#putting a bandaid on a fuckin severed leg is what it is

[sergle]

When I talk about something bad I've experienced, Baked In to my experience as A Woman, I am not "making my little cousins feel like shit for being women", because I am talking in a space with, allegedly, adults. I am not bringing my problems to children in the first place. That said, I don't HAVE to make my baby cousin feel bad, because she's already experienced sexual harassment in her life, and she's only 8, and doesn't even understand what any of it means yet. And everyone in her family can try to instill confidence in her, and never talk about our bodies in a negative way. But she can still feel like she's too chubby, because she still goes to school, and talks to other kids and their parents, and still sees ads, and still watches tv. We can be positive, but we can't fix the root of the problem. And I don't HAVE to tell trans women that "pain is a rite of passage", because that's not a Rule being enforced (by me), because I've already sat and listened to my friend complain about constantly shaving as a Baseline necessity and how it hurts her skin and she has to put makeup onto fresh cuts on her face because going out without a full face of properly feminine makeup would make her life worse, and being anything less than thin and lithe makes her "less feminine", and ALL the things that can make her "more feminine" are behind a paywall. And I can try to make her feel better, and I can hear her experiencing the tenfold version of problems I relate to, but I can't fix the root cause of her problems by just telling her not to complain. Forcing happiness as a core personality trait for women is not the Girlboss Feminist move that you think it is, and no amount of gender euphoria in the world will make you immune to systemic oppression.

#sergle.txt #you cunts learned the term 'toxic positivity' years ago and forgot it instantly #putting a bandaid on a fuckin severed leg is what it is #do i wish i wasn't a woman? no #do i feel pretty in a dress? yes #have i suffered? OH MY GOD YES #do i think any woman alive today has lived without suffering in these ways? NO. #unless she is being raised by wolves. in which case. good for her. #again I am still flabbergasted by that post having used trans woman as a last ditch effort scapegoat. #like. shocked. as if ANY trans girl's problems are because other women complain abt the way they're treated. #she's got her own problems bitch!! and they are directly correlated to my problems!! #it's like. it's infantilizing almost. the way the dickheads in that post went from ''kids'' to ''trans women''. #adult women who know how gender works. #condescending.

[comfortbucky]

requests? did someone say requests??😌

fluffy headcanon, mafia boss!bucky comes home after being away for a week or so and it’s just a cute ass reunion between the reader & him with lots of kisses & hugs n shit

or(take your pick) :)

one shot, where john walker is really rude to reader(insults her & shit), but she stands up for herself. they(her & john) get into a fight & bucky finds out by surprisingly swinging by her apartment. of course bucky is pissed, but he tends to her wounds. then for some stupid reason, john shows up at readers apartment & bucky loses it. but it ends in bucky admitting his feelings to reader n some fluff 😩

hope you find motivation for at least one of these:😚

hi yes hehe i did say requests🙈

i’m a sucker for tfatws!bucky so- (and john walker is a rat bastard🤣 so lemme go off)

𝗶 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!avenger!reader

warnings: john walker (grr), violence! and descriptions of bloody injuries

A/N: also! i sort of changed the prompt i hope u don’t mind too much🥺 // this oneshot will not be taking place during the canon timeline btw but inspired by the events/themes of tfatws

word count: 1.5 k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N sighed, as she plopped onto the couch after a long day. She, Bucky, and Sam had spent the whole day researching the Flagsmashers to try and track them down. It took all day, partially because Bucky needed a little extra help with learning how to use his laptop. She chuckled at the memory, grabbing the remote to turn her TV on. Suddenly, a loud, aggressive, knock interrupted her thoughts. She sighed and leaned her head on the back of her couch, taking a moment to debate leaving her very comfortable spot, before getting up to answer the door. Y/N knew that she probably should have peeked through her peephole before answering, but she wanted to return to the comfort of her couch as soon as possible. She opened it to see none other than John Walker, greeting her with a smirk. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing here, John? How the hell did you even get my address?”

“All government property has GPS tracking in it," he said, pointing to her laptop on the kitchen table behind her. She turned and frowned as he continued. "Look, you need us, me and Battlestar, to take down Karli.” She looked back at John, laughing at Lemar’s alias.

“No way I’m letting someone who goes by Battlestar help me out.” He glared at her comment. “Or you, a Captain America wannabe.”

John took an aggressive step closer, way too close for Y/N’s comfort, as he replied. “I am Captain America, whether you like it or not.”

"You'll never be Captain America," she snapped back. "You don't have what it takes." He glared at her and put his face right in front of hers.

"How would you know? You're a pathetic excuse for a soldier," he spat and Y/N grimaced at John's spit landing on her cheeks. He looked at her, his eyes examining her body. She hated every second of it, his stare making her feel grimy all over, like she immediately needed a shower. “Who’d you fuck to get into the Avengers anyways? Bet it was Steve.”

John’s comment was immediately followed by Y/N’s fist connecting with his cheek, forcing him to stagger back into the hall. She’d heard concerns about her abilities as an Avenger before, calling her weak, fragile, a bitch, etc. But she knew they almost always came from misogynistic men, and was able to shrug their comments off because she knew that she could easily beat all of them to a pulp, no problem. But thinking that she would sleep her way into becoming an Avenger crossed a line. Especially someone she respected and had admired as much as Steve.

John held his hand to his cheek, where he’d been hit, and looked up to make eye contact with Y/N. He smiled and before stating in a condescending tone, “That was cute.” John kicked her in the stomach, launching her onto the floor of her apartment. As she groaned and started to get up, John chuckled and kicked her down before she got to her knees. He went to kick her again when she rolled away, dodging his kick and standing up quickly, panting as she responded.

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

She kicked her leg up to deliver a roundhouse kick to John’s face, spinning around to punch his nose. He stumbled a couple steps back, regaining his balance before swinging a punch towards Y/N. She caught his fist before it hit her and John took the opportunity to use his free hand to grab his shoulder and knee her in the stomach. She gasped, getting the wind knocked out of her. He then threw her into a shelf, shattering several photo frames on the ground. She landed on her stomach, attempting to get up by pushing her self up on her forearms. Y/N felt a warm liquid on her cheek and touched it, pulling it away from her face to see her fingertips covered in blood.

“Asshole,” she mumbled, before standing up to continue fighting.

Several moments ago, Bucky had made the decision to show up at Y/N’s apartment. He pressed some random keys on his computer, and now there was an error message that wouldn’t go away on his screen. Stubbornly, he tried to fix it on his own but ended up making it worse. He sighed in defeat, closing his laptop shut and tucking it under his arm before heading over towards her apartment. Bucky was just down the hall when he heard the sound of glass shattering, his leisurely stroll turning into a sprint to Y/N’s door.

Bucky arrived to see you pinned up against a wall with John’s hand around ur throat. Your hands were desperately clawing at John’s, attempting to free yourself from his grasp. Fear and terror consumed him before a wave of fury took over. Immediately, Bucky launched into action, dropping his laptop in the process. He ripped John away from you, tossing him on the ground. Bucky moved to hover over John, punching him repeatedly in the face. Y/N finally caught her breath and crawled over to Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to stop. He kept his eyes on John’s bloody and bruised face, lowering his fist.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled, releasing John from his grasp.

John rolled over, took a moment to catch his breath. Bucky was standing, fists still clenched by his sides, as he watched John get up and exit Y/N’s apartment without another word.

He closed the door behind him and immediately spun around to see Y/N struggling to get up, attempting to push up from one of her knees. Bucky instantly rushed to her side, helping her to her feet. He grabbed one of her hands in his own and placed his other hand on the small of her back, as he guided her to the couch. He examined her and felt a pain in his chest, looking at her black eye, cut cheek, and her bruised neck outlined with John’s handprint. Without saying a word, he stood up and returned with a first-aid kit from her bathroom. He sat back down and immediately started to tend to her wounds. As Bucky started to disinfect the cut on her cheek, he spoke.

“That was stupid of you,” he mumbled, gently dabbing antiseptic ointment on her cut. It was a drastic contrast from his behavior only minutes ago, nearly ready to murder John. He took a bandaid from the kit and delicately placed it on her cheek. Bucky then moved his hand to assess her black eye, his thumb softly grazing a soft patch of skin under her eye. She frowned and lightly pushed his hand away.

“I would’ve been fine on my own, you know.”

“Sit still so I can take a look at your bruise.” He responded gruffly, lifting his hand and attempting to look at her bruised eye again. She shoved his hand away, this time more aggressively, and tried to stand up.

“Just leave me alone,” Y/N said, wincing and clutching her abdomen in pain, causing Bucky to grab her waist and slowly lower her back down onto the couch. Fucking John Walker.

“Y/N.”

She pulled his hands off her and reluctantly sat down to face him.

“You don’t need to defend me, Bucky,” she spoke, Bucky sensing anger in her voice. “I’m not some weak, helpless civilian. I’m a god damn Avenger for christ sake!” As Y/N shouted, her voice wavered and her eyes started to well up with tears.

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and Bucky sat with his hands resting on his lap. Although she was speaking to Bucky, she felt like she was more-so trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

“I know,” he said calmly, but with a stern tone, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“Okay, so leave me alone.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not!”

“Because I fuckin’ care about you!” Bucky shouted, causing Y/N’s face to immediately soften.

Her arms dropped to rest in her lap and she froze as Bucky softly raised his hand to cup her cheek, captivated by his touch. He cautiously moved, worried she would push his hand away again, but she didn’t. His thumb gently caressed her non-cut cheek and he pulled her face close to his. She felt his breaths fan her face as he spoke.

“I know you’re one of the strongest Avengers,” he started. “And I know you could kick John’s ass any day of the week. But I care so much about you and I need you to be okay.” Bucky’s lips hovered over Y/N’s, lightly brushing against hers.

“I need you, Y/N.”

She responded by crashing her lips onto his, moving her hands to hold his face closer to hers. The kiss was full of passion, love, and unspoken feelings. When they broke apart, gasping for air, Y/N smiled at him and ran a hand through his hair.

“I care about you too, Buck.”

Bucky had never seen such a bright light in his 106 years of living.

#bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #tfatws!bucky #tfatws #angst #fluff #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x avenger!reader #imagine #oneshot #request! #accepting requests #soft!bucky #soft!bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky x female reader

[angrylizardjacket]

first aid {Vince Neil}

Anon asked: attending to vince’s bruises after the fight from their first gig?

A/N: 1481 words. What is pacing or tension? i don’t know so don’t ask me. i wrote this whole thing at work tho and it was fun. Also probs not what the prompt was asking for but whatever. it is what it is.

You watch it go down, in your best mate’s fucking bar, this bunch of glam rock wannabes fronted by some pretty boy-asshole who you don’t recognize, a bass player who you think you’ve seen before but his name escapes you, a fuckin’ kid by the look of him, and Mick Mars, a veteran of this pub, in and out of different bands every few months, and also someone who should have more sense than to team up with this bunch of hair metal dickheads. Of course, perhaps you were biased against them seeing as they started a brawl instead of playing their damn instruments less than two minutes after getting onstage. Their sound was alright, but their attitude needed work.

“Alright, who got hit?” Your first aid kit was severely lacking, instead of antiseptic you’ve got a bottle of cheap whiskey that could double as paint thinner, and maybe a few bandages, creams, and bandaids. Mick gives you a longsuffering look, but he stayed out of it so you just roll your eyes at him, a gesture he seems to appreciate, given his amused half smile as the other three are all sitting around basking in the afterglow of their first successful performance.

“Me! I did!” The drummer crows the fact with pride, and shows you the bruise on his cheek.

“You’re not bleeding; you’ll live.” You’re already beginning to rue the day you ever got your first aid license, as this is sadly not the first bar brawl you’ve had to do damage control for. The drummer looks a little put out by your blunt dismissal, but you honestly just want to get back to the bar, away from the green room they’re in that always somehow smells like sweat and sex, no matter how much you vacuum and scrub.

“You.” You point at the blonde one and he breaks out into a smile, aggravating his split lip though he doesn’t seem to care. “C’mere.” Curling your finger in an unmistakably ‘come here’ gesture, you lead him from the room, out to the better lighting and vaguely better smell of the hallway.

There’s a few moments of silence when you’re dragging a little table over so you can put down the sad little first aid kit and bottle of impromptu antiseptic, and the singer sits on the table without even asking. You give a sigh.

“Enjoy the show?” He’s smug, already a little drunk, and when you finally look to him, his gaze snaps to yours where you’ve just caught him looking you over.

“You weren’t shit,” you concede, and he laughs, loud and sharp, and he leans back on his hands, watching you as you pull out a few tissues and put a bit of the whiskey on them.

“Glowing praise; not a fan of rock?” He doesn’t sound put out but he makes a show of sulking just a little, “maybe you’re in the wrong bar.” And his smile tightens as he bites back a hiss of pain as you gently move back some of the hair by his temple to dab at the cut by his hairline.

“Not a fan of brawls in my bar,” you muse, the anger in your expression dissipating as you focused on your task. He’s quietly amused, watching your expression.

“You’re good at playing nurse,” he teases, and when your gaze meets his you realise how far you’ve leaned in, how close your face is to his. Pretty boy asshole certainly is correct, emphasis on pretty.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” and you don’t mean it to sound as flirty as it does, but he’s laughing and leaning back further anyways, “hey,” you’re frowning again, “get back here.” At least he obligingly moves back into your reach without too much more leaning from you; you still haven’t moved back.

“I’m sure you are,” and he definitely means that as coy as he sounds. His pupils are blown wide and he wets his lips, and something about the way he’s looking at you has your pulse beating just a little faster.

“What’s your name?” You ask, suddenly pulling away and taking a whole step to the side to pointedly rifle through the medical kit, despite the fact you know exactly where the cream and band aids are.

“Vince,” you can hear him grinning, and he’s quick to follow it up with, “and ‘your bar’? Quite a nice little setup you have here, though I didn’t think the owner would do something as menial as path up bar brawl victims,” he snickers.

“My friend’s the owner, but he’s all business,” you admit, finally moving back to him. Without asking, he opens his legs for you to stand between them, shifting closer to the edge of the table. It’s not necessary, but if you’re being honest, the viritol in you had died down and you’re rather enjoying the attention; something about him is just magnetic, no wonder they’ve got him as lead singer. “I’m the personable one.”

“Yeah, clearly,” he’s teasing you again, testing his luck with his hands now on your hips, tipping his head just a little to give you better access to his injury.

“Well usually I’m not dealing with dickheads who start fights in my bar.” You counter, and Vince’s grin widens.

“You’re not helping your case.”

“And yet, I still get the sense that you wanna get into my pants,” you half grin, meeting his cheeky gaze for a half second before putting the band aid over the injury.

“With someone as hot as you I can’t help myself; you could have the personality of an angry goat and I’d still probably be a little interested,” he’s probably too honest, but that somehow endears you more to him.

“Pretty and shallow, what an unsurprising combination.” You tsk with mock disapproval, coming to realise you’re actually enjoying his company the moment you look him over for any other injuries and all you can see is the way he’s smiling at you, almost pleased. You put the cream and band aid wrapper on the table beside him, but don’t step away.

“You want ice for those bruises?” You asked gently, and he pulls you a little closer.

“Does that mean you’ve gotta leave?” He raises an eyebrow at you, already seeming to know he’s won you over.

“Unfortunately.”

“Then I think I’ll survive without it,” and as he’s speaking, you do actually take the moment to look him over one more time, before reaching up, running a thumb over his lower lip, pulling away just before you get to the split there.

“And this one? Anything I can do to help?” You’re so close now, one of your hands braced on his thigh as you lean in unnecessarily closely, though neither of you are complaining. He’s got his hands on your ass now, and you take only the barest moment to think about where you are, who you are, and what you realise you’d like to do to this pretty boy asshole. How’d you even get here? Do you even care?

“In you professional, medical opinion; what’s the diagnosis?” He’s holding back a laugh, holding back himself you can tell. For a long time you hummed, dragging out the moment, your fingers tapping against his thigh.

“I think you’re an idiot whose pride got him punched; it’s incurable.”

“You want us to come back and play here or not?” Vince’s eyebrows shoot up and your own smile stretches into something amused and sharp. Clearly he still thinks he was in the right in that fight, though you’re just against the situation as a whole, if you never see this band again it’s no skin off your nose. You shrug, a little coy, wetting your own lips in anticipation, a gesture which Vince’s eyes follow closely. Maybe he lets the fight go, maybe he just sees something in you he likes, maybe he just stops thinking with his brain and starts thinking with his dick, because then he’s kissing you, crushing his lips to yours. He tastes like blood and booze and tobacco and he’s insistent, almost hungry as he pulls you in, hops off the table and into your space, still thrumming with energy from the show. He doesn’t waste time, tugging your shirt from where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“I’m not fucking you in this hallway,” you pull away, but the moment you do he’s kissing down your jaw.

“Spoil sport.” He mutters against your skin, a little breathless, and you lace your fingers through his hair, tugging his head back up so he could look you in the eyes.

“I work here; what good’s a staff bathroom if I can’t use it once in a while?” You smirk, and he laughs, stepping away from you for just a moment.

“You drive a hard bargain, lead the way.”

#vince neil #vince neil imagine #vince neil x reader #the dirt #motley crue #motley crue imagine #mick mars #the angry lizard writes #the dirt imagine

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Upside Down

Summary: You don't know much about Sweet Pea, except for what you hear in the hallways around school. You pass him on your way to and from classes and you've perhaps brushed his arm a hand full of times. You don't know him and he doesn't know you.

That is until you save his baby sister from the Ghoulies all while simultaneously getting involved in a world you want nothing to do with and events you would rather stay out of.

Too bad the Ghoulies have other ideas...

Part 2

Chapter 1: Girl Meets Instinct

You know more about the Ghoulies than you would like, and less than you should. Growing up on the Southside you learn to stay out of everyone’s way, regardless of the tattoo that adorns their body, but the Ghoulies have no honor. Not that you didn’t already know that when you came upon a scene fresh out of a bad teenage movie. A girl around maybe 10 or 11 with a once bright purple backpack, now dulled with use and age and leggings torn at the knee is being circled and taunted by 3 Ghoulies. Her black hair was knotted and fell down past her shoulder obscuring her face almost like a shield against the boys harassing her. She’s hunched forward in fear as she tries in vain to hide herself from the guys circling her.

You roll down your window in just enough time to hear something about a “little snake.”

“Hey!” you yell out the window affronted by teens easily a foot taller than the girl they are picking on. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Now you aren’t one to get caught up with the Ghoulies or the Serpents, their war was their own and you were happy to have no part of it. However, no way are you letting a kid get tangled up in the crossfire. That was Southside law, kids were left alone by gangs period.

Your outburst catches the attention of the sleazy guys and the girl’s head snaps up to meet your eyes. You can see the unshed tears of fear from here and whatever maternal instinct that lays dormant in females until needed awakens with a roar. Before you even have a moment to think about what you are doing, you are out of your beat up car and in the face of the first one you come to.

“What’s your problem?!” the guy yells, he’s missing a couple of teeth and his hair is greasy like he hasn’t had a shower in a couple of days.

“You’re my problem!” you practically spit at him, “She’s just a kid!”

“That’s none of your fuckin business,” he spits back.

“It is now,” you say with a deadly calm.

You turn towards the girl and hold your hand out to her, a clear indication she should come with you. She starts toward you when the guy turns and gets in her way the other two closing in behind her. You aren’t sure what possessed you to do it. You know it isn’t a good idea, and yet it’s pretty brilliant all the same. The Ghoulie hits the ground as you kick the back of his knee making his legs buckle and then you push him the rest of the way to the ground. The other two look up in shock obviously not thinking you would do anything.

The girl scurries over to you and you yell for her to get in the car and lock the door. Before you can fully enter the car a hand is in your hair gripping hard and pulling you away from the haven of locked doors and a clean getaway. Your back hits the pavement and suddenly three guys are standing over you leering down at your prone form.

Fear grips your heart and you can feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“Hey!” Screeches the girl as something clatters to the ground next to you. You look over and see the baseball bat from your car for instances such as this. You don’t even think about it as you snatch it off the ground and swing it towards the first guy you see. You hear a sickening crunch and a yell as he goes down.

The click of a switchblade it way too familiar as you look at the two that aren’t howling in pain on the ground. One tries to grab your leg but you kick out as you flail the bat around tring to get a hit on the other one. When your foot connects with a groin and he doubles over in pain you take the hit with no regrets. Swinging the bat down and  hitting him in the head hard enough to send him down, but not hard enough to do damage. Finally able to make it to your feet you stare the last one down.

“You’re gonna pay for this bitch!” he snarls as he turns and runs off leaving other two guys behind.

You turn and jump in the car as the sound of sirens in the distance grow louder. Your breathing is labored as you speed away and it takes several minutes for your heart to stop pounding and the reality of what you had just done to sink in.

Fifteen minutes down the road you come to a run down McDonalds and you park in the parking lot just breathing in order to calm your racing heart. That is until a voice speaks up from the back seat.

“THAT. was the COOLEST. THING. I have EVER seen!!!” She ends the sentence with a high pitched squeal of amazement and admiration.

You just nod in confusion “Ummm… if you say so?”

“No seriously! You could be a Serpent!”

“Let’s not get carried away…” you reason calmly, “I was just trying to get us both out of that situation unharmed…” Glancing down at your arms you notice a couple of bleeding cuts, no doubt from the knife. You watch for a moment as blood drips from your arms down to your pants soaking into your jeans and making you groan in annoyance.

“Relatively… unharmed…” you say with a sigh as you finally feel the sting on your skin. You reach over and pull a wad of napkins out of your glovebox to stall the bleeding while you assess the situation.

“So… What happened?” you ask catching her big brown eyes in the rearview mirror as you dab at your arms.

“My big brother didn’t show up to pick me up from school. I decided I would try to walk home even though he’s told me to never do that… I thought it would be okay! I didn’t think anyone would bother me… I was hoping he was just at home and had just… forgot me…” She ends with a worried whisper.

“Does he often forget you?” you ask softly dreading the answer regardless of what it is.

“Never.” She says with a steely conviction that is barely familiar. You’ve seen it before in the eyes of someone from some memory in your life. You don’t dwell too much on it, there are more important things at hand to deal with.

“Okay,” you say with a nod, “we’ll just have to find him then. Can you tell me where he usually is at this time?”

She just nods and says brightly, “The Whyte Wyrm!”

You just blink with understanding, “Well that explains it…” you murmur as you go to start your car and back up.

“Explains what?” She asks innocently.

“Where your brother is…” You say calmly as you back out of the parking space and pull out onto the road.

“You know where he is! Where?!”

“The police took some Serpents in for questioning about the Ghoulies, it must have just ran longer than expected! I’m sure he’ll be home soon.” The lie falls from your lips easily, no way are you going to tell a kid her brother got arrested at school today for absolutely no reason. It had been a terrifying day with drug dogs roaming the halls and Serpents getting hauled in left and right for wearing a jacket.

“Who is your brother anyway? Maybe I know him? We probably go to school together.”

“His name is Sweet Pea and he’s the best big brother ever! Do you know him?!” She asks excitedly.

“Kind of…” you say softly now recognizing the steel in her gaze. You had seen it multiple times in Sweet Pea’s eyes when he’s squaring up for a fight.

“Oh boy…” you mutter to yourself as you continue down the road vaguely wondering what you have gotten yourself into.

“Are you okay if I take you back to my house while I go get your brother?” You glance back at her in time to see her nod as she pulls a sucker out of her bag. It’s amazing how quickly a child can trust and how quickly their carefree nature returns when his happens.

“That’s fine!” she chirps before popping it into her mouth.

“Good…” you say as you take the necessary turns to get you to your place. Your house is one of the few actual houses on the southside. It’s still small and isn’t really that much bigger than a trailer but it’s well taken care of and it’s home.

Your mom meets you at the door as she looks at the little girl dutifully following along behind you in confusion.

“Honey? What’s… WHAT HAPPENED?!” She exclaims as she looks down at your arms to see the cuts littering them.

“It’s a long story…” you sigh as you walk into the house, exhaustion evident in your slumped shoulders and tone.

*~*~*~

After cleaning up your arms and putting some bandaids over the larger of the cuts you change your clothes and bring them downstairs with the hope of salvaging your jeans. They are expensive and you would rather not have to waste money on a new pair if it can be helped. Then again you muse as you put some stain remover on the red splotches, you could have some fun with them if you have to. Walking into the kitchen you see her sitting at the table happily munching on a sandwich and chips and realize that you don’t actually know her name.

“I just realized… I don’t know your name…” you say hesitantly as you glance up at your mom.

“Everyone calls me Gumdrop!” she says with her mouth full of food.

You just nod and introduce yourself before you pull your mom away to tell her what happened as she continues to gobble up all that’s in front of her. You vaguely wonder when the last time she had enough to eat, you have no idea about her and Sweet Pea’s living situation.

“I can’t believe you would put yourself in danger like that!” you mom whisper yells from the living room.

“Are you telling me you would have just let 3 thugs harass a little girl!?” you argue back.

“Of course not! But I would have been smart about it! You should have called the cops!”

“I wasn’t really thinking that far in advance mom! These guys are unpredictable and dangerous! I just wanted to get her away from them!”

“Not by putting yourself in danger!”

“Look we are both fine, I took care of it.”

You watched as your mother’s mouth formed the thin line that says that she couldn’t argue your point but she didn’t like it.

“You are your exactly like your father…” she mutters as she walks back toward the kitchen resigned for now.

You follow hastily behind and touch her shoulder to stop her from entering the kitchen just yet.

“I’m going to go get her brother.”

“And where is he?” she asks with disapproval.

“...jail…?” You say with a wince.

“And why is that?” she’s calm, but it is that calm that your mom gets when you know she is mad but she can’t be mad because there are other people present, but you know when you get home all hell is breaking loose, probably on your ass…

“Look it wasn’t his fault! The police just busted up into the high school today and started snatching up Serpent’s like cookies at a bake sale!” You flail your arms around to get your point across.

‘Why am I defending him?!’ you yell in your head as you hold your mom’s gaze.

“Serpent?!” she hisses.

“Ummm… What?! It’s not like I’m friends with him?! I literally just saved his sister from a pack of Ghoulies!”

“What is a Ghoulie?!”

“A rival gang?”

She just fixes you with a look that screams motherly annoyance, “I’m not paying for this.”

“I know…” you say with dejection as you hold up the cosmetic bag full of money.

“I’ll be back soon…” you say as you turn and make your way out the door.

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