#honestly i’m gonna be stealing half my stock for myself

[gibsalotdoodles]

sticker designs im selling at comic con africa this year wooooo

#honestly i’m gonna be stealing half my stock for myself #i want these little guys #chainsaw man #csm #denji #power #kobeni #makima #aki #comic con africa #cca 2023

[nastybuckybarnes]

Importance  -  Three

Bucky Barnes X WOC!Teacher!Reader AU

Pairing: Bucky X WOC!Teacher!Reader AU

Summary: A student’s father catches your eye and his daughter steals your heart. However falling for him might be the most dangerous decision of your life, for his job leaves virtually no room for anyone who could possibly be a liability.

Chapter Summary: You babysit Violet at her house and the two of you bond over quite a bit. Bucky finds himself drawn to you in ways he doesn’t think he should be.

Warnings: Fluff, Kids, Violence, Angst, Guns, Injuries, Smut, Racism, Language

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, Racial Curiosity, Fluff, Language, Minor Angst,

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Um... so I really liked this??? Waaaaaaayyyyy long overdue. I’m so sorry but some of the tags aren’t working. Send me an ask if you’ve changed your username please!!!

SOME TAGS AREN’T WORKING!!

Part One Part Two Masterlist

~*~

“Hi, miss (Y/l/n)!” You smile as Violet bounds down the front steps, clearly having waited for you. “Hi, Violet! Is your Daddy home?” She nods and takes your hand in hers, pulling you inside the house. “Daddy! Miss (Y/l/n)’s here!” You giggle softly and take your heels off. “I’ll be right down!” James’ voice calls from up the stairs. “Here, I’ll show you to my reading place! I think you’ll really really like it, Miss (Y/l/n).” She grabs your arm and starts running down the hallway, pulling you along with her.

“Here it is!” She exclaims proudly while pushing the door open. She looks over at you expectantly, her eyes wide and full of pride. “Wow. It’s beautiful,” you say honestly.

The room is big, half of it filled with filing cabinets, a desk, a computer, and other ‘adult things’; while the other side is almost... magical.

There’s a wicker basket chair hanging from the ceiling; fully stocked shelves of books, toys, and board games; a mini-fridge, and a little table with a tea set on top.

“This is where daddy and I do our homework,” she says matter-of-factly. You grin at that, your gaze moving to the many safes in the room.

“Violet? Where’d you run off to?” She giggles and hides behind your legs as her father walks into the room. 

“Hello James,” you greet him. He smiles at you. “Daddy, how long is Miss (Y/l/n) staying? Are you gonna be gone for a long time again?” The five-year-olds words bring back memories of earlier in the week and you bite your bottom lip, awaiting his answer.

“I won’t be back ‘till late. Miss (Y/l/n) is gonna give you dinner and put you to bed. I’ll be home before you wake up though, okay?” She sighs and slowly walks to him, her bottom lip wobbling slightly.

“I don’t like it when you’re gone, daddy.” He scoops her up in his arms and kisses her forehead gently. “I know, baby. I know. I don’t like being gone either. I wish I didn’t have to be. But Miss (Y/l/n) is gonna take real good care of you, okay?” She looks over at you and sniffles. “Will you come kiss me goodnight when you get home?” You swear your heart breaks a little bit as fat tears roll down her pink cheeks.

“Of course I will. Now, let’s show Miss (Y/l/n) around so she’s not lost later.” Violet clings to her dad, her face buried in his neck as he turns to you. “As I'm sure you’ve realized, this is Violet’s play area and my office. If... if anything were to ever happen, this is the most secure room in the house. The door locks from the inside and requires a password to unlock. Only me and Steve know that password. Absolute worst case scenario, there’s a panic room through the door in the closet. The code is Violet’s birthday. There’s a secure phone down there, food, water, and everything. But I’m sure you won’t need any of that ever.”

He steps out of the room and into the hallway, holding Violet close to his chest. “This is the bathroom, the door to the backyard is through the kitchen. This is the laundry room... and here’s the Kitchen.” You look around, trying to ingrain the layout into your memory. “Over through here is the main den area, Violet knows how to work the TV, just make sure she’s not watching it all evening.” “Daddy,” Violet whines, clearly unhappy with either being forbidden from doing that, or exposed that she would've done it.

You giggle at this and James smiles. “The bedrooms are all upstairs but if she falls asleep on the couch that’s fine too. Um... she took a bath yesterday so she should be fine for tonight without one. Get her to brush her teeth after dinner and if she has any homework please make sure she does it. I’ll call if I can and my buddy Steve -who you’ve met- is gonna be dropping a few pizzas off. He’s got a key and the password for the alarm if anything happens. I’ll leave his number for you just in case... Um...” you put your hand gently on his shoulder.

“James. It’s gonna be okay. I know how to take care of kids.” He sighs and scratches the nape of his neck. “I know. But I just... work’s been getting... intense. I just need this reassurance.” You smile softly and lookout the young girl in his arms. 

“Violet and I will be okay. I promise. I’ll text Steve every few hours. The doors will remain locked and the curtains will be shut. I’ll have my phone on loud and stay near your home phone all evening if need be. If you call or text I’ll answer.” He exhales deeply and sets Violet down on the floor. 

“I know. But I can’t help being-” “nervous. I get it. She’s your baby and you’re nervous to leave her alone. I work with parents and kindergarten children, James. Every year I help both the students and parents through the separation anxiety. I know what I’m doing. So just don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”

He nods with a tight smile on his lips. “Okay. You’re right and I trust you. I gotta get going now. I’ll hopefully be home before three.” You nod, noting the fact that he didn’t give you an exact time.

“Alright. Violet, are you gonna say bye?” She pouts as he crouches down and hugs him tightly. “Bye Daddy. I love you. Don't forget to come kiss me goodnight.” He smiles and closes his eyes, hugging her tight to his body. “Love you too. Okay Buggie, I gotta go now. I’ll call if I can and Uncle Steve will stop by with some pizza later, okay?” She nods her agreement and slowly lets go of him.

“Thanks again, (Y/n). Steve has a key and all that and-” “James. It’s okay. Go. I handle twenty-six kids five days a week for seven hours a day. I’m pretty sure I can handle one for an evening.” 

He smiles a bit then sighs.

”We’ll be fine, I promise. Right, Violet?” The little girl nods, a small smile on her face. “Miss (Y/l/n) is a really good teacher Daddy! Don’t worry! She’ll take real good care of me.”

 He gives her one last kiss on the forehead then starts walking out of the room. “I love you, daddy!” She exclaims, giggling as he blows her a kiss. “I love you too, Violet. And I promise I’ll kiss you goodnight.” He shoots you one more grateful smile then closes the door behind himself.

You lock it tightly then let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The hardest part is over.

“Well Violet, what do you want to do? Do you have any homework?” She shakes her head ‘no’ then pulls her bottom lip into her mouth for a moment. 

“C-could we watch TV?” She asks softly. You nod and follow her to the couch. She plops down and puts the TV on, her mood lifting as Sophia the First starts.

You sit next to her and sigh, settling in for what may be a long Friday night.

~

“Okay! Upstairs to brush your teeth then get into your PJ’s!” Violet wipes some pizza sauce off of her chin then runs to the stairs. “Okay Miss (Y/l/n).”

The faucet turns on after a minute and you smile softly while gathering the dishes and putting the leftovers into the fridge.  

“Miss (Y/l/n)?! Can you come help me please?” Violet calls from upstairs. 

You close the fridge then rush upstairs, giggling as you see her. 

She’s sitting on the floor in her room, her dress stuck around her head. 

“I forgot to undo the buttons and now I’m stuck,” she grumbles. You sit down in front of her and nod. “I see that. Hang on for a moment while I get you unstuck, okay?” She nods and sits nicely as you carefully get her unstuck.

“Which PJ’s are you gonna wear?” You ask as once she’s out of the dress.

“I have a really nice Stitch onesie that I like to wear,” she informs while running to her dresser. She grabs an absolutely adorable onesie from the bottom drawer and comes to you with it. You help her into it then ruffle her hair gently.

“Miss (Y/l/n)... can you do my hair before I go to bed? Aunty Wanda and Aunty Nat always put my hair in braids when they come over.” You nod with a small smile. 

“I’ll braid it downstairs while we watch some more TV. What do you wanna watch?” She purses her lips while getting to her feet, gasping as an idea pops into her head. “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse! Daddy has a bunch of Mickey Mouse shows! We can watch them ‘till he comes home!” 

You smile, absolutely taken by her adoration for her father. “Sure. Let’s get going.” She grabs her hairbrush then runs out of the room, her little feet making quiet ‘thuds’ against each stair as she goes down them.

You sit on the couch behind her and take the brush from her hand as she turns Mickey Mouse on TV.

“What kind of braids do you want, Violet?” You ask while brushing through her thick brown hair.

“The ones like you had at school when we went to the zoo! The small ones! Remember!” You, of course, remember the cornrows you wore and the process of putting them in and taking them out.

“Alright. But yours are gonna be a bit bigger than mine, okay?” She nods, eyes focused on Mickey Mouse as he appears on the screen.

You start braiding, your fingers performing the familiar task with ease, allowing you time to think about the man you’re falling for.

When you're finished, Violet can hardly keep her hands off of them. “Did your mommy teach you to do these?” She asks, looking up at you with big blue eyes. 

“No. I taught myself,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket and tucking the two of you in. “Did your mommy teach you other things?” You sigh deeply and lean back against the cushions. 

“My mommy passed away when I was really young. I never really got to know her all that well.” Violet nods, knowing what it’s like to not have a mom. 

“My mommy left my daddy. Well, that’s what Aunty Nat told Aunty Wanda. I was supposed to be asleep but I heard. They said that she was the B word and she didn’t deserve my daddy or me.” You can’t help but agree with them. Any woman who would leave James and Violet is a bitch in your books.

“I sometimes wish I had a mommy. Because having a mommy seems like so much fun. You get to be best friends and tell secrets. I sometimes do that with daddy or my Aunties but it’s not the same.” She’s quiet for a few minutes before looking up at you with tired eyes. 

“I wish you were my mommy. You’d be the best mommy ever.” Your heart swells and you kiss the top of her head. “Sometimes I wish I was your mommy too.” She cuddles up against you and sighs, her eyelids fluttering for a few moments before falling closed.

“Make sure daddy... says goodnight,” she mumbles tiredly, her arms wrapped around your torso. “Of course. Goodnight Violet.” She mumbles what sounds like a ‘goodnight’ and falls asleep no more than ten seconds later.

~

Bucky rushes home in the early hours of the morning, anxious to get back to his daughter and -although he hates to admit it- see you again.

His fingers fumble to unlock the door but when he’s finally inside the warm house with the door locked properly behind him, he relaxes.

He can hear the TV playing softly and follows the sound, his heart humming and filling with nothing but love as he sees you asleep with his daughter clinging to you. You’ve clearly done her hair and she’s wearing her favourite onesie. 

He knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s kind of illegal, but he takes a picture anyway, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life.

Ducking down, he kisses his daughter's forehead then looks at you. You look so peaceful and beautiful sleeping there. He can’t help but admire you. You’re the first woman since Violet’s mother to capture both his attention and heart the way you have, and he’ll be dammed if he lets you go.

Opting against waking you and sending you home, he changes quietly in his bedroom then heads down to the den with a blanket, carefully sitting down on the couch across from the one you and Violet are on and getting ready for bed.

He watches the two of you for a few moments before his exhaustion catches up with him, pulling him into a peaceful sleep.

~*~

TAGS:

PERMANENT TAGS:

@smolbeanbucky  @wildefire @inumorph @impalatobakerstreet @nanna022 @mummy-woves-you @m-a-t-91 @wtfholland @bookgirlunicorn @beautifulwisdom2001 @deep-sea-glitter @mrhiddles-81 @iamwarrenspeace @bitchacho25 @escapetheshackles @i-know-i-can @buckyssoul @avnngrs @swoonhui @destiel-artemis

MARVEL:

@fallenangelfangirl @look-to-the-stars-and-wish  @maladaptive-ninja-returns  @cliffordasparagus  @april-14-blog  @potteritis @sebs-manbun

IMPORTANCE:

@beansparker @slender--spirit @teenage-fever10 @marbleowl @valynsia @rathersuspiciousbumblebee

BUCKY: @chuuulip @nerd-without-a-cause @natashasnight @dragonrosegardens

#bucky x reader #bucky x poc #bucky x poc!Reader #Bucky Barnes X Reader #Bucky Barnes X Poc!Reader #Bucky X WOC!Reader #WOC!reader #Bucky x black!Reader

[dw-writes]

The Garden Path

Summary: A path of wildflowers marks the way towards the woods, waiting for those who hear It.

A/N: This is something that I wrote and posted on patreon a while back, something that I decided to experiment with. I don’t know if I’m particularly proud of it, but it is something that I do enjoy. I especially enjoy the creature, and might feature him somewhere else later, if the need arises.

Please, let me know what you think of this! If I should continue writing the creature’s story, or if you just enjoyed it. :)

There’s a path behind my house. It cuts through the garden, and through the field behind the gate, and disappears into the woods. I haven’t ever walked it, because it’s old, and honestly, it’s a path that makes you think twice when you step foot on it. It’s worn into the ground from being walked almost constantly. But, since my family moved into the house almost twenty-five years, no one has walked it, so there’s now wildflowers punching through the dirt, tiny ones with seven noxious green petals and a bed of fluffy black and white stamen in the middle.

They are odd flowers: they only grow in the foot path.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, Mom said she heard a noise. We were making candied oranges together. It was something we had done every year since I could touch the stove without burning myself. I sat on the counter as Mom made the third batch, watching her move through the motions like a professional. She was telling me about the plans for the night – a nice dinner, with slow cooked chicken and roasted potatoes, homemade bread, and hand churned ice cream for dessert. “If you want to, of course,” she added with a smile. I took a candied orange from the plate. “You’re an adult, you probably have plans.”

“Nothing really,” I answered. I kicked my feet. My heels fell against the lower cabinets with echoing thuds. “Most of my friends work tonight, so we were gonna do something tomorrow. Head to the movies, maybe?” I shrugged. “There’s that old one that was just restored down in The Square. They’re gonna be showing some old flicks, ‘50s, ‘60s, and such.” Mom’s attention wandered away from the stove to the window. Her hands stopped what they were doing. “We’re gonna…. dress up….” I trailed off with a frown. “Mom?”

“Do you hear that?” she whispered. Her voice was miles away.

I glanced up at the window. It was open, and the sun filtered through the old warped glass as though through water. Outside was beautiful, like staring at a painting. But all I heard was the fire on the stove. I shook my head. “No, I don’t hear anything.” Her hands fell dangerously close to the flames. I jumped from the counter and pulled them away. “Mom?”

“Hm?”

I squeezed her hands when she didn’t turn away from the window. She finally looked at me then with this odd smile. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m perfect,” she answered. Her eyes drifted back to the window. I finished the third batch of candied oranges. She was still standing there as I cleaned the kitchen, divided the candy into small boxes, and labeled them for my friends. She still stood there when I returned to the kitchen forty-five minutes later, carrying a basket to take the candy.

I pressed a hand against her back. She didn’t even twitch. “I’m gonna go take these to the gang, okay?” I whispered. She hummed. “Maybe you should sit down?” I suggested. She hummed again, noncommittal but acknowledging.

I left to see Dad in the spare bedroom. He sat at his desk in there, clacking away at his computer, working on another book for his publisher. Trying not to break his focus, I threw him a quick hello-goodbye, and told him that Mom was in the kitchen. He nodded. “I’ll be back later for dinner,” I said.

He turned in his chair then and smiled. “Happy birthday,” he drawled.

I smiled, leaned against the door frame. “You remembered because of the dinner, didn’t you?” I teased.

“No,” he protested. He turned back to his computer so fast that I laughed. I didn’t blame him. He was in another world with his novel.

I left, visited my friends, delivered the candied oranges, and spent a little time with each of them as we ironed out our plans for the following day.

When I came home, there was a police car out front. I ran into the house, found it empty, continued through it, until I found Dad standing in the back garden with the police. The cop was taking a statement from Dad, while another office was staring into the woods far behind our house. He stood on the path, holding a flashlight next to his face. The flowers that were caught in the glaring white light were broken, trampled on. After a moment, he shook his head and looked back at us.

It wasn’t hard to piece together what happened.

They searched the woods for a week before just…stopping. The cops told us that if Mom did wander off into the woods that she would come back when it got cold, or when she got hungry. Some of the louder, more disrespectful ones said that she probably was attacked by a wolf or a bear.

Dad punched the first one that said that within earshot of him.

He wasn’t the same after Mom went missing. He didn’t write, didn’t eat, didn’t do much of anything. He just sat at the dining table, right in the middle of the kitchen, beneath the window that Mom had stared out of. He kept it open. He always kept it open.

On my twenty-sixth birthday, Dad was sitting at the table. He picked at the breakfast I made – eggs, bacon, potatoes, pancakes. He had eaten a few bites and drank his orange juice but didn’t do much else. I sat across from him, slowly stealing the food off his plate so it didn’t go to waste.

He lifted his head when I took the pancakes from him. “Do you hear that?” he croaked.

I froze. He stared out the window. With the way he sat, he could stare just over the windowsill. He didn’t move. I don’t even know if he breathed. He just…stared.

“I don’t hear anything,” I finally said. The words were hard to get out, especially with the dread that crept up my throat. I set my fork down at I watched him. “What is it?”

“It’s her.” He didn’t clarify. The longer I watched him, the more I saw change. His skin grew warmer, a light finally igniting beneath it after a cold and terrible winter. The grey that now threaded his hair seemed to melt into the rest of the light brown locks. He looked almost younger. And his eyes were filled with unshed tears.

I stood from my chair and touched his shoulder. “I don’t hear anything,” I repeated. He didn’t move. Another few minutes, and I released him, turning away to pick up the dishes and save the pancakes for later in the day. I cleaned around him, brought a blanket to drape around his shoulders, and when the time came for me to leave for work, I hesitated.

Would he still be there when I came home?

I kissed his rough cheek before I grabbed my phone. “I’ll be right back, okay?” I told him. When I received no response, I stepped out of the kitchen, shoving my hand through my hair as I called work. My boss answered on the first ring.

It wasn’t easy to explain when I asked for the day off – “I’m sorry, but my dad just suddenly went comatose? And I’m worried about what might happen if I leave him alone.”

Instead of questioning, she hesitantly asked, “Isn’t it the anniversary of…?”

I sighed, “Yeah. It is.”

“Take the day. Be with your dad. I’m sure the both of you could use it.” She paused. “And happy birthday.”

I didn’t thank her. I hung up with a sigh and shoved my phone into my back pocket. “Dad?” I called. I turned around and walked back into the house. “It’s just you and me today, and—” The words caught in my throat. The blanket I had draped around his shoulder was lying on the floor and Dad was gone. I shot through the kitchen, turned the corner, and spotted the back door just swinging closed.

By the time I got outside, he was halfway across the field, following the wildflower path at a brisk pace. I jumped over path’s gap at our gate and raced after him. “Dad!” I shouted. The field between the house and the woods was so big, so choked with weeds and thick grass that I might as well had been running through water. When I reached where he had been just moments ago, he was breaching the woods, stepping between two curved trees and into the shadows just behind them.

“WAIT!” I screamed. The grass thinned. I jumped from the path, scrambled alongside it, and slammed into one of the curving trees, knocking the breath out of me. He had been right there only seconds ago and now he was just…

He was gone.

I called the police only when my voice cracked from screaming for Dad for so long.

They searched the woods again, half as enthusiastic as before but much more empathetic.

They at least looked for two weeks this time.

Dad’s picture joined Mom’s at the police station, up on a pinboard filled with flyers of missing people.

I quit my job after that, took up where Dad had left off a year ago, and finished his last book. The royalties were enough to keep the lights on and my fridge stocked, and that was enough. That was fine.

Now, I spend my time out in the garden, sitting in a chair I had dragged from the kitchen, wrapped up in a blanket and eating candied oranges.

Every day I watch that gap in the woods in the distance. I watch the noxious green wildflowers bend towards the sun through the sky. I watch and I wait.

It is now my twenty-seventh birthday. I settle into the chair late in the morning, pulling the blanket around my shoulders, and sip orange juice from a mug. It is just another day at this point. I think that, maybe, if I don’t acknowledge the day, that it won’t happen.

But it does.

I see him first. I think it is because I am looking for him that I see him. He is tall, I can tell that even from so far away. His golden skin pushes away the shadows like a glowing candle. His horns curve high above his head, ending at dangerous points. He has pointed ears adorned with gems that sparkle in his own personal radiance.

And then I hear his voice, a deep baritone that touches my very soul before it even graces my ears.

He asks me to join him.

I am out of my seat before I even register agreeing. The wildflowers pad the trail beneath my bare feet. I walk slow, almost expecting someone to watch me, to stop me in my tracks or shout for me, but nothing comes. Would I stop even if they do? Probably not. It is just me and the man at the end of the path, the only one calling my name, beckoning for me.

He holds out a hand that ends in white crystal claws when I finally approach.

He helps me off the path and through the two curving trees with a simple tug.

I finally understand.

I finally hear it.

#horror #monster #monster love #i suppose #writing #original writing #original horror

[kplr-radio]

Broadcast: Angelo Divine, 01/09/19

[Live a Little Kenny Chesney]

Angelo: Good morning Kepler, that was Kenny Chesney’s “Live A Little,” and what a mood to start the morning on! This is 103.5 KPLR radio, and we’ll get to the news after this word from our sponsor.

[Audio advertisement transcript: [haunting orchestral music] Have you ever heard a true story that couldn’t possibly be real? Or maybe seen something you couldn’t believe with your own two eyes? No? [music cuts off] Then you’re not living, my friend! Come on down to the Cryptonomica, we have centuries of hidden knowledge of the arcane and the mystical! Stories beyond suspicion, creatures beyond compare! We’re just off State Route 16055. The Cryptonomica: a museum for the mysterious.]

Angelo: Big thanks to the Cryptonomica for sponsoring us this week! And don’t forget to check out the Lamplighter, this week’s issue talks about Krampus and the history of goat creatures in horror. It’s a really good read even if you’re not into the supernatural side of it. Now let’s get to the news. Traffic is as uneventful as ever, and weather reports say we’re looking at clear skies for the rest of the week. Do be sure to watch out for ice on the roads, though. It’s still pretty chilly, so be sure to grab a coat before you head to work. There’s not a long going on this week, that cold weather is kinda pushing everyone inside, but the Kepler Cup is running down the last of their Christmas stock so be sure to get all that before it’s gone. I myself have a peppermint mocha right here, actually, it’s keeping me warm while I wait for the heater to get going. Let’s get back to the tunes! This is “I Want A Cowboy” by Reba McEntire.

[I Want A Cowboy Reba McEntire] [Take Me Home, Country Roads John Denver] [Personal Jesus Johnny Cash] [Islands in the Stream Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton]

Alright, since there isn’t so much official news today, why don’t we look into some of the more extraordinary stuff? If any of you saw something noteworthy, why don’t you call in and tell me about it? Oh! Here we go. You’re on the air!

Caller: You know, I thought I saw Bigfoot but I got a bit closer and it turned out it was just Barclay from the lodge. He’s so ******* big . I asked him what he was doing in the woods and he said he likes night walks, and honestly yeah same I was doing a night walk too. And I said “Hey Barclay! Holy ****! I thought you were Bigfoot!” And then he choked on his own spit or something. I think he found it pretty funny. He was laughing a lot? I think? Anyway like holy ****! It’s so weird, he’s so tall and hairy, how many times have people seen Barclay and thought he was Bigfoot? How many sightings are just Barclay?

Angelo: Oh yeah, I wonder. Seems like half the sightings around here turn out to just be someone from town! What a strange place Kepler is. We’re still taking callers, if anyone else has any noteworthy sightings to report. Oh, looks like we got one! Hey!

Caller: Hello! It's great to be on the show, big fan! I ran into one a' those... Whaddya call it, hoke-mons? Okie-bombs? Somethin' like that. Saw a big monstrous lookin' one down in the park. Crazy what y'all can do with all them new-fangled technologies these days. Also Richard, if you're listenin', I love you!

Angelo: It’s great to have you! You might have seen a Pokémon, maybe? Strange that you would see one, uh, out and about. Maybe I’ll have to go down to the park sometime and check it out. Thanks for the info! Anyone else?

Caller: Angelo! Hey, Bonnie here, and I’m in the mood to be scared! You got any ghost stories?

Angelo: Well, uh, usually it’s y’all giving me the ghost stories, but I’ll do my best. [papers rustling] Here we go. This isn’t so much a story as a sort of summary, but I’ll read off my notes on the Nachtkrapp, an old Germanic bird monster. Shoutout to my coworker for helping me translate the information on this, not sure how he knows Old High German but we all have our hobbies, right? Anyways, the Nachtkrapp or “Night Raven” is described as a large raven, roughly the same size as an adult man, who acts as a boogeyman-type figure to scare children into going to sleep. In some versions of the legend, it imitates a human scream to either terrify them or lure them outside. In others, it has holes in its wings and no eyes, and just looking at the creature could make you sick or even kill you. There aren’t any recorded sightings of the creature as far as I can tell, but who knows? There’s a lot of area in northwestern Europe, it could be out there somewhere. Thanks so much to everyone who called in, but my producer says we gotta wrap this segment up. Hold onto those stories though, ‘cause I’m here every weekday and I love hearing them. This song up next is “Thank God I’m A Country Boy” by John Denver.

[Thank God I’m A Country Boy John Denver] [High Note Mavis Staples] [God’s Gonna Cut You Down Johnny Cash] [A Working Man Can’t Get Nowhere Today Merle Haggard]

Angelo: Some excellent songs on the rotation this week, though I might be biased. Anyways, it’s time for what I’m sure is everyone’s favorite, Angelo’s Advice Hour. As usual, if you’re in need of some advice, call in! As a certified expert I can and will solve your problems for you.

[Disclaimer: Angelo Divine is not qualified to answer most questions definitively. All answers are purely conjecture and Angelo Divine is not liable for any negative results that may come from following his advice.]

Angelo: We got our first caller! Hello, listener!

Caller: What should I do if I have a crush on one of my sisters friends?

Angelo: Aw, I’ve been there. I mean, it really depends on how well you know that person. If you’re friends or you think they might like you back, definitely go the “secret relationship” route. Not because you should lie to your sister, but because it is very fun. If you don’t know them too well or they don’t know you enough, get your sister to introduce you! Unless your sister is a jerk, in which case you should definitely be obnoxious about it. Hope that answers your conundrum! Who’s next?

Caller: I think I might have joined a gang? How do I say I don’t want to join but I like the jacket?

Angelo: The classic “accidentally joined a gang” problem. Those Hornets are wily, huh? Here’s what I’ll say: stick with it for a little bit, and you might have fun, I dunno, I have no idea what kids are doing these days. If you don’t like it still, stop wearing the jacket and hide it away so they can’t steal it back, and then just kinda ghost on ‘em. They’ll definitely find you, but it should buy you some time to come up with a good excuse. It’s a great plan.

Caller: I’m stuck on the roof, can you help me?

Angelo: I know who this is and the answer is: you know I can’t. Also you aren’t stuck. Get down before station management goes looking for you. Consider that my official advice.

Caller: So, uh, listen, I know this isn’t really your thing, but your coworker, uh, Rob was his name? Whoever does the overnight. He mentioned that he was looking for someone, and I think I can help him.

Angelo: Oh, uh, alright, I’ll— listen, come by the station when you can, if I’m not here then Rob definitely will be. Does anyone out there have actual advice questions?

Caller: Yeah, so, uh, I got a lotta people coming through my store, and I try to be real friendly, but I’m gettin’ old and I can’t remember everyone’s names. Do you have any tips for remembering names?

Angelo: Yeah, for sure! I’m still getting the hang of everyone’s names here at the station, haha. The trick is associating that person with something, so when you see that thing you remember their name. Like my coworker J— Rob, he’s got this cool jacket so when I see his jacket I think “that’s Rob!” It doesn’t always work, sometimes you end up calling him “jacket guy” but it’s better than not addressing them at all! I do think that’s it for today, folks, my airtime’s almost up, so let me leave you with “Jolene” by Dolly Parton.

[Jolene Dolly Parton]

#broadcast #1/9/19 #angelo divine

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “Coming of Age” (Rated PG13)

Summary: An unfortunate accident while teaching his son to ride a skateboard does more than knock the wind out of Sebastian's sails. (1741 words)

Part 53 of Daddies

Read on AO3.

“Exercise bike … dragon fruit cuttings … barbells … another exercise bike … golf clubs … ooo, questionable Japanese print of three naked guys doing it. That’s definitely going in the save pile …”

Kurt peeks out the kitchen door into the living room when he hears his husband mumbling, finally awake after his three hour, painkiller-induced coma on the sofa. Kurt looks his exhausted husband over – the mess of hair on his head, his five o’clock shadow, his wrinkled white t-shirt. With cell phone in hand, peering at the screen through squinty eyes, he looks less like Sebastian Smythe and more like a stereotypical, rough-around-the-edges love interest from some cheesy rom-com.

And it makes Kurt smile.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen his husband so adorably rumpled. It makes him want to cuddle up next to him with a mug of apple cider and waste a whole day doing nothing but being quiet in one another’s company.

With everything going on in their lives, it’s been so long since they’ve been able to find the time.

Well, we have the time now, Kurt thinks as his eyes fall on the cast on Sebastian’s right arm – a souvenir from a recent attempt to teach their son to ride a skateboard.

Thomas took to it like a fish to water. But Sebastian - more like a fish trying to make a three tier Belgian chocolate cake with sour cream frosting.

To be fair, Sebastian used to be an incredible skateboarder back in the day. It was one of the things that attracted the hell out of Kurt when they first tried their hands at being friends. Watching him grind on the railings all over campus made up for a good third of the crap Sebastian had said to him in high school.

But working full time, traveling, getting married, and adopting a kid – especially a kid with special needs - left little time for Sebastian to sharpen his skills. He did fine going forward and stopping. He even popped a decent Ollie. But his attempt to do a kick flip ended with his feet twisted underneath him. He flew head over heels, then landed on his back with his arm twisted beneath him.

Kurt stayed by his side the entire trip to the hospital. He tried to joke with him, take his mind off it the same way Sebastian did with Kurt when he accidentally mixed Ambien and Dayquil with a booze filled donut and had to get his stomach pumped.

Sebastian cracked a smile, but that’s all Kurt could get out of him.

He didn’t make a single sarcastic comment the entire time they sat in the exam room, didn’t make a single off-colored joke when the nurse came to take his temperature. In fact, he was a model patient, which is odd for Sebastian.

And ever since, he’s been uncharacteristically quiet.

The more Kurt watches his husband sulk on the sofa, the more he suspects it’s not the painkillers keeping him sedated.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Scrolling through Facebook marketplace.”

Kurt makes a face. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

Sebastian shrugs, making an I don’t know noise.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“A-ha.” Sebastian turns his phone so Kurt can see. “Look at all these used CPR dummies! And just $40? That’s a steal!” Sebastian shakes his head, returning to the screen. “Why are the kid ones anatomically correct? That’s just nasty!”

“Uh … I feel there’s a story behind this,” Kurt says, sitting beside his husband. “And after our Elf on a Shelf battle, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“Wes has an irrational fear of CPR dummies.”

“But … he’s a doctor.”

“Yup. It made for an interesting four years during his Red Cross internship.”

“You’re not going to buy those CPR dummies, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no need to have half a dozen used CPR dummies in the house.”

“They’re not going to be in our house.” Sebastian chuckles. “I’m gonna send them to Wes.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because pulling pranks on your loved ones can be fun.”

“Or mean.”

“You should talk.”

“Bas …” Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s knee, hoping to pull his focus, but Sebastian doesn’t look away from his phone “… what’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a stick in the mud ever since you broke your arm.”

“Probably because I broke my arm.”

“Yeah, but the old Sebastian Smythe wouldn’t have let that keep him down. He would have seen the silver lining.”

“What silver lining?”

“For one thing, he would have jumped at the chance at getting a five hour bj whilest high on powerful, hallucinogenic painkillers. But you haven’t propositioned me. Not even once.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not the old Sebastian Smythe,” he grumbles. “I’m just an old Sebastian Smythe.”

“Ah ...” Kurt nudges his way underneath his husband’s left arm, wedging himself between Sebastian and his phone, but Sebastian raises his arm higher to see over his head. “I think I see what’s going on. Sebastian, falling off a skateboard once does not make you old.”

“It doesn’t make me young,” Sebastian counters, swiping vindictively at his cell phone screen with his thumb.

“You haven’t stepped on a skateboard in over a decade. You can’t expect to just get on it and go. It’s not a bicycle.”

“Nothing says I wouldn’t have fallen off a bicycle, either.”

“I thought you were the one who didn’t care about growing old.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because, stupidly, I didn’t think it was going to happen to me.”

Kurt is about to remind him that growing old happens to everyone, but he knows what his husband means. Even as a realist, knowing that old age happens to everyone, it scared the hell out of Kurt when it happened to his dad.

And when it started happening to him - his first grey hair heralding the beginning of the end as far as he was concerned.

But sitting beside his husband, curling into his side and laying his head on his chest, he recognizes that he also never believed Sebastian would grow old. Being a responsible adult human isn’t how he sees his husband, even though he’s been that for a while now. Sebastian has a certain boyish charm that seems to withstand the test of time. Nothing fazes him, he takes nothing seriously, and even at his most infuriating, he always finds a way to make life fun.

Listening to Sebastian talk about growing old is like watching Peter Pan hang up his pixie dust and his pointy hat to become a lawyer. It’s inconceivable.

“Breaking your arm doesn’t mean you’re old. It just means you’re not that good on a skateboard anymore.”

“Harsh.”

“But that’s not a bad thing. I know that we want to teach our children, be everything for them. I know you want to be Thomas’s hero, but you already are, and you didn’t need to get on a skateboard to do that. The most important thing is that you’re willing to try and willing to do. And willing to fail.”

Sebastian sighs, dropping his hand with the phone in it to his side and his head back on the couch.

“But I shouldn’t have failed. That’s the thing. I should have been able to get right back on that skateboard and ride it as if a day hadn’t gone by since the last time. And for a good few seconds, it felt exactly like that. I was riding again, and nothing had changed. But then I tried to do that flip, and I felt … heavier than I remember. Clumsier. My brain was telling my feet what to do, and my feet said Sorry! New phone, who dis? And then I hit the ground, and the whole world stopped. Thomas was so worried about me and you were calling 9-1-1 because I couldn’t get my ass up and do it myself. It was just so … humiliating.”

“I get that,” Kurt says, wrapping his arms around his husband’s torso and giving him a hug. “But I think you’re being a little too hard on yourself.”

“That comment is begging for a NC17 rated comeback, but I just can’t come up with one right now.” Sebastian sighs. “See? I told you. I’m old. I’m losing my touch.”

“I don’t see how you can honestly believe that. You’re in excellent shape! You exercise constantly - you run, you play handball, basketball, tennis. So, you couldn’t land one kick flip. To be honest, with the amount of stuff you can do, I would say you were due for one tiny failure. And aside from that …” Kurt snuggles closer, letting his hands roam, careful to avoid certain bruised areas in search for the ones that turn Sebastian on with the mere suggestion of a touch “… do you really think an old man would be having the amount of sex that you do? And not just regular, boring, vanilla sex … inventive sex.”

“Inventive, huh?”

“Yup. And you call me flexible.”

Sebastian grins and Kurt knows he’s got him. “Yeah, well, if there ever comes a day when I can’t fuck, please do the humane thing and shoot me.”

“It’s a deal. And look, if you want to take up skateboarding again, it’s not too late. Tony Hawk is 51 and he still boards. You’re nowhere near that old. With a little time and effort, you can get your old mojo back.” Kurt bites his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh. “I’m sure Thomas would love to teach you.”

“Ha-ha.” Sebastian glares at Kurt, but his grin doesn’t only stay, it grows. “I guess you’re right. I’ll take stock of how many more limbs I’m willing to fracture and get back to you guys.” He raises his left arm and goes back to fiddling with his phone. It makes a cheerful dinging noise and Kurt sighs.

“You just bought those CPR dummies, didn’t you?”

“Maybe …” Sebastian giggles. “Can’t help it. Facebook makes it too easy.”

“Sebastian, I love you, but you are a man with way too much money and way way too much time on your hands.”

Sebastian scrolls back to the questionable Japanese print, his thumb hovering dangerously close to the ‘checkout’ button. “You’re not wrong.”

#Kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

[adam-levineyard]

It's been really fucking long

So, I have not really been active these last years and stuff, and i don't even know how to begin unpacking all this shit.

Anyways, after the whole student exhange thing i got seriously depressed for about a year and a half or so. I started drinking too much, not caring enough about anything besides work to cope with it. Back in 2017 i was planning on running off with the (now i realize) little money I had saved. Ended up getting black-out-drunk as shit at my best friend’s bday party and confessing some really fucking nasty thoughts to both him and my parents between sobs and retches. I was at my lowest and started having some really bad ideas. I just wanted everything to stop. Anyways I kinda got better or something.

Until nearing the end of last year. Got really stressed out at work and drinking a lot again, ended up getting black-out-drunk again at work's christmas party. We went clubbing or something with the really wealthy owner. Everything was on the house. I don't know how I got back home barefeet, beaten, bruised, sobbing, with a bloody nose and dog bites all over my leg. Next morning I had no ID or money in my wallet. My calf has couple puncture scars that you can pinch and feel like you’re grabbing a bowling ball.  

And so it goes. Every 8 months or so I have some sort of breakdown or something, stop drinking altogether, get confident and careless again, and repeat the whole fucking thing. Last one was about a month or so. My last two gigs were as head bartender at an 80 seating capacity restaurant , then got stolen to a 600 capacity one. I get really obsessed and stress out a lot at work, it’s pretty normal in the restaurant industry. Started pulling two weeks straight with no days off and lots of overtime or doubles with no extra pay. Took some regular hours for about a week, then pulled the same shit again, but this time it was 3 weeks straight. Started overreaching myself, not doing things right, some national bigshot boss came over and realized the waiters were stealing from my stocks or charging customers extra and asked for my non-existent inventories, which I could not do cause I was very fucking busy making sure the bar was not left unnatended. She made me cry out of frustration and shame in front of everyone right there on the bar. Got drunk again, pulled the same shit over and quit about two weeks ago.

I was scouted for that restaurant. A Diageo World Class twice-participant saw me at the other bar I was working at, realized I'm fucking great (cause I actually am a fucking great bartender, mind you) and pretty much stole me from my modest 80 capacity bar to a whopping 600 one. His name’s Bernardo, and he’s the national head bartender for the whole restaurant chain, Palomino’s. They have seven outposts spread out in the country. I worked alongside him for two weeks and learned tons in that short time, then he returned to Mexico City, and we remained in contact. We got along great, he was the first and only bartender I met that knew what a fucking Sazerac was, or that also enjoyed Fernet Branca. Before he left, he passed on his bar blade to me. He had it for seven years.

I did my fair share, I saw that we made it through Mother's and Father's day and event after event. The local managers realized I would work as many hours as needed and latched on to it. At some point they chastised me at a meeting for accepting overtime pay, ever since I returned every extra cent whenever (if ever) I got a little extra on my paycheck. I eventually burned myself out and when I quit, they ended up begging me not to go for 10 days straight ‘til my last day. The managers even promised to send me to the Guadalajara and Mexico City outposts that we had so that I could grow as a bartender. Pretty much petty lies so I would pull a couple weeks more of extra shifts during this holiday season but I didn't buy it. I never talked to Bernardo about quitting, I just had to get out, whenever we talked he told me he considered me a friend. But I didn’t want to let him down.  But I know I did and I'm probably dead to him. I never talked to him again. He even sent me a couple messages asking me if I had my submission ready for a couple international competitions. I haven't even opened those messages, I think he blocked me. 

But I know how he thinks, cause we do think alike. I had a friend there who was head bartender before I was, they had me take over for him. He started burning out and they made me boss. He got depressed and told me about it. Asked for a day off to sort his feelings out and stuff. I knew how he felt so I ok’d it. He skipped work for three days straight. I spoke with Berna about it, and tried to soften the whole thing cause the other guy was my friend, as in like, “what should I do? I mean I’ve felt like that before and I know how it feels so I don’t wanna be too harsh or something” but he just cut me off and told me it was a load of bullshit and that he was gonna make him go tipless for 2 months, and warned me about pulling that kind of shit myself. And you know, I get him. I get it. Cause we do think alike. In this industry you can’t afford that kind of shit, you either suck it up or go fuck yourself. So when i realized that I was burning out  I decided to call it quits before I let them down even further.                                 To be completely honest, I loved the fact that they begged me to stay, promised me growth and promotion at bigger and better cities and a “a pressure free enviroment” as long as stayed for the holidays. I was under the impression that I was doing a horrible job, apparently not so much. The moment I decided to leave they started looking for replacements. As in plural. One barkeep leaves, two openings are posted. 

Anyways, this was not supposed to be such a depressing entry.                          I’m actually kinda sought after tbh, A couple friends from other bars had tried to swipe me from that bar, the owner at the bar they stole me from tried to lure me in again with promises of paying me bartending schools at New York and shit (he’s got the money but he usually doesnt put it where his mouth is, although apparently I was one of his favorites, the maitre’d told me he heard him order the manager to “look after me and keep me happy” while I was there so yeah). And you know, the whole begging-me-to-stay-shit at Palomino’s.

One of my closest friends and his gf actually put in a good word about me at the university they teach at, and I was offered to teach bartending to the culinary students there. Honestly, I do know a lot. Like, a  l o t . But you know me, I’m shy as shit and don’t do well in front of crowds, so my classes haven’t really been tip-top. But I’m working on it. They’re twice a week so I haven’t given more than three classes to both groups. Group B seems to like me though, but i think I bore Group A. The rest of my time I’ve dedicated to resting a bit for once, and this week I started kickboxing, so let’s see how that goes. I’m hoping it makes me a bit more assertive. I always struggle to speak my mind at work mostly because you get a motley crew of misfits working at restaurants, so I’ve been threatened with an ass kicking more than twice whenever I get aggressive at work (which i surprisingly often do). I’m also doing it for fitness, and a sense of progression and achievement. I’m doing kinda well, but that happens with every breakdown-cycle-thing. Hoping third time’s the charm.    

#anyways #back with the old fashioned shitposting

[xpouii]

JSE Day 11: Tie

Day 11 of the JSE artists prompts 2019 by @septic-bella​

**All previous entries are available on AO3 under the title “Mayhem” with my same username.**

Warnings: MAJOR suicide themes, self hatred and depression

           The hospital room was dark and quiet, and Chase felt at odds with himself. Something wasn’t right. Everyone else had suffered physical trauma, some of it permanently damaging, and yet Chase had been left completely alone. Was it because his psyche was already broken? Life was already half over for him, or maybe Anti was looking for Stacy and the kids. Henrik had no idea where his own family was—on purpose—after the last incident where Anti had possessed him. Chase had always been more selfish, blinded by the desire to see his children, to try and make it work with Stacy. It could still work, right?

               Please, Chase. Stacy knows what a child you are. The only thing you ever did was make those idiotic videos for your defunct YouTube channel that was just a laughing stock for ex-Viners anyway. Commentators made double the revenue from your videos that you ever did and Stacy had to work full time just to cover your ass. The kids had to have a different shitty agency babysitter every evening and twice Stacy caught one of them stealing from the house. You could never be home on time, and the kids were lucky if they saw you once or twice a week. You’ve always been the worst parent and the worst husband.

          You never matured past twelve years old and now you’re the big weepy equivalent of a drunk toddler. All you ever do is vomit, shake and complain. At least when you were drunk you were sort of funny half the time. Now you’re the least entertaining person in this entire city and that’s saying a lot. You’re a pathetic, worthless spineless worm, unworthy of being called a man, a husband, a father—you’re barely human. You massive failure. There’s so little appealing about you that it’s a shock any of the others will even give you the time of day. It’s why you always have the feeling Marvin doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like trash. Jackie is constantly worrying about you, and Henrik just wishes you would die and get it over with so he can go back to treating patients he cares about. Jameson, well, he’s the worst of all. He pities you. You’re the most pathetic person he’s ever met and he can think of nothing better to do than just tell you what you want to hear and wait for you to leave the room.

          If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up a sad, stupid puddle all alone and praying for death a long time before it comes. Once you’re sober do you think your depression will just go away? You’re gonna have to get on Henrik’s pills and they’re gonna make you tired all the time or jittery and your dick won’t work—not that it was ever anything to be impressed by. Stacy used to laugh about it with her mother, and damn does that lady ever hate you. You were never worthy of her daughter, and she would give up her own grandchildren if she could make it so you never existed. Stacy can try again with a better man, and the memory of you would no longer be a stain on the family. Why don’t you just get it over with and everyone can get back to their lives? Kill yourself and maybe this time you could try getting it right, instead of failing so hilariously. What kind of fucking moron can’t even shoot themselves in the head correctly, Chase? Who the fuck can’t get that right? You were probably too chickenshit to go through with it weren’t you? You were so selfish that you’d rather live this fucking pathetic life than give Stacy or your kids the freedom to move on. Even now, when this detoxing could kill you, you’re accepting the medication and pretending like you’re contributing at all when honestly you’re the biggest speedbump.

          Everybody is just standing around waiting on you, Chase, so what the fuck are you gonna do? Do it, Chase. Go out like a fucking man. Take that goddamn tie that Henrik left and kill yourself. You can loop it on the end of the bed, sit down on the floor and just let go. You aren’t hooked up to any monitors. Nobody is gonna come check until 3 am when they come to look in on Jack. Fuck, they might not even notice you, just step over your fucking stupid legs and go on about their day. That would suit you, just fading into the background like one of those fake skeletons at a haunted house. You’re a prop in your own life you worthless, pathetic, selfish-

          Chase screamed and jumped to his feet, his knees shaking but keeping him upright. He ran his hands through his hair, tears streaming down his face as the voice shouted again and again for him to kill himself. He looked at Jack, whimpering at the thought of leaving the others, but they were better off without him. He’d attacked Henrik, sniped at Marvin, fought Jackie and refused to get help until it almost killed him. Now Jack was lying in this bed under Henrik’s control, and Chase couldn’t even stop that. There was an absolute lack of ability to do anything inside of Chase. He picked up the silk tie, running it through his fingers. It was expensive, so it would probably do a good enough job. He’d learned about knots from his father when they’d gone out on a boat. He’d retained enough to teach his own son, although he’d never gotten old enough before Stacy had taken both the kids and gone. Maybe teaching the knots wasn’t such a good idea after all. Did depression run in his family? It was hard to tell.

          Chase paced the room again, rubbing the silk against his face. It felt good, and it reminded him of the green dress Stacy wore on the day he proposed. It had been so gorgeous. He’d been planning it for weeks, and then he had almost lost the ring. He’d always been a fuck up, but Stacy had found it endearing once. He could still see the look in her eyes that he had once mistaken for love. It was pity, or longsuffering, or outright annoyance. He knew that now, the way she’d looked at him then when he asked. She had been waiting for someone else to come along, and Chase had been her backup plan. So she’d said yes. Neither of their kids had been intentional, and she had cried both times she found out she was pregnant, but Chase had been so proud, so excited. He loved his kids so much, even though sometimes he wasn’t at home to play with them, or take care of them, but if Stacy had an emergency, he’d always come home. Just like the chickenpox.

          How long are you going to keep falling back on that fucking chickenpox story? Being a decent dad to one of your kids once doesn’t make you father of the year.

          Chase heard that in Stacy’s voice, because it had been her that said it, when he missed his daughter’s birthday party. He hadn’t meant to, but things get in the way, and time is tenuous and sometimes his phone wouldn’t remind him of things. Chase laughed bitterly at his excuses, and how even now at his lowest point he was still trying to pass the blame.

          Fucking typical, Chase. You always do this! Do you know how humiliating it was explaining to my mother why my husband wasn’t at his daughter’s birthday party? Do you know the way our friends looked at me?

               “I’m sorry, Stace,” Chase said. “I really didn’t mean to miss it. I just got caught up.”

               Caught up, right, your real passion, right? The thing that really matters to you? Well maybe Bro Average can comfort you when your daughter asks why you don’t love her, because that’s what she asked me! And I almost couldn’t convince her that you do. I almost couldn’t convince myself. It gets a lot harder every time you do this.

               “No, Stacy I love all of you! You’re my world! Don’t say things like that. I’m just… I’m just forgetful, ok? I’ll make it up to her.”

               How Chase?

               “With this,” Chase murmured, looking at the tie again, “I’m sorry, baby. You know Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. He just forgets. But he’s gonna make it up to you now, baby.”

               He walked over to his hospital bed, hands steady as he secured the silk to the bed rail; he took the bed remote and sat on the floor.

               Don’t worry, Chase; how many brides can say their husband knew how to tie a tie on their wedding day, anyway? It’s kind of romantic, but keep your eyes closed! You can’t see me in my dress!

               Chase closed his eyes, and he could smell Stacy’s perfume when she leaned in, fixing the tie around his neck. She kissed him, and he smiled, pressing down on the bed lift button.

               I love you.

#chase brody #fanfiction #JSE artist prompt #Mayhem 2019 #Egopocalypse 2019

[bucksomecontent-blog]

We wish you a fluffy Christmas...

Here is my entry for @buckychrist​‘s Christmas Writing Challenge!  Just a little fluffy ficlet. This is the first fic I’ve ever actually written, so feedback would be loved <3  

Pairing: Established relationship Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 751

Warnings: Light swearing, gooey fluff, slight reference to sex.

(Prompt is bolded)

“Die Hard is the best Christmas movie and I won’t hear a word saying otherwise,” Y/N said firmly, flicking through Netflix.

“What the hell? Have you even seen Love Actually, that shit is unBEATable! Honestly, it’s the most heartwarming, charming, Christmas-spirit-y movie ever made. Die Hard doesn’t even count, it’s an action flick!” an impassioned voice exclaimed from behind the kitchen counter.

Y/N flipped herself around to stare incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Bucky shrugged as he came around to the sofa. “Being set during December does not a Christmas movie make, sweetheart.”

You stood up to meet him, doing your death glare. “Fight me.”

“Such unnecessary aggression,” he winked, “Have a little Christmas spirit, doll!” He smoothly produced a glass of…. something, and thrust it into your hands. Eggnog, maybe? But you didn’t think eggnog was supposed to be so… textured.

“Oh god, what’s this?” You wrinkled your nose suspiciously.

Bucky took a step closer and grinned wickedly. “This, my friend, is Christmas spirit.” You clinked glasses and took a tentative sip, while Bucky chose to take a big glug. Immediate regret.

You spat the drink straight back into the glass with a gasp, your reaction too visceral to worry about hurt feelings. “Oh,” you coughed, “Oh no.”

Bucky’s eyes watered as he swallowed his mouthful. “Come on, I think it’s alright…” He insisted, lip quivering as he forced himself to take another gulp of the drink.

You tried (and failed) to repress a giggle at his stubborn refusal to let you steal his thunder. He’d spent a long time in the kitchen, following an internet article on the world’s best eggnog (“Why do they need to tell me their entire life story before I get the recipe? They’re supposed to a recipe blog not an insipid anecdote blog!) while listening to Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody on repeat. Just to be a prick, the only lyrics he pretended to know were “Are you hanging up your stocking on the wall?” He’d driven you (and himself, if he were honest about it) half insane by the time he’d finished. After all that, he wasn’t about to let a simple thing like taste stop him from enjoying his cocktail.

“This doesn’t distract me from your terrible taste in movie, by the way. I can’t believe I let myself fall in love with Mr Soppy Romance Film,” you teased, trying not to smile.

In one movement, he flopped onto the sofa, pulling you down onto his lap and putting your glasses on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re in love with me, are you, sweetheart?” he purred, arm whirring softly as he smoothed his hands down your back.

“Not for long if you keep ruining Christmas,” you threw back as you grabbed a pillow and starting wapping him.

“There you go again with the aggression!” He laughed out loud, grabbing the cushion off of you and chucking it across the room.

As he said this, you absent-mindedly grabbed your glass and took a sip, before remembering too late why you weren’t drinking it. “Jesus, this hasn’t gotten any better,” you breathed, putting it back on the table with a firm clink. “I can’t believe you ruined Christmas music, movies, AND cocktails all in one night!” You draped your arms around his neck, putting on your best plaintive expression.

Bucky gazed at you with those startlingly clear blue eyes, affection and mirth shining out. “I’m awfully sorry, doll. What can I do to make it up to you? Something to make this night not such a bust…”

“Well sergeant, I might have me some ideas,” You lowered your voice conspiratorially, running your fingers through his dark, oh-so-soft hair. Your lips met, sending tingling shooting through you (you thought it would be less startling after so many times, but kissing him never got old), before he pulled back from you a moment later.

“I can still taste it…” Bucky grimaced, “The eggnog.”

“I thought you didn’t mind it so much, stud?”

“And I thought you wanted me to treat you real sweet tonight, but if it’s gonna be like that….” He began.

“Let’s go brush our teeth,” you interrupted quickly, grabbing your chortling boyfriend and pulling him with you into the bathroom. He stood behind you distractingly as you wet your toothbrush, whispering everything he wanted to do to you as he wrapped his arms around your front. The two of you ended up staying in that bathroom for longer than planned…

#hayleysholidaywc #bucky barnes #christmas #fluffy one shot #sfw #first fic #marvel #captain America movies #fanfic #James buchanan barnes #die hard #love actually #egg nog #slade #merry Christmas everybody

[justpeachyshua]

part time

pairing: joshua x female reader characters: joshua hong, kwon soonyoung rating/warnings: teen+ for language; no warnings au: convenience store workers, college/university word count: 4,549 summary: “Working at a convenience store is about as easy a job as you can get. People come in and out, stopping on their way to bigger and better things, getting gas or food. Never did I think that working at a job like this could be remotely fun. Not until I began working alongside a guy so gentle, thoughtful, and oh so gorgeous. The only thing is, I don’t know his name.” 

note: hey guys!! this is my first one shot and svt fic in general, so i hope you enjoy it! i am fairly new to the fic community on tumblr, though i’ve had my ao3 account for a while and i’ve been working on a the boyz chat fic on there. i decided that i wanted to try to open up a tumblr dedicated to one shots and shorter fics and other things about my faves, so here it is! just about everything i post here will be on my ao3, but i might include some bonuses or extras here. anyways, on to the fic! 

Locking my phone and tossing it onto my bed, I let out a groan at the realization that this night would truly be one of the most boring nights of my life.

“I need you and the new guy to watch the store tonight. I’ve gotta take my son to the orthodontist at 5 and I don’t think I’ll be back in time to close the store. It’ll just be a few hours so I hope you guys don’t burn the place down.”

While in the middle of an intense Mario Kart race with my roommate, Soonyoung, I received that text from my boss and almost immediately wanted to fling my body into the sun. After quickly collecting myself and sending a polite yet casual response saying that of course I’d look after the store and of course I’d try to stay out of the break room and of course I’d be sure to card anyone looking to buy liquor and just about every precaution I could imagine, I settled back into my spot on the floor.

“Work?” My roommate muttered, eyes unmoving from the TV.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “He wants me to come in tonight because his son has an appointment. I guess we have to cancel movie night.”

“This is the third night you’ve cancelled though!” He set the controller down after finishing in 8th place. “Can he get off your ass? I swear you’re always out working.”

“Well, I mean, if it wasn’t clear from the fact that our fridge contains only juice boxes, milk, leftover pizza, and half a container of butter, we need money.”

He chuckled, turning the Wii and TV off. “Fine, fine, go. But bring me back some ice cream, kay?”

“I’m not gonna steal from the store just so you can have some mint chocolate chip ice cream.” I checked my phone and saw that it was already 4:30, then grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “Nice try, though.”

Soonyoung called out to me, stopping me before I left. “Wait! You gotta promise me you’ll actually talk to that guy today, okay? It’s been weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, sure. I’ll try. Just go back to playing Mario Kart and let me go to work.”

As I made my usual trek to the bus stop headed for the store, I thought about Soonyoung’s words. There was, indeed, a new guy at the store and a fairly cute one at that. He had joined as the only other employee just a few weeks ago and was still a bit inexperienced and shy. He never spoke much in the store other than simple greetings and questions like “Have you stocked the chips yet?” and “Do you have the key to the cigarette case?” Still, he was definitely a nice guy. Whenever he could, he did a little extra cleaning and always made sure that his area of the store was completely organized before clocking out.

Even though we’d been coworkers for a while, we still hadn’t properly introduced ourselves to each other, partially because the store was so hectic the day he joined, what with our boss’s wife going into labor with their second kid that day and leaving the store in our hands for the first time. Since then, there just hadn’t been a good enough moment to ask without it being awkward. I liked to speculate what his name could be, especially when I brought the subject up with Soonyoung. While I thought he looked more like a Tae, Soonyoung stood by his belief that he was a Jae, especially after getting to see him in person while visiting me at work.

“Even if he isn’t a Jae, I’m telling you he’s a J guy,” Soonyoung stated with confidence and a mouthful of cookie when we got home that day. “I can feel it in my bones. Like a sixth sense or something.”

“I think that’s a sugar high, Soonyoung.”

Whether or not Soonyoung’s “sixth sense” was anything to go off of or not, I did feel the urge to finally start talking to this kid. Surely Soonyoung was tired of hearing me talk about how this guy was “pretty cute” and nothing much else so, if not for my sake then for his, I decided I would learn more about this kid. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that I had to prove to Soonyoung that I was right about his name and it most definitely had nothing to do with the fact that any moment in the store not spent lazily milling around was spent staring and daydreaming about him. Absolutely not.

The bus ride to the store took only about 25 minutes, so I entered with a couple of minutes to spare which I used to scan for the best spots I could stock while avoiding the most customers later on. Mr. Han, the boss of the store, interrupted my search, telling me to put my vest on so he could go. I heeded his words and headed to the back of the shop where we kept employee goods like an old TV and DVD player and a couple snacks. The new guy was already there, sliding his own vest on and staring down at his phone. Without a word, I grabbed my vest and quickly went back out with the new guy trailing behind me.

“Alright kids, you pretty much already know how to run the store. I won’t be back for the rest of the night, but be sure to lock up before 10:00. I don’t want to keep you guys here for too long on a Saturday night and there shouldn’t be too many customers anyways.”

We nodded along.

“Well, I’m off. Good luck and make wise choices!” He waved goodbye as he let the glass door shut behind him, the sound of the chimes above trailing off as well. Almost immediately, we went to our usual posts - me by the register and him milling about the aisles. We were completely silent for the most part. We stayed to ourselves, like usual, letting customers flow in and out every few minutes and attending to them as necessary. The store wasn’t particularly busy, though we were kept working long enough that we still hadn’t found the time to say a single word to each other by the time the clock struck 6:10, about an hour later.

I swiped the credit card of the last customer in line and handed him his bag of snacks. As he walked away, I was worried that another customer might enter and delay mine and the new guy’s introductions - maybe even causing me to lose the opportunity altogether - but no one came in. The store was quiet for a minute or two then. Awkwardly quiet.

With nothing to do, I realized I had my chance to talk. “So… what’s up?” I clumsily sat on the wooden stool behind me. Smooth...

I watched as the new guy paced around, poking at the shelves of ramen and mac and cheese. His long sleeve shirt wasn’t quite his size, so his sleeves came up to his palms as he extended his hands to the various boxes thoughtlessly. It was honestly pretty charming. “Not much. Missing out on a couple boring documentaries at home, but otherwise not a whole lot.” He picked a box up, shifting it around. “You?”

“Well, I could be with my roommate watching shitty horror movies and playing video games, but instead I’m here watching the store with some guy.”

With a box of Kraft in hand, he clutched his chest. “Just some guy? I’ll have you know I have a name.”

I smiled at his attempt at humor so early into the conversation. “I’m sure you do. But do you even know mine?” He looked down at the Kraft box as though it would give him the answer. “Ah, so you don’t.”

“I mean, neither of us has really asked,” he pointed out.

“Fair. Well, guy, I’m Y/N.” I stuck my hand out across the counter, which he strided over to in order to complete the handshake.

“Well, Y/N, I’m--”

“Mommy, can I get the Oreos?!” We both turned our heads towards the door which had just begun to chime at the entrance of new customers - those customers being a couple and their daughter. The mom looked stressed, the daughter hyperactive, and the dad fairly indifferent.

The mom grabbed the daughter’s arm, leading her away from the snacks aisle. “No, sweetie, we’re only going to be here for a short time, okay?” The little girl huffed and continued to tug at her mom’s arm.

The dad approached me and calmly asked where the bathroom was. I pointed him past the ice cream refrigerator and he briskly walked away. I made eye contact with the new guy once he left and shrugged my shoulders before walking around the counter to “inspect” some of the bottles of nonprescription medicine. Soon enough, the little girl was making another fuss, this time stamping her feet on the ground as she begged her mom for the Oreos. Among the loud shouts from the girl and the sound of little boots hitting the floor, the mom was clearly trying to quiet her down. This quickly proved to be unsuccessful when the loud thud of a large box falling resounded throughout the store, immediately followed by the sound of small items scattering across the floor. I rushed over to the aisle the two were walking through and noticed the jumbo box of cereal spilling out and the mother holding her daughter up off the floor.

“I am so so sorry! I was trying to take her away from this aisle and she pulled the box down. Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I’ll clean it up.” The mother began to profusely apologize, her daughter sitting in her arms looking passive.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” I politely smiled, already reaching for the broom and dustpan in the corner of the store and beginning to sweep up the colorful pieces of cereal. “It was cheap anyways,” I reassured her.

She ran her free hand through her hair in frustration and took out her wallet. “I’ll pay for it up front, I promise. I feel so bad for making you sweep this up.” She rushed to the front counter and the new guy quickly met her there, ringing up the price of the cereal and accepting her payment. As I finished sweeping up and hid the cereal box where I could find it later and reminded myself to check the seals on the other boxes, I watched him carefully count out change for the mom. His hands lingered over the tray in the register and delicately picked out the appropriate coins before he handed them to her, letting them fall from his fingers.

He walked around the counter and plucked a lollipop from a display we had set up, bending down and handing it to the little girl. She immediately quieted and a grin spread across her face. “I know it’s not Oreos, but, in my opinion, they’re just as good,” he smiled. He looked up at the mom standing beside her. “Ah, don’t worry. These things have basically no added sugar in them, they’re as clean as you can get them.”

The mom gave a tired smile. “Thank you so, so much. Again, I’m sorry for causing you two any trouble.”

“It’s no problem at all!” He beamed. He looked down at the little girl again. “Now, make sure you thank your mom for letting you keep the lollipop, okay?”

The little girl nodded enthusiastically in response and her father finally returned from the restroom and thanked us. As they left the store, the girl turned back and waved. “Bye bye, pretty man!”

I scoffed as I tried to hold in my laughter and I could see the new guy’s eyes widen in shock, caught off guard by the innocent compliment. I walked back over to the counter and perched myself onto the stool again. “I hope you know those things are packed full of sugar and preservatives.”

He sighed while he watched the chimes above the door slow to a halt. “I know. I just told her that so she wouldn’t get too upset over the lollipop. It’s pretty clear that girl wasn’t going to stop without getting some kind of candy.” He rused.

My eyes traveled over to the chimes as well. When they finally fell back into place, I looked back at him. “I see you’re good with kids.”

“I guess I am. I mean, back home I used to babysit the neighborhood kids a lot so I guess I just got used to being around children.”

“And where’s back home?” I inquired, leaning my elbows on my knees.

“Los Angeles. Cali boy in the flesh,” he gestured over himself.

“L.A., huh? That’s kinda fancy.” I looked him up and down. “I mean, now that I really take a look at you, I can totally see it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean the carefully-messy hair, the ripped jeans, the sun-tanned skin, just the way you talk - it’s sooo ‘Cali.’” I put air quotes around the word, mocking his use of it.

He stood up straight, making himself just taller than me when sitting on the stool. “You know, I bet you’ve never even been to California.”

I sat in thought for a second before hopping off the stool. “Hmm, you’re right. I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how L.A. boys act. I’ve done plenty of research.” I wandered the store again, eyes traveling over various sweets.

“Research?”

“You know, movies, shows, dumb YouTubers with cult followings, good sources,” I joked.

He chortled. “Oh, please. I promise I’m not like that.”

“Mmhmm, we’ll see. Next time I see you, you’ll have dropped a diss track on Soundcloud and I’ll have to pretend like I don’t know you, right?” I called back at him as I pulled a bag of cookies off the shelf for myself.

“Yup, and it’ll be entirely about you. I’ll be dropping hot bars on how the girl at the convenience store’s been taking shots at me,” he played along.

“See, the sad part is I can totally see you doing that.” I walked back towards him, opening the bag and pulling a chocolate chip cookie out. “Want one?”

He nodded, taking the cookie out of my hand and making me realize just how cold my hands were in comparison to his which were incredibly warm. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the warmth of his hands seemed right considering how warm he looked. A warm sweater, warm brown eyes, warm laughter, warm smile on warm pink lips. His lips, when I looked at them closely, were really endearing, curling up at the corners like a kitten’s. Seconds passed and I realized I had been staring for far longer than acceptable.

Looking away, I stuttered, “So, uh, what do you do? Besides work here, I mean.”

“Well, I go to university, study, and attend parties I shouldn’t really go to.”

“You local?”

“Actually, I go to Korea University.”

“Are you a genius? How the hell did you manage to get into KU?” I gaped.

He shrugged. “Just worked hard to get where I wanted, I guess.”

“Are you in any clubs or anything?”

“Hmm, not really, but I play music with friends every now and then. Nothing serious, just casual gigs at house parties.”

“What do you play?”

He hesitated quickly before settling on his answer. “Just guitar.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Just guitar? I doubt that.”

“I sing too, sometimes.” I began to speak when he interjected, “I’m not gonna sing now, though. Not happening.”

I snickered. “I wasn’t going to ask that, actually. I was gonna ask if you’d take me to one of those house parties. For the experience, you know.”

He looked taken aback by my question and took a moment to think before responding, “I’ll consider. I don’t even have a way to reach you, though.”

“Is this you asking for my number?” I joked.

“Is this you suggesting that you’d give it to me?”

I looked up at him, seeing his eyes move around the room in what seemed to be nervousness. They landed on me for a moment and I swore I saw a hint of uncertainty in his look.

“Are you flirting with me right now?” I stepped closer to him.

“I-”

The light sound of the storefront chimes sounded again. My eyes cast down and I took a step back. I could vaguely hear him mumble a frustrated “Again?” under his breath before he stepped out from behind the counter, changing face to become the polite store employee he normally was. I turned to see who was entering the store and saw a group of about seven teenagers flooding in through the door. I sighed and took my spot behind the register, disappointed at the lost moment.

The kids wandered about the store in their little group and chattered to themselves. After a couple seconds, I pulled my phone out and began scrolling through Twitter to pass the time. Soon enough, someone was standing in front of me and I looked up to see one of the kids, a girl with clearly bleached hair.

“How can I help you?”

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro Silvers?” She asked, looking me in the eyes.

I furrowed my brow. She was clearly a high schooler, probably not older than a junior. “I’ll need to see some ID.” She swiftly pulled a card out from her pocket and handed it to me. Upon close inspection, I saw a small corner of the card peeling up. I ran my finger over it and put two and two together: it was a fake ID, and a poorly made one at that. I quirked an eyebrow and slid the card over to her. “I can’t get that for you.”

“I think you should take a better look at it.”

“You should get a more convincing ID before you suggest that.”

She huffed and angrily took the card back. I rolled my eyes as she walked back to the group, shaking her head. Mr. Han had advised us to ID everyone but I didn’t think anyone would actually try to buy cigs illegally. It just seemed dumb, walking up to a store clerk as if you aren’t obviously an acne-sprouting teenager and trying to convince them that you’re a legal adult. But then again, people do dumb things to get what they want all the time.

I looked around the store. In the corner, the kids were looking through various refrigerators, picking out sodas and ice creams. Just a few feet away, the new guy stood, wiping down some of the refrigerator doors that didn’t need wiping down. I could tell he was just giving himself something to do while those kids were around, not wanting to particularly interact with them. I almost wanted to laugh at how obviously he was wasting time, doing such a useless task. To be fair, I did it all the time, but I noticed he was especially distracted as he looked back at me every now and then.

In the midst of watching him move the towel over the same spot for the tenth time, he whipped his head and shouted. “Hey, what are you doing?!” I jumped, thinking he was talking to me, before I realized he was looking directly at the group of kids. From where I was standing, I could see one of them was carefully putting something into her backpack and I realized it was a large bottle of, presumably, alcohol. As soon as they heard the new guy’s exclamation, they bolted for the door and, by the time I could even process what was happening, he was already chasing them out of the store. I rushed out to see where they had gone, but all I saw was the guy, about five yards away, hunched over and out of breath. Scanning the area, I concluded that the kids were already long gone.

“You okay?” I called out to him.

He turned around, continuing to huff. He seemed like he was going to have an asthma attack at any second, so I jogged over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. Upon contact, he stood back up and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“They ran,” I said awkwardly.

“I know.” He shook his head. “If I was just a little faster, maybe I could’ve stopped them.”

“I mean, at least they’re gone now,” I offered. I motioned for him to follow me back into the store. “I’ll pay for the drink, it’s no big deal. How much was it?”

“Fifteen, I think. I don’t know, I’m just disappointed that I let them go like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I insisted, dropping a ten and a five in the register. “They’re just a bunch of hoodlums.”

He chuckled. “Hoodlums. Haven’t heard that one used since the 20s.”

“It’s just what they are, man. Kids these days have no respect!” I exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air.

Laughing, he said, “We’re only, like, a couple of years older than them.”

I lowered my finger. “Still, I don’t associate with them.” He only continued to laugh and soon I was smiling and giggling too. His amusement was just so infectious and I couldn’t hold back. At some point in his laughing fit he let out a loud snort and I knew at that moment that I was way too enamored with him.

After calming down and catching my breath I picked my phone up once again, unlocking to check for any notifications. My eyes lit up as soon as they landed on the first notification, reading:

“Hey! We just got out of the appointment. Sorry it took so long, he ended up getting his braces put on today. You guys should probably go ahead and lock the store up now that it’s getting late. Hope you guys held the fort down well. See you Monday.”

I looked up at the time displayed at the top of my screen, seeing that it was already 9:46.

“What?” The guy asked, noticing my eyes glued to my phone. “What’s up?”

“Mr. Han said we can lock up and head home now,” I explained, shoving my phone into my back pocket and making a beeline for the break room and shrugging my vest off. “God, I am so ready to get back to wasting time at home.”

He, too, came to the back of the store with me, taking his uniform off and gathering his belongings. “What, did you not like hanging out with me for the last four and a half hours?”

I smiled to myself as I grabbed my bag. “No, quite the opposite actually.” I turned back to face him. “I had a pretty good time.”

“I had a good time, too.” He paused for a few seconds, remaining looking at me. He cleared his throat. “Let’s head to the bus stop.”

“You ride the bus, too? I always see you walking the opposite direction.”

“I thought I’d speed up the ride home,” he excused. I squinted, not totally convinced, but let it slide anyways.

We walked side by side in silence until we reached the bus stop, only a few blocks away. We stood there for a while, a foot apart, comfortable. I looked up at him and saw him staring into space, lost in thought. I tapped his shoulder. He looked at me with wide, curious eyes. “Hmm?”

“Earlier, before those kids came in, I asked if you were flirting with me. What was your answer going to be?”

“Ah, that.” He looked away sheepishly. “What would you do if I was?”

I paused to consider my response. “I think I would like it.” He turned back to me, shocked. “And I would probably flirt back and ask if you wanna hang out someplace other than a dingy convenience store.”

He nodded, looking away again. “Nice, nice. Well now I know for future reference.” I smiled at his awkwardness. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I’m ever flirting with you. So you know, of course.”

The bus pulled up a few moments later, signalling the end of this long night. I began to walk towards the bus, but he, for the first time in the past four and a half hours, wasn’t trailing behind me. “You coming?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t actually ride the bus home. I only live a couple of minutes away, but maybe I wanted to walk you to the stop and talk for a couple of minutes more. Potentially. Hypothetically.”

“Then thanks. Hypothetically.” My grin stayed glued to my face as he ran through his explanation. I knew the bus would be leaving in only a few seconds more, so I had to turn and step on, but I didn’t want to leave this guy at all. Reluctantly, I started to take the first few steps on board. I turned back at the last second. “Wait, you never got to tell me your name.”

“It’s Joshua! Josh, for short, whatever works for you.” That kitten-like curl of his lip happened again and I wanted to melt. Joshua, of course. I don’t know how I could’ve expected his name to be anything else. It was sweet, gentle, and charming. It fit him perfectly.

“Well, Josh, I’ll see you Monday.” I waved while the bus door closed behind me and I made my way to an empty seat, sure that he was waving back at me. I thought about his earlier words - his semi-confession - and I could tell my face was heating up. It was almost childlike, the way I was getting so flustered. I sent a quick text to Soonyoung a few minutes before my arrival at the stop.

“Hey Soonyoung, I’m almost home. Go ahead and start making some ramen so we can pick a movie as soon as I’m in”

He responded within seconds.

“Lol you got it.”

I hesitated before sending another message.

“Oh and Soon? I learned his name today”

“It's Joshua”

The next couple of messages were sent in quick succession, each one in all caps and containing a variety of keyboard smashes, including one very long “I TOLD YOU SOOOOLKHJLKGDJHLK.” I chuckled to myself and shut my phone off, putting it away in my bag. The rest of the ride was short and sweet as I reminisced on the events that had unfolded. The spilled cereal, the little girl, the lollipop, the cigarettes, the alcohol, the flirting, the laughter - it all felt like a dream. The night was so simultaneously long and quick and all the best parts consisted of interactions with him - Josh. It felt odd knowing his name finally, but I never wanted that name to leave my mind. I wanted to remember it for as long as I could.

#seventeen #seventeen fic #fic #fanfic #joshua hong #hong jisoo #joshua hong fic #joshua hong fanfic

[nickireadstfc]

The King’s Men, Chapter 12 – Highway To Hell

In which things go really beautifully well, and then really fucking horrible.

Sounds good? No, it doesn’t. It’s time for Nicki to read The King’s Men.

You guys warned me about this one, and for the entire first half of the chapter I was like “what are they on about, this is wonderful, there’s so many great things happening”, like I was genuinely considering y’all might have had your chapters mixed up.

And then.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Let’s take it from the top, shall we? Let’s go back to a time where things were easy, chill and beautifully gay.

(Also, welcome to yet another 3k word dump, because this chapter is an absolute monster.)

The Foxes are on the road to Binghamton, their next big opponent before semi-finals. And less than half a page in, the first miracle of the day happens – or rather, the first miracle of the Day:

The monsters voluntarily and easily socialize with the rest of the team, led by none other than Kevin.

Granted, it’s to talk Exy strategies which, as we know, is Recommended Kevin Bait, but my teamwork-loving heart is not gonna complain.

The best thing about this, though, is that Neil actively refuses to join their sweet sweet Sportsball Talk just to make sure Andrew won’t feel left out.

Excuse me while I cry into my rainbow-coloured jersey.

Linked to that – and we’ve not had these in a while, so I’m proud to present you – Today’s Casually Mentioned, Yet Heartbreakingly Sad Neil Fact is:

             Neil had spent his entire life drifting by on the outskirts, looked over and looked past. It’d made him happy, or so he thought, because being ignored meant he was safe. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was until he met the Foxes.

Uhmm, cue my tears.

Kevin, though, isn’t so happy his favourite minion in training isn’t cooperating:

             “You gave me your game. You don’t have the right to walk away from me when I am trying to teach you.”

             “I gave my game to you so we could get to finals,” Neil sent back, “but you said yesterday you don’t expect us to make it there. You’ve given up on us, so I’m taking my game back. I don’t owe you anything.”

Damn, you tell him, Josten.

Neil has exactly -3 fucks left to give and it’s absolutely glorious.

In other news – we’ve reached the end of the Suspicious Countdown (shoutout here to the anon recreating this in my ask box, you sly fuck).

             Every night since his birthday he’d gotten a number texted to him. Today’s sobering “0” had arrived during lunch. Neil didn’t know what to make of it. (…) It was as anticlimactic as it was nerve-wracking.

Same, my boy. This shit is unnerving.

Well, I’m sure this is absolutely harmless and nothing will happen at all.

To distract himself from the Slight Feeling of Impending Doom, Neil engages in his new favourite pastime:

Adoringly gazing at Andrew’s handsome features like a love-sick pathetic idiot.

             Neil didn’t know what he was looking for. Andrew looked as he always had, and Neil knew his face as well as he knew every iteration of his own. Despite that, something seemed different. Maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the window, making Andrew’s pale hair shine brighter and his hazel eyes seemed almost gold. Whatever it was, it was disorienting.

Oh boy, oh my sweet innocent summer child, I can tell you right fucking exactly what it is.

Your ass is the fuck in love.

             “I’m not doing anything,”

             “I told you to not look at me like that.”

             Neil didn’t understand, so he let it slide.

…… //looks into the camera like I’m on the office.

Any time I think this boy is done being oblivious, he instantly goes back on his bullshit.

Although maybe –

             “I didn’t say anything [when we were talking about zombie apocalypses] because I knew I’d look out for only me when the world went to hell. I don’t want to be that kind of person anymore. I want to go back for you.”

Uhmm, EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY.

Can these idiots like – fucking stop being sappy and gross, I did not expect this bullshit from them, give a girl some fucking warning.

Jesus fuck.

And they keep going, of course – being on the road to Binghamton reminds Neil of his time Being On The Road, and so he casually tells Andrew all the shit that happened to him on his travels, which of course he never told a single soul before.

Natch.

             It passed the time, though, and Andrew let him ramble. He never once took his eyes of Neil’s face or looked like he was mentally tuning out of the conversation.

Oh yeah, also of course Andrew is a love-sick pathetic idiot as well.

Natch.

And Neil uses that to get Andrew to open up about his travels between foster homes and his time with Aaron, which he also never told anyone before.

Fucking natch.

             [Andrew took] care of Aaron’s addictions. He stocked the upstairs bathroom with canned food and barricaded Aaron in there until he had finished withdrawal. Luckily (…) there were no neighbors close enough to hear Aaron’s best attempts at breaking out.

Andrew Minyard, putting the ‘love’ in ‘tough love’ since 2010.

These brothers are everything, haters please exit in a left-directed fashion.

When they make their next pit stop, Coach doesn’t even make any attempts at separating Andrew and Neil, which brings on one of my favourite bits in this chapter:

Neil’s oblivious ass comes to the realization that Coach Knows™.

             “I really want to know when Coach figured this out.”

             “It isn’t a ‘this’,” Andrew reminded him.

Oh yeah, please also know that every time I’m shouting at Neil to stop being so oblivious this of course also extends to his smaller, deadlier counterpart.

             Last November Neil put Andrew’s hands to his damaged skin and asked Andrew to believe in him. Somehow Wymack had seen right through Neil’s crushing guilt and Andrew’s grudging trust.

Well, if I saw two idiots that have been radiating tension all semester anyways suddenly fumbling under each other’s shirts, I would get suspicious too.

             “How did he see it when Aaron and Nicky still can’t?”

             “Coach doesn’t care for rumours and bias,” Andrew said. “He sees what is, not what people want him to see.”

Which is the reason why David Fucking Hufflepuff Dad Wymack is the best damn character in this series, no questions asked, no other opinions accepted. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

I need more Wymack love in this fandom always.

In related news, though – apparently the upperclassmen are betting on Neil’s sexuality, which is just about the best thing ever. Also, heck yeah, I called it.

Apparently, they’re split down the middle. In my book, this means Matt and Allison betting on Gay Neil, while Dan and Renee bet on Straight Neil.

(You’d think Renee would bet on Gay Neil since she’s subject to Andreil Pining every practice break, but nope – you can’t tell me Allison Reynolds, Lipstick Bisexual and Bad Bitch Extraordinaire doesn’t have her gaydar on lock.

I rest my case.)

             “It’s a waste of time and money. They’ll all lose. I’ve said all year I don’t swing and I meant it. Kissing you doesn’t make me look at any of them differently. The only one I’m interested in is you.”

I’mma go fling myself into the fucking sun.

Brutally Honest About His Feelings Josten is a very, very good Josten.

Also, someone finally teach this boy the definition of demisexual, please.

             “Don’t say stupid things.”

             “Stop me,” Neil returned. He buried his hands in Andrew’s hair and tugged him in for a kiss.

Happy to report the gays are back at it again.

Nothing like some fun backseat fondling before a big game, because sooner than thought they’ve arrived at Binghamton and their asses are in for a fun game of Orange Spotsball.

Did I say fun? I mean fucking stressful.

Almost-cards left and right, balls thrown in unholy places, all remaining chill has fucking evaporated.

But as always, when Sportsball Times get tough, there is one thing we can count on:

Andrew’s willingness to do kind of everything if Neil asks nicely.

             “I’m asking you to help us,” Neil said. “Will you?”

             Andrew considered it for a moment. “Not for free.”

             “Anything,” Neil promised, and stepped back to take his place in line again.

             Neil didn’t exactly know what he’d gotten himself into, but he honestly didn’t care, because Andrew delivered exactly what Neil wanted him to.

Which, in this case, means trashtalking every opposite player that comes close to his goal and fiercely fending off Exy balls as if they’re straight thoughts.

HEEEELL YEAH.

Also, I’m totally sure this promise won’t come back to haunt us ever again.

With Andrew kicking some major Bearcat butt in the back and Neil and Kevin fucking shit up in the front as per usual, the Foxes reign home a glorious close win! Celebration all around!

Girl dancing gif

And I’m sure there is exactly nothing at all that can go wrong now.

             Neil was halfway to the door when his phone hummed (…) He didn’t recognize the phone number, but he didn’t have to. He knew that 443 area code.

             Baltimore was calling.

Well, tits.

             “Hello?”

             “Hello, Junior. Do you remember me?”

             Neil’s heart lurched to a sick halt. (…) It was Lola Malcolm, one of his father’s closest people.

LOLA.

I’ve heard that name before. I swear to fuck I’ve heard that name before. Was she mentioned already? Did I just read it somewhere on tumblr? Whatever it is, I know that she’s not fucking fun.

We’re in deep, deep shit, people.

             “Are you listening? It is time to go. If you make this difficult for us, you will regret it for the rest of your very short life.”

Hell fucking no, lady. You can take that dramatic ass attitude and stick it right up your ugly butt.

Neil agrees with me:

             Fast on the heels of fright was an irrational and wild anger. He was halfway of winning Andrew’s trust, a weekend  from his first vacation, and one month from semi-finals. There were only four matches left in championships. Neil was so close to everything he wanted and Lola was here to steal it away.

             “Put a hand on me and you’ll regret it,” Neil said.

HELL YEAH.

Fuck this, fuck all of it, she is not getting us this easily.

We came so close, so close, and we are not here to have this taken away.

             “[Your father] is in Baltimore,” she corrected him. “His parole hearing was on your birthday. (…) We can’t kill [the Foxes], but we can hurt them. You’ll see.” (…)

             Jackson Plank was in the locker room with his team. A second later Romero Malcolm stepped into view in a similar [security guard] getup.

… Maybe we are here to have this taken away.

Hey, remember how literally a few pages earlier Neil said he wouldn’t save the Foxes, only himself, in an apocalypse scenario?

I’d like to call heartfelt bullshit on that.

             The five feet between Neil and his team could have been five thousand miles.  Looking at them all, Neil was as sad as he was proud. (…) He was sorry to leave them with all of his lies, sorry they’d have to get the truth from Kevin after the fact. They were all right here with him still but he missed them with a ferocity that threatened to turn him inside-out.

Also known as: The moment literal tears started to form in the corners of my eyes.

I say “omg I’m crying” a lot, but I very rarely shed actual tears. This was a moment that came close.

The last moment Neil gets to look at his team before being literally kidnapped, the moment he loves them more than ever, ever before, and they all have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen.

And it gets worse.

             Only Andrew saw the strain in Neil’s mask. (…)

             “Thank you,” Neil finally said. He couldn’t say he meant thanks for all of it: the keys, the trust, the honesty, and the kisses. Hopefully Andrew would figure it out eventually. “You were amazing.”

I’m so emotional. I’m so, so goddamn emotional. I can’t handle this.

I feel like this is as close to a love confession as we’re ever gonna get, and I’m not handling anything right now.

Deep breaths, Nicki. Deep breaths.

(Disclaimer: I’m not actually expecting Neil to die in Baltimore. I know this book has five more chapters and I know Nora is not killing off her protagonist, come on. But I am expecting some awful, awful shit to go down, like “way worse than the Raven’s Nest” shit, like “changes the game forever” shit, like just some majorly fucked up shit that I am very much not here for. And so let me treasure those last moments – not because we won’t come back, but because we won’t come back the same way we’re leaving right now.)

And with that, we’re off – kidnapped away in a whirlwind of fan riots outside, handcuffed and chained to the inside of a car, zooming along the highway off to god knows where, and now comes the moment where I understood why y’all were warning me about this chapter.

Aside from beginning to cut up his fucking hand as soon as they get in the car (really, what the fuck is it with this mob and knives), Lola has certain opinions about Neil’s facial tramp stamp.

             “I can’t take you before your father with such a stain on your face. Rome?” (…)

             Soon enough the dashboard cigarette lighter popped free of its lock with a metallic cling.

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK.

And with that – the bitch burns Neil’s tattoo off.

SHE BURNS.

NEIL’S.

TATTOO.

OFF.

And not enough with that, she also presses her knife into his other cheek so he can’t draw back without literally cutting himself open.

What the absolute everloving shit. I literally sat shellshocked for a good ten seconds that that.

But oh, my friends, it gets worse – because apparently they also gotta question Neil about the whereabouts of his dear mom, and “she’s dead” of course isn’t a satisfying answer.

And when they’re done with his mom, they move on to questions about the Foxes.

And when they’re done with his face, they move on to his arms.

I will never, never be able to look at a car cigarette lighter the same way again.

             He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to feel this, so he thought about thr Foxes instead. He clung tight to the memory of their unhesitating friendship and their smiles. (…) The memories made him weak with grief and loss, but they made him stronger, too. He’d come to the Foxhole Court every inch a lie, but his friends made him into someone real.

More wet eyes. Such wet fucking eyes over here right now.

I’M NOT HANDLING THIS.

STOP IT.

             He’d hit the end of his rope before he wanted to and he hadn’t accomplished everything he’d hoped to this year, but he had done more with his life than he’d ever thought possible. That had to be enough. He traced the outline of a key into his bloody, burnt palm with a shaky finger, closed his eyes, and wished Neil Josten goodbye.

Oh my god.

             Nathaniel Wesninski let the last few miles fly by unnoticed.

OH MY GOD.

This is both super painful and super genius and I am FUCKING SHOOK.

STRONG YELLING, YOU GUYS.

             The worst injuries were the ones on his face, but the mess Lola made of his hands was the most inconvenient. It’d be hard to fight back when even the slightest twitch of his fingers made his hands ache.

Oh yeah, also by now we’re back to being Human Punching Bag Neil Josten.

Well. It’s rather Human Punching Bag Nathaniel Wesninski now, right?

             Nathaniel closed his eyes against the pitch black that threatened to swallow him whole. Lola smiled against his cheek and bit at his burns.

Y’all for real what the fuck is wrong with this woman.

Petition for her to decease right this very second, thank you.

And after that, Lola chloroforms him and drags him into to the house of his father, a literal Abusive People-Butchering Mob Head.

You guys. You guys. We’re in completely new uncharted waters now, and I have no idea what the hell is about to happen.

I both don’t want this to continue and really, really can’t fucking wait for this to continue.

If you like what I do here and you want to help me through the heartbreak of this chapter, why not buy me a coffee? Every lil bit helps, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!

#tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil #tkm #the king's men #nicki reads tfc #TWO UPDATES IN THREE DAYS #AREN'T YALL IN LUCK #don't get used to it this is me boosting ahead bc I'll be busy out of my head till next week aha ha ha #hope you like!!! #come cry in my inbox if ya wanna

[feynites]

I was gonna do some Des x Dirthamen Concert AU smut but the actual smut was refusing to happen, so... idk have a thing?

*flings @selenelavellan*

It is a weekend not long into their new dating dynamic, when Des rings Dirthamen up at the apartment.

“Hey, this is a booty call!” Des says, which is confusing because it takes Dirthamen a moment to recognize his voice through the intercom. For an awkward half a moment he finds himself thinking `I did not order a booty` and wondering if this person hit the wrong number. “Anyone up there interested in fooling around?”

Dirthamen takes a moment, both to register the voice and deduce who it is, and then again to consider the proposition. Fear and Deceit are both out, so he does not have to confer with them. They are doing an interview, which Dirthamen himself politely declined in deference to his family’s wishes for a minimum of such things, and will be gone for at least another hour.

Unless things go disastrously wrong and they storm out. But that is not a likely eventuality.

“Hellooo?” Des calls, and he realizes he has possibly been silent for too long.

“Fear and Deceit are out,” he says. “But I would not object to ‘fooling around’ with you.”

“Score! Buzz me up,” Des requests.

Dirthamen does, and then goes and unlocks the apartment door as well. That is against Fear’s guidelines, to unlock the door before he has verified his guest`s identity. But sometimes, when Fear is not around, Dirthamen does not bother with all of their precautions. He is fairly certain, now, that this is Des, and Des is permitted to visit. So is Selene, though she has not yet come by of her own volition.

It does not Des very long at all to make it up to the apartment. Faster than the elevator typically moves. Dirthamen lets him in, and locks the door behind him again, and has not even started to fully turn towards the other man before he feels hands on himself. Des pushes him up against the wall near the entryway, untucking Dirthamen’s button-down shirt and pressing an insistent kiss to his lips.

Des is not shy about sex.

Dirthamen takes a moment to contemplate whether or not he minds, and decides that he does not. He settles his arms around the other man’s shoulders and returns his kiss, somewhat more sedately, but with interest. Des slants his mouth and buries his fingers in Dirthamen’s hair, pressing flush to him in unabashed thirst for more kisses. When he finally pulls back, Dirthamen’s mouth is tingling, and Des’ lips are flushed; and so are his cheeks, for that matter.

“Hello,” Dirthamen says, politely, when he has the breath for it.

“Hi,” Des replies, leaning in so that their lips are almost pressed together again. “Fuck me,” he suggests. Or requests, perhaps.

…He can do that, he thinks. Probably. They will have to use some of the things in Fear’s emergency supply cupboard (the one for sex, not the one for injuries), but then, that is why it is stocked, really.

Assuming Des means that he would like penetrative sex, of course. Dirthamen is not entirely certain. Terminology can be ambiguous.

“How would you like to be fucked?” he checks.

Des laughs, and kisses him again instead of answering. They can probably just keep doing this for a while, too, Dirthamen does not mind. Though eventually the wall is going to become uncomfortable. Not immediately, though, and Des’ hands and mouth are providing ample distraction, enough so that Dirthamen is beginning to feel somehow underprepared for this encounter. At least until Des pulls back again, and takes him determinedly by the arm instead.

“I really, really just want to get very, very fucked right now. Pinned to a mattress or riding hard or bent over a coffee table, I don’t care just so long as it’s fucking,” he says, with a grin. “You know?”

Does he know?

…Possibly? He is not certain he has ever quite managed to feel the desire with an intensity that would bring him across town solely to solicit it, but then again, not everyone is as inclined to simply sit back and appreciate their urges in and of themselves. Des is very action-prone. It makes sense that his reactions to the same impulses would be different.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation, and then gives the coffee table a dubious look. It is a fashionable piece, but unlikely to stand up to rigorous pressures.

“The bedroom, then?” he suggests. “I should get some things…”

Des reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his wallet. From the wallet, he removes a packet of condoms.

Helpful, Dirthamen thinks, but also insufficient. He heads determinedly for the second bathroom, and the emergency supply cupboard next to the medicine cabinet. Des follows, or rather, leans against him and persistently kisses his neck and tugs at his shirt, and undoes several buttons in the process.

“Why do you have so many buttons?” he complains.

“Professionalism,” Dirthamen explains.

Des huffs.

“But you’re home alone,” he protests. This is a familiar complaint, Deceit is similarly baffled by Dirthamen and Fear’s tendency to wear clothes often.

“I had a meeting this morning.”

“How long ago? Because let me tell you when I get home there is no chance of keeping my work clothes on me,” Des says. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty overdressed myself right now…”

Des is only in a t-shirt and jeans, Dirthamen thinks, and so the concept that this qualifies as ‘over-dressed’ seems more than a little absurd. Before he can reply, however, Des has taken off his shirt, leaving him only in the jeans. His chest is very nice. And his waist, the skin there is softer than it looks. Dirthamen reminds himself to focus, and finds what they need, before Des can pull him insistently back out of the bathroom again.

They lose more clothes on the way to the bedroom. Dirthamen’s shirt is unbuttoned and his belt is removed with a flourish. Des steps out of his own pants, and Dirthamen is honestly a little surprised to see that he is wearing underwear. That was not the case, last time. But perhaps it is a variable standard. Possibly dependent on laundry days, or similar.

He discards his shirt at last, and pauses to pull off his socks. Des nearly unbalances him in an effort to steal more kisses.

“I am not very fast,” Dirthamen says, apologetically.

Des blinks at him.

“Oh, I’m not rushing you,” he replies. “Or, I don’t mean to. I just really like touching you.”

Ah.

Well, that is alright, then.

Communication is important in bedroom environments. So is reassurance, and compliments can often be invaluable, too. So Dirthamen recalls, as the two of them become a tangle of limbs on the bed. Tugging at the remaining clothes, and rolling around as Des cannot seem to decide which position he likes best, while Dirthamen finds all of them to be quite sufficient.

Partway through kissing his neck, Des pauses, and leans back.

“I’m not bowling you over, am I?” he checks.

Dirthamen shakes his head. And then, recollecting the thought that had occurred to him before, he takes a moment to frame Des’ face with his hands. Leaning in, he kisses the other man more slowly and deliberately.

“I like you,” he says.

Des snorts.

But he blushes, too.

“Good to know,” he replies, and they return to more fervent pursuits.

#dirthalene #concert au #des #dirthamen #des x dirthamen #dirthamen likes u des #sometimes he is politely puzzled by u #the gelling is not quite as easy as it is with some other ppl #but he thinks ur neat

[jstar97]

Writing Prompt: You’d never believe me

So I got the writing prompt “You’d never believe me,” from @somethingmoreclever (thanks btw and hope you like it) and this story came out of it but I’ve been kind of chicken to post it. So, here it is. And if you have a *cough* helpful *cough* or *cough* constructive *cough cough* critique or want to say something positive, then please go ahead. Also, anyone who has sent me a prompt, I’m working on it and thanks :)

________________________________________________________________

I'm passed out on my bed, sleeping on top of papers, books, and pens when I feel something large and soft slap me in the face. A pillow. My roommate, more dreaming than awake, mutters, "Eggs."

I whine, "Why me?"

"Because my paper's due at 12 P.M. and you're free today."

Figures. As I push myself out of bed, crumpling color-coded notes and over-priced textbooks in the process, I grumble, "Never telling you my schedule again."

I grab my wallet, walk out the door and down eight flights of stairs, past the front desk to the bus stop. The driver today is Lena. All smiles, she asks, "Trouble getting up, Sunshine?"

"Huh? How'd you guess?"

"First of all, you don't usually take the bus on Fridays and second…well, you didn't look at yourself this morning, did ya?"

She hands me her compact and points to the chair behind hers. It's only then I realize why I got so many funny looks at the stop. My hair is in knots and tangles and there's a white strip of dried drool  running down the corner of my mouth. Plus, I was still wearing my Pikachu onesie and matching slippers. You know, the ones that go "Pika, pika," if you stomp your feet. After handing back the mirror, I check my breath. Crap, forgot to brush my teeth. It was a mistake to eat everything-on-it pizza with extra garlic sauce last night. Pulling the hoodie up, I slouch and cross my arms.

Finally, my stop. I race out of the bus, jumping through the sliding doors and over wet floor signs until I'm at the back of the grocery store. "Ha," I groggily laugh, "Eggs in the Dairy Section."

There's cheese, butter, margarine. But no eggs. Not even those expensive free-range ones.

A stock clerk is shelving out butter where the eggs should be. "Um, excuse me -" He turns and smirks. "Dude, Comic Con was last week."

"Haha, you're hilarious."

"Ooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Whatcha do, get stuffed in a Pokeball?"

"Look, you wanna help or should I call the manager? I need eggs, man, so I can hibernate till Monday."

"We don't have any."

"Really? A grocery store that doesn't have one carton of eggs at 9 A.M.? Not even in the back?"

"Nope."

"I'm just gonna check with the manager -"

"No!" He yells abruptly. "I mean, did you say eggs? I thought you said pegs -"

"Because it makes perfect sense that I ask for pegs while standing in the Dairy Section -"

"Come with me." We walk to the "Employees Only" door.

"Um, I'm not supposed go in there."

"I'll let them know you're with me." I want to go back to bed as soon as possible so I go in.

We went in. It was pitch black. "Hey, where's the - ?"

Next thing you know, I'm pushed into a giant cell and fall on something soft. Someone turns on a light switch. It looks like most of the employees are here.

"Hey, how'd you get into this?" Sam, who's usually at the cash register, asks. From the coffee in his hand, I could tell that he must have got caught up in this when he came here for his break.

"Eggs."

I look down and realize that the soft something was actually a very annoyed someone. Nina, to be exact. We're both in Linear Algebra.

"Do you mind getting off of me?"

"Oops, sorry."

After we get up, she asks, "You've been coming here for two years and it didn't occur to you once that he's new?"

By 'he', she means the jerk who brought me here. He looks the same, mostly. I mean he's still wearing the uniform and that sarcastic smile.

But his skin is now purple and his eyes are blood-red.

"Huh, that's new. Am I on one of those hidden camera shows?" My fellow prisoners shake their heads. "Back to your question, Nina, am I supposed to memorize everyone's name? By the way, hi Bob, Larry, Leia, John, Sharon, Aaron and Phoebe. Oh, and Phil's in the back? Hi Phil! We're still on for chess next Tuesday, right?"

"Yup. Nice onesie by the way!"

Nina raises her eyebrows. "Okay, fine, I know everyone's names. Sue me. But how was I supposed to know you guys didn't hire someone new?"

I turn back to our captor. "Hey, Purple-Face - nope, that would be rude. Do you have a name? I mean, I was kinda crabby earlier and I'm really trying to -"

"For Pete's sake, he locked us in a cell!"

"I am Autoraun 319, an android from the planet you Earthlings call '55 Cancri e'. My model is the most advanced of its kind. I can change appearance, am virtually indestructible, can display over 4250 different emotions, and can process information at lightning speed, allowing me to assimilate with the surrounding population. I also can fly and have an arsenal of weaponry at my disposal. Since I am so powerful, only one of me was need for my important mission."

"And that is?"

"Collecting a rare but powerful nutrition source for the people of my planet -"

"Human brains?!?" Sam panics, dropping some of his coffee on my slippers.

Autoraun rolls his - its - eyes. "Human brains are neither rare nor nutritious. I'm talking about chicken eggs."

We all burst out laughing.

"I'm telling ya, this has gotta be a hidden camera show!"

"I've never heard of anything stupider in my life!"

"What's next? You'll want to steal our milk and cookies too?"

After a minute or so, when the android's glowering intensifies, we realize that he may have laser eyes and stop immediately.

"So," I start, "Why not just take chickens? That way you'll have a constant source of this source."

"You mean those tiny feathered monsters? Are you out of your mind? When they had been plentiful, they destroyed wiring, tore up the ground, and dodged laser blasters at breakneck speed. Plus, they defy all semblance of logic so we disintegrate them. Unfortunately, in our zeal, we forgot to keep a few for egg production."

Nina is furious. "Are you telling me I'm stuck in a crate instead of working my minimum wage job because your idiot overlords can't handle a couple of chickens?!?"

The android nods.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to collect all of these eggs. And when I get back, I'll - "

"Eliminate us?!?" Sam and his paranoia.

"No. We're civilized. I'll just wipe your brains. There's a fifty percent chance that you'll lose your minds in the process but surely your doctors have the facilities to bring it back to order."

"Ha!" Nina shoots back, "Not with our healthcare. And you said you did your research."

The android leaves.

"Okay," I start, "So what kind of cage are we in?"

"Steel, with an electronic lock." Sharon observes, "Not a very good one too, since the back of the control panel is easy to reach from my side. These aliens really underestimate us." I squeeze by Leia, Larry, and Aaron to see that back's screwed in. "If only we had a - " As I reach into my pockets, I feel a bunch of miscellaneous objects.  I pull out some soft caramels, half of a chocolate bar, an assortment of screws, and a Phillip's head screwdriver. "Perfect!"

Everyone turns to me. "I'm an ME, remember? And onesies are great for late night projects…and I get hungry."

Unscrewing the back reveals intricate wiring. "So, what now, ME?" Sam asks, sipping his cold coffee.

"Uh, I don't know. An EE would be better for this but honestly, I don't even think they would have a clue. Different planet, different wiring systems and designs - but similar problems! Can I have your coffee?" Sam hands it over to me. "Stand back! If this works, there'll be sparks everywhere. If it doesn't work, the aliens have perfected waterproofing electrical components, so good on them."

"If they're still afraid of bringing in chickens because of how much damage they've caused than I doubt that they've made any huge advancements."

"Okay, here goes!" And I quickly throw the coffee onto the circuit board and try to get as far as possible.

Good news, it worked! We hear a click and race out of there.

Bad news, the cage isn't that big. As we all run out, I realize that my onesie, part of my hair, and slippers are on fire! As I stop, drop, and roll on the hard concrete ground, Nina gets the fire extinguisher and sprays me.

"Thanks," I say as Nina and Sam help me up. "Now, let's get that android."

___________________________________________________________________________________

We know why Autoraun left George - the manager - alone. It wants to know the different times of the eggs were coming in and could masquerade like all of us. No one would be the wiser. We sneak around, looking for the android (and creeping out shoppers in the process) when we spot Autoraun. It looks like the jerk in the dairy isle and was at the cashier with a customer. As soon as she leaves, George takes it aside.

(Side note: Do I call Autoraun "him" or "it"? I mean, I know Autoraun's an android who doesn't have a gender as far as I know - that's a complicated talk in the immerging world of Artificial Intelligence - and Autoraun did lock us in a cage but 'it' sounds so rude. I'm going back to 'he'.)

Anyway George takes him aside. "Between the customers fleeing like rats off the Titanic and most of my employees AWOL, it's nice to see a dedicated young individual like yourself. Tell me, son, what's your name?"

"Otto, sir." He replies demurely. Seems like his sass left the motherboard.

"Now Otto, you wanted to see me."

"Yes, sir. I was wondering if you can tell me when the next shipment of eggs was coming in. We're all out."

George's eyebrows go up. "We just had a huge shipment this morning. Is there an omelet cook-off that I didn't here about because I make a mean Western -"

"No sir," Autoraun interrupts. "I guess people are just valuing their nutritional value."

"Huh, must have been something on the news. People these days, with all their crazy fades and doodads. In my day, we just relied on good old exercise and clean living -"

"This is all really fascinating but there are customers to help. When will the next eggs get here?"

"Oh, at 11. But let's go in the back. There have got to be some eggs around."

"I've already checked."

"The back can be a confusing place, especially when you're new. Let's check it out."

Autoraun cracks his knuckles. George enthusiastically does the same. "Oh, it's so nice to meet a fellow knuckle cracker. You know, people used to say it knuckle cracking causes arthritis but my doctor friend says that's not true…"

As George rambles on, I notice tiny sparks at the tips of his fingers. "He'll zap George!" I whisper, "Quick, get him!"

Nina, Bob, and Sam pull George away just as he was about to strike. Simultaneously, Aaron and Leia grab him by the arms and Larry and Sharon grab his legs and push him to the ground. Autoraun is so shocked that his purple skin and red eyes come back. He recovers quickly and throws them off. Not knowing what else to do, I pull out my screwdriver and grab his neck from the back. He tries to shake me off,  knocking me against various shelves and counters in the process.

"Th-is mus-ust b-e ho-w a- bul-lrid-ddd-er fe-els!"

"There are more ways than one to get rid of a pest!" The android's exoskeleton starts heating up, burning off more of the polyester from my onesie and the arm wrapped around his neck. I grit my teeth when I notice a small section on the base of his head with one screw keeping it in place.

"He-e-eelp! P-i-in hi-m do-wn!"

"Don't you mean 'it'?"

"Sam, really? Let's get in there! One…two…three…go!" Sam and Nina pin him to the ground long enough for me to unscrew the cover. He throws us all off.

"Quick, it's open! Get water, cola, anything liquid!" Phil directs. All around Autoraun, employees open up various bottles and unleash their wet, mostly artificially colored vengeance. Autoraun sputters and smokes before bursting into flames. Nina is again handy with a fire extinguisher.

We cheer as though we just survived Armeggedon.

"We did it!"

"We defeated an alien - "

"Android! But it's from space so technically an alien android!"

"We saved the world - from a shortage of eggs, maybe, but we still saved the world!"

George cut into our celebration. "COULD SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"

Nina explained. After five minutes of silence, George asked, "So what should we do now?"

I answered, "Probably get the government to look into this. But that's your problem, not mine." I check the wall clock, "It's egg-actly 11 A.M. Can I have two dozen?"

George gets a text on his phone and goes to the back. A few minutes later, he brings back a box of those fancy cage-free, Eggland's best stuff. "This is kinda expensive. Have anything cheaper?"

"It's on the house."

"I can't -"

"Come on, you helped save my workers and my eggs. It's literally the least I could do. Is there anything else you want?"

"A pic with the android - crap, I left my phone at home. Could someone take one for me?"

Phil raises his hand. "I'll do it. Chess match still on?"

"Chess match still on."

Before I left, George stops me. "Hey, can you keep this between us? I don't wanna be in more trouble than I already am. Who'd come to a store with killer androids?"

"A lot of college students, actually. But I promise, what happens in the grocery store, stays in the grocery store. Thanks for the eggs!"

I grab the bus back (getting even more stares than I did this morning) and walk up eight flights of stairs. When I open the door, I see my roommate on her bed surfing the web.

"Where were you? I finished my paper an hour ago -"

She looks up, eyes widening. "What the heck happened to you?" At this point, my onesie, slippers and hair are singed and wet and I smell like coffee and burnt flesh.

I hand her the carton of eggs before going to the bathroom to clean my arm.

"Well, what happened?" She asks again.

I grit my teeth and I wash and sanitize the wound. After wrapping it in gauze, I lift my head, pull up my hoodie, and burst out laughing at the sight of my reflection.

"You'd never believe me."