning for discussion of sexual assault and OOC welcome!]

There was a fancy party later this week, and while Annie could have probably figured out something from her closet to wear, a) that was not true for many of her friends and b) it was fun to go shopping, anyway!

She was kind of an atypical girly girl in a lot of ways, but that particular stereotype held true.

Tuesday afternoon found the (fairly strange) group at a mall on the mainland, where there were still Christmas decorations up, but the clothes on offer had transformed from the cute and tacky to the...cute and sparkly.

All right, a lot of it was still tacky, fine. New Year's Eve was for glittering, and some clothes were simply glitterier than others.

[for the shopping buddies!]