#If Walmart Put the Box away it.. I WILL TAKE HIM HOME FOR GOOD!! >:3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coffeecakefanfics · 3 years

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A sunday kind of love Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Requests are open

Warnings: language, SMUT, adult themes, fluff. Hopeless romantic shit pretty much

Bucky had fought with her over putting the bed right against the window at first, like I said, at first. The two had laid curled up next to each other all day the first rain after moving into the apartment. They laid watching the rain hit the glass and made love all day. The view at night was his favorite though, the city lights through the high floor of the window were almost magical.

Grey light poured into the room as thunder clapped outside and the soft sound of rain tapped against the window. Bucky had been awake for about a half an hour, admiring the love next to him, how her hair was starting to mat after tossing in her sleep, how her lips looked slack and relaxed, small snores creeping past them. He admired the curve of her body under the blankets. She stirred and turned over, leaning into him more. He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes. Music floated in, muffled from the living room. Y/n had insisted they buy it after Bucky found some records he liked at a local thrift shop

“No way, I used to love Bea Wain,” Bucky’s face lit up

“Are there more?” Y/n peeked over from the books

“Let me see,” he began rummaging through the records. His smile never faded as he continued to pull record after record. “Why are these here?” he looked at Y/n.

“Well when older people pass a lot of time their families donate their old stuff, including records, it’s sad but it lets my generation and under get to experience them,” she shrugged and began digging with him.

“Do they still make players?”

“Of course, Pick out all of the records you want and i’ll stop by a target or walmart on the way home and buy one,” she smiled at him handing him an Etta James Record.

“You don’t have to do that doll,” his heart swole at the gesture.

“Buck, please, I want you to be able to enjoy your music the way you used to. I mean phone are great but nothing beats the crackle of a record,” she held his hand and kissed his cheek.

He smiled at the memory, thankful to have found her when he did. They would turn it on when he had a nightmare,When they made breakfast and danced in the kitchen, on romantic diners, or on lazy mornings,pretty much any excuse they could get, it calmed him down a bit, and for that he was grateful.

“Buck?” a tired voice pulled him from his mind.

“Morning baby,” he smiled at Y/n

“It’s raining,” she mumbled, turning her head to the window.

“Mhm” he stroked her messy hair. She hummed in response and closed her eyes.

“why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“Didn’t want to bother you, I haven’t been up long anyway” she hummed again and leaned up on her elbows.

“I think today is a perfect day to stay in bed,” she licked her lips, a soft smile on her face.

“I think that is a great idea,” he smiled back, resting his hand on the back of her neck to bring her down to him. Her lips were soft and plush against his. It was slow, lazy, and had so much love behind it. Y/n let her hands run over Buck’s chest. The pair broke away for air. Bucky stared up at the woman above her, pushing hair behind her ear.

“Penny for your thoughts” she ran her finger alone his hairline gently.

“You are the most amazing woman I know,” he let his eyes catch hers, a small blush dusting her cheeks.

“Aren’t you a flirt,” she grinned at him.

“Y/n?”

“Yes buck?”

“Stay with me,” his eyes were soft, they were always soft with her.

“Of course baby, I’m not going no where, promise,” she continued to stroke his hairline.

“I mean forever,” he cupped her cheek.

“Buck-”

“I have something for you, but I want to know that i’m what you want. You can walk away right now and I wont blame you I-” she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. His body went slack and his muscles relaxed.

“I’m not going anywhere James, I promised,” she let her fingers run over his left brow, down his face, over his lips and finally resting on his cheek. He kissed her palm and held her hand while he leaned over to the night stand pulling something out. In his hand was a small opened black velvet box. A simple band covered half way in smaller diamonds accentuated a single bigger stone in the middle.

“James,” her eyes were wide at him.

“I know it’s not a perfect proposal, and I know you deserve better than in our bed but I can’t wait any longer. Y/n L/n, will you marry me?” his eyes were welled up. The woman had sat up straight by now. Her hand was covering her mouth and tears spilled over. She swallowed the knot in her throat and held her left hand out to him.

“Yes James, I love you,” she spoke shakily. He slid the ring onto her finger and sealed it with a kiss. She examined the ring on her finger, more tears spilling over.

“I’m sorry, again that it was in our bed but-”

“It’s perfect Buck,” she leaned down to kiss him. He relaxed once again. His right hand held her face while the metal arm rested on her waist. He slowly laid her under him, moving their lips in synch. He let his lips trail down her jaw to her neck. Y/n let out a shaky breath, her body getting warm. Bucky’s movements were slow, calculated. He hiked the shirt she wore, which was his that she’d stolen forever ago up carefully. He drug the cold metal fingers down her stomach, stopping at her panty line. She let out a mewl and shifted under him. He smirked before helping her out of his shirt.

“You, doll, are an angel on earth,” he spoke softly into her ear before biting gently. A small moan escaped her lips as he let his right hand dip below her underwear and between her folds.

“Buck” she let out and let her head fall back as he gently rubbed her clit.

“That’s it doll, let me hear you baby,” he husked into her ear agin and slipped a finger into her. She tried to fight the moans, but Bucky wasn’t having it. She let moan after moan tumble from her lips. Bucky leaned up enough to look at her. He slowly added another finger gaining another loud moan from her throat. Her head was thrown back and a light sheen of sweat coated her body. He took note of how her hair fell, how her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath she took. She was Ethereal, an angel on earth, the best thing to happen to him. He felt her clench around his fingers.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised and quickened his pace.

“B-Buck I- I want” she stuttered out.

“Words baby, tell me what you want,” he left a trail of kissed down her neck and onto her chest where he kitten licked her nipples.

“I want you insi-ide of me plea-ase” she whined.

“Of course angel” He drew his fingers from her pussy, sucking them clean. She bit her lip as she watched.

“You always did taste so sweet for me,” he groaned and slid her panties down her legs, kissing his way down her thighs as he did so. She sat up to help him tug his boxers down.

“Ready doll?” he asked, lined at her entrance. She nodded. She squealed and clutched Bucky’s arms as he suck into her. Bucky let out a low moan right next to her ear, the sound sent waves to her core. Bucky set a slow but deep pace. He went gentle. Leaving kisses down her throat and chest, slid his hand over her scalp, captured her lips. Her moans sweet like honey to his ears. He snapped his hips against her pelvis.

“Buck I- please”

“please what doll” he teased, voice a whisper.

“Please let me cum” she begged.

“go ahead baby, let go for me, let me make you feel good,” he held her hands as her orgasm tore through her, ripping moans from her throat and making her legs shake. Bucky dropped his head, letting little growls fall from his lips as he followed her. He stilled, leaving his weight on his elbows as they relaxed through their highs.

“I love you,” he told her, still breathless.

“I love you more James,” she kissed him, tiredly. He slowly slid out, laying next to her. She curled up against his side, sneaking a peek at the ring on her finger. Bucky smirked, watching her. He let his gaze drift out to the steady rain and thunder, let the music fill his ears, let her smell take over his nose, let her body take over his touch. Because in that moment, nothing could hurt him, nothing else mattered, but the lazy days in bed with her

A/N: I haven’t written smut in sooo long plz don’t come for my throat, k bye love you have a good day my sweet whores <3

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reade #the avengers x reader #buckey barnes fluff

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100layersofdaddyissues · 4 years

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brownies

i know i said i would be bringing out angel part 3 but i hit a block and became inspired so i wrote a little drabble about baking with Pedro.

@innerstrawberrypolice this ones for you bebita

pedro x reader domestic

warning: age gap (legal) mild swearing and minor discussion about animosity between parents. also 2020. 2020 needs a warning.

Being with Pedro in quarantine seemed like a blessing at first, I mean, it was your boyfriend Pedro. You didn’t really consider when you agreed to it, that neither of you could or liked cooking, you’d been ordering in everyday for months with the occasional ramen noodles or pancakes. But in the middle of June, you truly missed baking.

“my darling how would you feel about risking our lives at Walmart for ingredients to bake brownies?” you said in the sweetest tone hoping that he would be willing.

“baby we have ingredients for brownies here!” he yelled from the other room, you knew he didn’t want to leave the house, especially for something so trivial.

“actually, we don’t, we don’t even have eggs, come on we need to go grocery shopping.”

“its 9:30 at night we don’t need to go grocery shopping right now.” Walking back into the kitchen as he replied.

“fine ill go by myself, you wait here, I don’t want you getting sick, your old man heart couldn’t handle it.” You quipped hoping some banter would alight enough fire in him to take you to the store.

There was no secret that there was an age gap between you and Pedro, it wasn’t a crazy one. Okay yes it was mildly crazy, but it was legal, and you were happy together, to hell with what other people said, your parents included. His friends and family had been so welcoming and accepting that your mother calling you a gold-digging whore didn’t even seem to faze either of you.

As you started walking away towards the front door Pedro grabbed you by the waist and spun you to face him, “listen, mi amor, I am not old, I am wise a silver fox.” He said looking down on you with a smirk, he moved his head to your neck trailing kisses up towards your jaw. As you tilted your head back you remarked, “ahh by you see my love, you being a silver fox comes with the added necessity of you being old, you cant be silver if you’re not old.” He pulled away from you to look down at you and say, “alright fine would you like to go get brownie ingredients or would you like to keep teasing me about my age, and my I remind you that you’re the one fucking this old man.”

“brownies please,” once again melding into your sweet innocent voice, “but we really do need to get groceries. Maybe I can tease you in the car?”

“don’t be a smart ass we’ll get groceries tomorrow now go get your mask.” God, I hate 2020.

The drive to the store was filled with, as promised, more teasing from you, and more dirty remarks from Pedro about ‘well I can’t be that old, my dick still works” to which you replied something along the lines of “pull over and we’ll test that out.” Which then in turn made Pedro choke on air and nearly hit another car. Maybe road head wasn’t a good idea.

As you jumped out of the car seat you all but pranced to the store entrance waiting there for Pedro to catch up. When he finally did, he took your hand leading you through the door, once inside though you were the one pulling him, directly to the baking goods isle.

“okay so we need flour, eggs, sugar, powdered sugar, butter chocolate chips, sunflower oil and Dutch cocoa.” You prattled off the list of ingredients you needed to make brownies, “ooh and milk!”

Pedro leaned in close to your ear and whispered in a hush and gruff voice “or, we could get box mix and then get home sooner so I could show you how young I am.” And understanding what he was implying, you ran the boxed batters, grabbed the first one you saw and ran back to him. “okay got it lets go. Now.”

You realised halfway to the registers that you needed more than just the box to bake brownie, and so what was supposed to be just eggs and butter and milk, turned into a basket full of things you just had to have right that second or you would die, as Pedro put it.

Finally arriving home, you unpacked and placed everything where they needed to be and finally you were ready to start baking.

“okay, now I must warn you that if you get in my way and don’t listen to my instructions you will not be licking the batter, from the bowl, no do not look at me like that mister you won’t be licking it off my body either. (spoiler alert yes, he will be.) “alright carina lets get baking, come on.”

You really didn’t expect the entire affair to be so messy, but this was your Pedro we were talking about, the man has every childish bone in him, it was messy, but it was fun. And within 20 minutes of threatening to crack eggs on each other’s head you were both sitting on the floor, in front of the oven with Edgar, all three of you eagerly peering into the over waiting for the brownies to bake. You were laying back against Pedro, both of you whispering beautiful things about, “this is the life I always dreamed I would have.” And “me too, it was worth the wait.” You couldn’t help but think. God, I love this year.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fluff

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eighth--wonder · 3 years

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@technicallyaminecraftsimp @grayve @anastoundingmango pspspspspspspspspspsp i finished the game night fic

fandom: dream smp

pairings: none :] it's just some sbi shenanigans

warnings: they yell a lot but not in a threatening context, swearing

disclaimer: this is strictly about their characters. none of this is directed at or meant to represent the cc's.

enjoy :]

Tommy threw himself onto Wilbur. Wil grunted at the weight.

"Oh, I'm boooooored." He whined.

Phil sighed. "Then go do your chores, your rooms a mess."

Tommy groaned loudly. He threw his arms open wide, hitting Wil in the face. Wilbur gave Tommy a deadly side eye which he ignored.

"Fine, fine. What do you want to do then?" Phil said, putting down the book he was reading.

Tommy stared blankly at the ceiling for about 3 minutes.

"He's thinking." Wilbur whispered.

"Must be why it's takin' so long." Technoblade muttered from his chair.

"Oi!" Tommy shouted. He pushed himself off of Wilbur and lunged playfully at Techno, putting him in a sad chokehold.

"Oh you wanna go, Theseus?" Techno said, grabbing at Tommy.

"Nononononono, please don't hurt me!" Tommy shouted, holding back laughter. The fear in his voice was fake, and a wide smile occupied his face.

Techno nodded in faux victory as Tommy flopped off his back and onto the floor.

It was a solid minute before Tommy said something.

"Uno!" He said, pointing a finger in the air.

"Dos!" Wilbur shouted like he had accomplished something.

"No you idiot, the card game." Tommy said, pulling himself up off the floor. "We're going to play Uno tonight."

"I'm fine with that." Phil said.

Tommy smiled and went to fetch the game. Upon returning, Wilbur snatched the small box out of his hands.

"You fools. You're all forgetting the most important factor in game night." He said. "The selling factor, the end all be all of game nights across the world."

"And that is?" Techno asked.

Wilbur looked him in the eyes. "Snacks."

Phil looked up at the ceiling. "No, we're not getting snacks. I'm not taking you guys to the store at this hour." The clock read 11:30pm.

"Then I'm not playing." Wilbur crossed his arms.

Tommy looked at Wilbur and then at Phil.

"Yeah. Then we're not playing."

"Snacks would be nice." Techno looked at Phil.

"Techno, you're supposed to be the reasonable one." Phil sighed.

"Morals mean nothing if snacks are in the equation."

Tommy bounced excitedly and Wilbur had a smug look on his face.

Phil looked distraughtly at his keys. Taking them to the store would be hell. But, he did really want to play Uno.

"Fine!" He said in defeat. Everyone erupted in a small chorus of cheers.

"Big Man Phil. Couldn't handle the pressure of a 16 year old and some sad wannabe Shakespeare enthusiast?" Techno said to him smugly as they were walking to the car. Tommy and Wilbur had raced ahead of them to see who would get the front seat. Wilbur won and Tommy had been trying to convince him he hadn't.

"Oh shut up." Phil said, pushing Techno to the side a bit. They both laughed.

"I get the music." Tommy said. Somehow, Tommy had gotten the passenger seat.

"Well, no." Wilbur whined. "You're just going to play the Able Sisters."

"No! No, no I won't." Tommy stumbled over his words. He definitely was going to.

The car ride was loud. Wilbur wouldn't stop shouting at Tommy to change the song and Phil kept threatening to turn the car around. Techno had fallen asleep in the back seat.

They arrived at a Walmart. There was one other car in the parking lot. Phil prayed it was the cashiers car. The less people to see Wilbur and Tommy go completely apeshit the better.

The store seemed empty. The air was crisp and the vibe felt forbidden.

"Okay, what d'you guys want." Phil said.

"Sour Patch Kids!" Tommy yelled. One of the cashiers, a black and white haired boy, looked up at the sound of Tommy's voice. He looked highly unamused.

"No, those taste like shit." Wilbur whined.

"Oh shut up! They taste wonderful!" Tommy said, his voice a bit higher in pitch.

Wilbur rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Phiiiiiiiiiillll." Tommy whined. "Can I sit in the cart?"

Phil nodded.

Phil stepped away from the cart to inspect a bag of chips. In the 2 seconds it took him to step forward, Wilbur had grabbed the handles to the cart. Tommy laughed.

"What are you doing, Wilbur?" He said. His voice was damp with laughter.

Wilbur said nothing. He had an evil grin on his face as he positioned his feet on the floor.

Phil turned around at the sound of Tommy's giggles.

"What are you- oooooh no, Wilbur." Phil said, a small hint of laughter crept into his voice.

"Ready, 3. 2. 1. GO!!" Tommy and Wilbur shouted in unison.

Wilbur took a running start and pushed the cart forward with speed. Once the cart gained enough speed, he hopped on the back of it. The cart sailed down the aisle, knocking down 2 small sample stands in the process. They were yelling the entire time, whooping and hollering nonsense as the air pushed their hair back.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Techno was bent over laughing.

Tommy and Wilbur rounded the corner, Wilbur hopping off the back of the cart and skidding the cart to a halt in front of Phil and Techno. They were both out of breath and giggling like schoolgirls.

"Are you two done? Can we actually shop now?" Phil said. Techno was still dying in the background, holding onto Phil's shoulder for stability.

"Sure, but I'm still pushing the cart." Wilbur said.

Phil shrugged halfheartedly. He really didn't care who pushed the cart, he literally just wanted to play Uno.

Wilbur steered the cart haphazardly around the store, grabbing items he wanted and making an effort to hit Tommy as he threw them into the cart. Techno and Phil walked behind them, grabbing onto small items they planned to put in the cart later.

"Phil, Tommy and I have decided we want to go rogue." Wilbur said. Tommy was sat behind still in the shopping cart, nodding.

"I literally don't care mate, do whatever you want. Just know you're getting what I pick."

Wilbur didn't respond, just turned back to Tommy and nodded seriously. Tommy nodded seriously in return, ruining the mood with his giant smile and quiet giggling.

Tommy stumbled out of the cart, Wilbur not bothering to help him in any way and just watching him fall. Once he regained his balance, the two set off to wander the store aimlessly. And probably make a nation if Wilbur was going.

The cashier from earlier began making his rounds, glancing down every aisle to make sure it wasn't a mess. He got to the sample stands that Tommy and Wilbur had knocked down and made a face of pain was it? No, it wasn't pain. It was more tiredness. Or disbelief. A mix of both to be honest.

Techno felt bad. The cashier was obviously in high school and the bags under his eyes were so clearly visible. His shift must end soon and he shouldn't have to clean up after Techno's god awful brothers.

"Here. Take this." Technoblade said, handing the boy a $20 bill. "They're literally so annoyin' and destructive, it's the least I can do."

The boy took the money gratefully. He thanked Techno about 700 times before pocketing the money and picking up the mess.

Across the store, Tommy and Wilbur could be heard shouting and laughing. Tommy's cough-laugh echoed through the store.

They arrived at the checkout. Phil was the only one putting items on the belt as Tommy and Wilbur were still in the store somewhere and Techno was bagging the items.

The two men stood patiently at the doors, waiting for Tommy and Wilbur so they could leave. The store had gone quiet. Phil wasn't concerned in the slightest and Techno didn't care.

"Fuck it. We're leaving without them." He said, turning around and activating the automatic sliding doors. Techno shrugged and followed, happy he would finally get the front seat.

Phil drove the car into an unlit part of the parking lot. He sat there, tapping his thumbs to the beat of Techno's music.

The two chatted while waiting for Tommy and Wilbur to get there. It was a good half hour before they came out of the store. They were looking frantically for the car and kept hitting each other on the arms. Phil unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh.

"Oh, they're such idiots." He said after he stopped laughing. He drove the car around in a circle three times before they noticed him.

"You left us you prick!" Tommy shouted once he had gotten in the car.

Phil laughed. Wilbur couldn't care less about being left behind. He was helping Techno pick music for the ride home.

"It's not funny Phil! I'm like the kid from Home Alone." He said gloomily. "It's like no one cares about me."

"Awww. Don't say that, Tommy." Phil said. His smile could be heard in his voice.

Tommy grunted. He crossed his arms and looked dramatically out the window. It took him about 2 minutes to get over it though, as he soon was rummaging through the bag of snacks.

"Hey! Those are for when we get home! Stop." Phil shouted, looking in his rear view mirror.

Tommy stuck his tongue out at him but stopped eating. Wilbur on the other hand was elbow deep in a bag of salt and vinegar chips and didn't plan on stopping.

Wilbur and Tommy talked the whole time home. Their voices raised a bit at times but were brought back down by an evil stare from Phil. Techno had control of the music, as he was the only one with a playlist everyone could agree on.

They all piled out of the car. Phil carried the bags and Techno locked the car. Tommy and Wilbur had yet again decided to race back. Tommy lost this time and Wilbur decided in that moment he would never let Tommy forget it.

Everyone sat in their respective seats upon entering the house. Phil on the recliner, Techno on the giant chair, and Wilbur and Tommy either right next to each other or on opposite sides of the couch. In this case, they were right next to each other. On other days, Wilbur would just sit on the floor.

"Alright let's play." Phil said, grabbing the box of cards off the table and dealing them.

They each got 7 cards. Wilbur hated his cards, Techno loved his, Tommy was too tired to comprehend if he liked them or not, and Phil thought his were alright.

The game started. As usual, Techno and Phil got way too into it, standing up and dramatically placing down their cards with shitty one liners.

"You thought you had won the round just by lookin' at your cards, huh Phil. Well sorry to break it to you, I'VE WON THIS ROUND OLD MAN!" Techno yelled. He placed down a yellow 6 on top of the already placed blue 6.

Phil dipped the tip of his hat to shade his eyes. "You fool. You absolute fool. You really thought you won this?" Phil laughed. He placed down a yellow 2.

Techno gasped. "But Phil, you said you didn't have any yellow cards!"

Phil slammed his hand down on the table. "I was simply bluffing!" He shouted.

Techno crossed his arms. "Wil, make your move."

Wilbur halfheartedly threw down a red 2.

"Tommy, your turn." He said.

Silence.

"Tommy?" Techno said, turning to face where the boy was sitting.

He was asleep, his head on Wilbur's shoulder. His cheek was smushed and his cards had fallen out of his hand.

"Awwww." Phil said.

"Don't you dare 'awwww' me. I'll kill you." Wilbur said, being careful not to move the shoulder Tommy was resting on.

A moment of silence followed.

"So I'm guessin' the game's over?" Techno said.

Phil nodded. "Yeah, it seems it is."

They all looked at the sleeping boy.

"You get his arms, I get his legs?" Techno said.

"No, I say we leave him here." Phil said.

"Wait no." Wilbur said.

Techno nodded. "Yeah, that seems reasonable." He said, grabbing his coat and heading towards his bedroom.

"Guys please, no." Wil said. He was smiling.

"G'night Wil!" Phil said, waving and leaving the two boys in the living room.

Wilbur smiled fondly. "Those little shits."

He laughed quietly to himself before leaning his head on top of Tommy's and drifting to sleep.

#ahh i think it's kinda good #can you tell i didn't want to write an actual game of uno and just threw a soft brother dynamic into the mix to make up for it #sbi #dsmp #mcyt #tommyinnit #technoblade #wibur soot #philza #zen writes

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

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Dog of the Military- Chapter 31

Chapter 31- Shopping

"Can we go to the High Market?" Ed asked hopefully as he bounced into the passenger seat of Roy's car.

"Brother. That place is crawling with sketchy people." Al admonished from where he was settling into the entire backseat of the car.

"We aren't going anywhere until you two put on your seatbelts." Roy admonished, shooting a glance over at both boys witheringly.

There was clanking from the backseat as Alphonse hurried to comply.

Ed blew out a breath and rolled his eyes.

"I don't see why I gotta wear a seat belt. My automail can't be broken. And Al's a suit of armor- nothing can hurt him!"

"No, but Alphonse could hurt us. If there was a crash and Al were to get thrown forward, we could be hurt. And you might have automail, Ed, but you're not invincible."

Ed crossed his arms. "It's stupid. Don't tell me what to do."

"Oh, so you think I'm being bossy, huh?" Roy asked.

"Ed, just put it on." Al piped up from the backseat. There was a click. Al was too large to fit the middle seat seat belt, so he had taken 2 seat belts from either side of the backseat and fastened them both over himself in an x-like fashion.

"I'm tired of old people trying to tell us what to do, Al!" Ed protested.

"It's for your own good, you know." Roy supplied patiently. "Seatbelts reduce the risk of death by 45% and cut the risk of serious injury to 50%(1). They also hold you in place so you don't get ejected in a crash. 3 of 4 people who get ejected from a vehicle don't survive(1). You wouldn't want to do that to Al, would you?"

Ed was silent.

"Remember that car crash was saw in Bresh, brother?" Al added. "We couldn't do anything to help. Everyone was gone. All we could do was cover up the mess with blankets so that the teenager's families wouldn't see them. Maybe if they'd been wearing seat belts it'd have been different."

Ed clicked his seatbelt into place. "Fine, whatever. Let's get going we have shopping to do."

Roy turned the key in the ignition and started out.

"So- does anyone want anything specific from the store?" Roy asked.

"Waffles." Ed said happily. "And soft pretzels."

"Scented candles." Al added.

"You're gonna polish yourself with that flowery smelling wax again aren't you?" Ed spoke up.

"It's the closest thing I can get to deodorant, brother." Al sounded slightly hurt.

"I know. Get some of those cucumber melon candles-I like the smell of those." Ed said quietly.

"Okay." Al brightened significantly.

"I wanna go to the High Market too." Ed piped up, looking over at Roy.

"For what?" Roy was wary. The high market sold useful things, but it was also a backdoor apothecary that sold unregulated pharmaceuticals and other odd, possibly illegal substances in the alley under the guise of traditional medicine.

"They got those cookies that have your future written inside them!" Ed looked childish with excitement.

"You need a cookie to tell you that?" Roy scoffed. "I could tell you for free. 'you will be short and miserable'."

Al sniggered from the backseat and Ed frowned. "Normally I would yell at you for that, but I wanna go to the High Market. So can we go?"

"Yes. IF you two stay close to me and we don't take long."

"Score!" Ed pumped his fist in the air, looking excited.

"What do you want to get shopping, Colonel?" Al asked.

Mustang shrugged. "Trash bags, milk, butter, eggs, bread, jam."

"Boring stuff." Ed added.

Roy pulled into the shopping center. "You say that, but I don't see you complaining when we eat dinner."

"Can we get Mac n' cheese?"

"Yes, we can get a few boxes."

"Can we get frozen burritos and ramen?"

Roy wrinkled his nose. Ever since Ed moved in with them, he'd realized the kid seemed to live off microwaved food.

"Yes, a couple. But you need to eat a vegetable every once in awhile." he got out of the car, and Ed did the same.

"Well excuse me for being too busy to go harvest nature's bounty." Ed scoffed.

"Guys!" Al called from the back, muffled by the car doors.

"What's up, Al?" Roy turned around to see Al still strapped into the back seat, his large hands struggling with the seatbelts.

"Can you unbuckle me? I'm stuck!?"

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"Okay, this actually isn't so bad." Roy had his list nearly halfway completed. Ed insisted on standing on the bottom rack of the cart and holding onto the back to ride it, but Al was pushing, so Roy couldn't complain. And Al was tall enough to reach everything on the top shelf.

"Ed- name something that isn't microwaved that you'll eat."

"Peanut butter sandwhich."

"Done." Roy grabbed a jar of peanut butter off the shelf and tossed it into the cart.

"Fruits and vegetables you like?"

"Fruitsnacks!" Ed looked excited, pointing at a large box. "Those are the best, Mom used to get those for me!"

"Yeah I remember those." Al sounded excited as well.

It melted Roy's resolve. Just a little. He picked up the box. It said it was amde with real fruit juice. That was close enough to a fruit, wasn't it? If Trisha Elric had bought them for the boys, they couldn't be horrible.

"Okay. Fine. But REAL fruits, now."

"I don't have time for real fruits. I'm constantly running around to headquarters or the library." Ed complained.

Roy couldn’t argue with the kid. He was pretty busy. But still, that wasn't an excuse to live out of vending machines.

"Alright, so how about a grab and go snack. You like applesauce?"

"Yeah."

Roy snagged a box of applesauce pouches and threw it into the cart, then kept going. He just had to make sure Ed didn't realize they gave those applesauce pouches to toddlers commonly. Because he doubted Ed would care enough to grab a spoon or a more traditional applesauce cup.

"What about yogurt?" Roy asked.

Ed narrowed his eyes. "Milk." he groused from where he was holding onto the cart.

"Cheese sticks?" Roy held up the package enticingly.

"Okay." Ed acquiesced. "It doesn't taste like milk."

They were just about done shopping- the only thing left was to get coffee.

Roy started off towards the aisle but stopped when he realized Al wasn't following pushing the cart.

The boy was looking at a duster in the cleaning aisle. "Throw it in the cart, Al. I'll dust your armor off tonight if you want." he said. Al couldn't really eat, but it wasn't fair to exclude the boy from shopping.

"Thank you!"

"It's nothing. Let's get going. I want to hit the yellow market before it gets too late.".

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

It got dark early in the fall. So even though it was only a little after 5, dusk was setting in on the city as he and the boys parked alongside the street in the nicer part of town and walked towards the yellow market.

Ed had an excited bounce in his step at the prospect of fortune cookies, and Al was hoping to find stray cats.

The warm glow of streetlights faded as they entered the rougher neighborhood of town- a block or so was dark, before the hanging string lights and colorful candle lanterns lit up the street.

The barren streets of central melted into a new landscape of men shouting about wares in a Xingese tongue. Men with cone-shaped hates and women in flowing garb, as well as children and stray dogs ran though the streets, adding to the commotion and the smells and sights of the market.

People were selling vibrant flowers, roast seafood on sticks, and a variety of meat and pastries.

One market stall had a variety of little animals made of colored paper, and Alphonse stopped to look.

The children stopped running and playing with their sticks and hoops when they saw Edward and stared, whispering among themselves.

Roy wondered if they recognized him as the Fullmetal Alchemist or not. Normally children were enthralled by Alphonse and his armor, not Edward...

A cold wind blew, rustling the paper lanterns and scattering the children. They took off down various alleyways and down the street.

It unnerved Roy, for some reason.

Ed had found the shop he was looking for- an old woman selling the cookies he wanted.

She shakily bagged them up for him and they chatted as he got out his money to pay her.

Alphonse squatted to set a stray cat near the mouth of an alley.

The quiet suddenly struck Roy as odd. The market callers had stopped shouting about their wares and people had stopped chattering. Mothers took their children and went to other stalls further away from them.

A woman ran into Roy and fell, scattering her things on the ground.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, her angular Xingese eyes drawing him in.

"No, not a problem at all." Roy bent to help her pick up her scattered items, though he couldn't stop the hairs of unease form standing up on the back of his neck.

As they both picked up the fallen items from the ground, the woman leaned closer to him, eyes wide. "You must leave now. They will come for the boy. Men offer lot of money for him. Children go get men- they take boy."

Roy froze for a moment, before he nodded, handing her one of the items he'd been picked up and straightening.

"Edward! Al!"

Ed had paid for his cookies- the old woman at the shop had somehow given him a large stick of candy as well and was patting him on the head.

"What?" Ed asked, looking annoyed at the interruption.

"We're going. Now." his voice left no room for argument, and Ed fell into step beside him and Al as they headed back the way they came.

"But we just got here." Ed complained.

"You got your cookies. Now let's go."

He couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched, though they got home that night without incident.

Yes- I know that in cannon the year is like 1920. I just like to imagine Roy taking his boys to walmart. I don’t know why, but it’s a balm for my soul.

Obligatory ko-fi link here; https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

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alilbihh · 5 years

Text

hocus pocus — 1

masterlist previous part next part

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both.

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; crack (lmao); humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 6.3k

a/n: this is entirely self-indulgent. this will benefit no one but me and will have 3 parts. thank u

This kind of patience better earn you a great seat in heaven, you think offhandedly.

"Please help me! The test was only announced today and I don't have much time, I need a potion that gives me photographic memory!" Says a desperate looking girl, hands clasped together as she repeatedly whispers a mantra of pleases under her breath, as if worried she'd push you over the edge if she were to say it any louder.

Little does she know she's, metaphorically speaking, already pushed you. Hard. With no remorse. Probably followed by a series of stabs to the back.

"Please, I would do anything!" She looks frantic. The only time you've seen her unclasp her hands was to pull desperately at her hair. She's pretty, you'll give her that, the kind of pretty that makes people more easily soft and influenced to her desires. But you're no sucker, and you're certainly not soft.

"Anything?" You whisper, leaning forward a bit. She nods, hope pooling in her round, pretty eyes.

"Anything!" You're not really used to people interrupting you during your free time. She at least has the decency to keep her voice down in the library, but you have a feeling the librarian and usually easily irritable students would easily succumb to her puppy dog eyes and let her scream all she wants.

You don't tell her that there is no such thing as a potion for photographic memory. You don't tell her that, even if such a thing were to exist, it would have drastic long-term side effects. As in, death.

"Anything anything..?" You lean forward a bit more, the female eagerly mimicking the action. You stare into her pretty eyes, the honey gold of her skin. "...even study?"

The female deflates, shameful as she twirls at a strand of her hair. This girl is just one of the many reminders on why you should never have been known as the campus witch in the first place.

You also should have just stayed in bed, despite the uncharacteristically calm day you've been having. You should have slept through your subsequent assignments and uncountable morning classes; but Jungkook had pulled the sheets out from over your head that day almost knowingly, reminding you how much you're paying for tuition. Curse that familiar of yours.

(Jungkook's voice also seemed to be the one to coax you into giving the girl a discount on your widely known all-nighter potion; which really just mostly consisted of a monster and some ground coffee beans, but she didn't need to know that. But you're still definitely, definitely not a soft witch.)

Three years ago you started a shop of your own, one typical of a witch like yourself. All herbs and tea leaves and scented candles and crystals, ground sunflower seeds and fruits and, later on, potions; the thing that's gathered the most attention in your community, from both supernatural beings and, as harry potter so delicately put it, muggles alike.

On Sundays, you sit behind the shop's counter on the red cushioned bean bag chairs that Jungkook likes so much, taking in the low hanging vines of your small, dainty little shop, the smell of old parchment and the sound of fluttering pages, the shelves of books barely anyone but yourself reads but are familiar and comforting nevertheless.

On Sundays, people stop by; sometimes for tea, mostly for potions, and one time someone asked for a potion to help him get laid but even so, business is buzzing, Sunday or not.

On Sundays, you tolerate Jungkook's grunts and groans of boredom, the boy taut as violin strings until he starts arm wrestling with the plants and reading books by the corner, his long hair obscuring your view of his features as he bounces all over the place.

In the corner by the bookshelves sits a fish tank you'd gotten over a year ago, courtesy of Jungkook, now barren of fish of any kind. (The male managed to get a goldfish at some point. He named it ironman. It died a week later, now buried in Yoongi's greenhouse, and you coaxed some flowers into sprouting around its grave for his sake. Mostly lavender, reminiscent of your familiar. Lavender helps you sleep. Lavender soothes small hurts.)

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll hear little snippets of a singing voice, murmuring when he thinks no one can hear him — and you can almost feel the creaking of the floorboards and bookshelves ceasing, the books shifting about in their spines halting at the mere sound of it — as if even the walls are straining to hear the tiny little sounds of your familiar's voice.

And although Sundays are meant for that, meant for all of that, on one particular Sunday you find yourself out of faerie tears to mix into your concoctions. An odd ingredient it is, but important nevertheless. And you know just the faerie willing to hand over some more.

"Yoongi!" You squeal as you enter the greenhouse, messenger bag over your shoulder, glass vials inside of it clinking together as you walk.

The greenhouse isn't big— not as big as Yoongi would have liked it to be, anyway— but it's tall enough to make room for trees of all sizes. Certain panes have been removed on its walls to allow the branches to carry through towards the sky, as if Yoongi would rather tear the place down than tear off a branch. Vines curl around your feet as you walk, tickling at your legs, and the plants greet you softly as you pass, (except the roses. They don’t like you too much and they tend to gossip quite a bit).

You tip your head up to stare at the hazy sky through the glass. It's humid and will probably rain later, another late summer storm.

You hear a grunt.

Hunched over a flowerbed sits a tuft of black, the endearing sight bringing a smile to your face that remains even as the male in question notices your amusement, frowning as his brows furrow and his nose crinkles.

He stands up as gracefully as his little faerie ass can manage, wiping the accumulated sweat on his forehead away with the back of his hand, a streak of dirt on his cheek and, somehow, on his nose. "Yes?" He mutters, grumpy and all, despite his patience as you move to grab an empty vial from your bag.

You stretch the empty glass expectantly, "I'm in need of some faerie tears, my good man."

The man waddles towards you in typical Yoongi fashion, inspecting the vial for a second before his gaze shifts to you, eyes squinted. "You know I don't cry," He says stubbornly.

"Oh, please. You’re one of the softest boys I know. Didn't you take theater in high school? The tears don't have to stem from real sadness, you heathen."

His cheeks redden at your reminder, grabbing the vial from your hands with a huff. "I just messed with the lighting for a while. Fixed the sound. It's not like I acted, damn you."

"But still! You gotta feel some sort of.. kinship. Come on. I'm not asking for much!"

"You're asking for my bodily fluids. It seems like quite a bit to me."

You hide your smile with your hand as you watch the male grunt and grimace, trying to get the tears out by sheer force. His body is shaking a bit at the strain, and you finally laugh when he lets out the breath he'd been holding with a dramatic, Yoongi flair. "Can't do it?" You ask through laughter.

"Shut up." He shoves the vial onto your chest. "Anything else for you to humiliate me with?"

"Huh. I am in need of some pixie dust, now that you mention it."

"Hobi probably has some of that, he's full of pixie friends." You, personally, aren't a fan of those tiny little rascals. The ones around your hometown were known for trouble, pulling at your ears and pushing objects off tables.

Though you suppose the ones around your current home weren't all bad. You've caught a few helping motivate your plants by your window to sprout, and sometimes you find petals by your windowsill that weren't there before, all layered with pixie dust. Sometimes they simply flutter overhead, tossing pink dust at passersby, and sometimes you hear them sneezing by your ear, drunk on plum blossoms.

They hang around Hoseok almost regularly, and it's not uncommon to find a few napping on his head and shoulder, warbling softly in their sleep. That merman attracts a whole bunch of creatures, so you don't blame them, really.

"Well. Walmart probably has some faerie tears, anyway. Thanks, Yoongs!" You pat at the now frozen male's chest thoughtfully, the man blinking slowly with wide eyes. You take off into a sprint at his bewildered WHAT? from behind you, laughter on your heels.

"Here, noona." Your familiar mutters as he walks into you finishing some paperwork, your form hunched out of view under the shop's counter, red bean bag hardly a chair for such a feat but at least it's comfortable. He places a cup of tea by the coffee table beside you, still steaming, the smell wafting through the tiny expanse of your homey shop.

"Thanks, Guk." You murmur in response without looking up, but you still catch his tail let out a tiny wag at that before he nods and shuffles away, almost like a waddle, and disappears into the closet-sized kitchen, large clothes swallowing his form adorably.

He shuffles back a few minutes later with his own cup, sinking into the bean bag beside you. He stretches the cup towards you after a second of hesitation, "Sorry, but could you heat it up please? Do that thing?"

You chuckle, sitting up straight to drop your papers on the counter before turning back towards the werewolf, "'course." You take the cup, fingers brushing against his, and you see him recoil in his seat as he sinks further into it.

Your fingers cup the mug lightly, and you feel the liquid slowly heat up, becoming darker in color. Your eyes catch his gaze as you hand it back, his eyelashes trembling as he looks down, cheeks dusted a shy pink, taking the drink generously. "Thank you," he mutters.

The moment is interrupted by the gentle chiming of the wind chimes tinkling in welcome as someone opens the door, and you stand up with a groan the second you hear it. Gently placing your cup on the coffee table, your attention shifts to the customer tripping into your shop, the smell of rain and autumn and wonder on his heels.

"Can I help you?" You ask, albeit uselessly as he continues inspecting your array of books without a word, pausing at the poetry section.

Maybe you shouldn't have bought those bean bags. They're low enough to hide you completely from view of anyone if you were to sit and you, being the one to sit by the register, kinda have to do that a lot. You take to standing, taking occasional sips from your tea when you think the boy that stumbled in isn't looking.

The boy suddenly marches towards you. Eyes you for a minute. Blinks profusely. "Morning," he says after a moment, voice soothing and soft, like melting butter and dripping honey. He slides a book onto the counter. Poetry.

"Good afternoon," you answer with a twitch of your lips, "Is this all?"

He clears his throat, his cheeks a bit flushed, "Yes."

You can feel his eyes on you. They flick over you quick and then again slower and then again one more time, dragging like a lip being pulled through teeth. You feel tingly.

With a hum, you mutter the price you know by heart as you stuff the book into a bag. His voice interrupts you. "Do you sell blood here?"

You blink, catch Jungkook freezing from where he's seated. The boy in front of you at least has the decency to look sheepish after a moment, smiling with just a twitch of his lips, and it's then you notice the ever protruding fangs that line the sides of his teeth.

"Uh, nope, sorry."

"Hm." He hums. "How long has this been here? It's, well. Nice. Must be nice to work here."

You scoff out a laugh, "It has its downsides. Pay is shit, mostly. You're mostly just making drinks and making sure no one is doing anything stupid or trying to hide a body in one of the vanishing bookshelves."

"I already disproved that theory, noona!" Comes Jungkook's interjection from somewhere below you, voice laced with an odd sort of pride. "I sat there for an hour and didn't disappear."

"That... okay." Maybe you would scold him in any other setting, seeing as the bookshelf was completely capable of actually making him disappear — but seeing his pretty, honest eyes, his cupid's bow pulled into a smile, well.. who were you to take that away?

It's only then you remember the strange vampire you still have yet to know the name of was here for a reason. Your eyes stray to the book he'd bought, and you notice he seemed to dwell on which to buy for a bit too long. "Do you like poetry?" You mutter as you hand over his purchase.

"Nope." He grins. "I'll be back!" The boy says it like a promise before closing the door behind him, nimble as a cat and grinning like one, too, giving the dream catcher by the entrance a dangle and, in a blink, he's gone.

"That was weird." Jungkook mutters through the rim of his cup, and you agree with a simple nod of the head. “He was pretty, though,” he adds thoughtlessly. You nod again.

You spend your lunch, as you usually do, in a coffee shop close to campus, Jungkook sipping on a milkshake beside you and Yoongi sitting opposite you both, the latter pumping an unreasonable amount of sugar into his coffee.

"So Hobi's in this wack exercising mood these days. He signed us both up for couple's yoga classes."

Your lips twitch upwards at that before you purse your lips, trying to hide your smile. "That's.. wild."

"Yeah. Worst part is that I don't even mind going that much 'cause I know it'll make him happy. Gross, huh?"

"Super gross, dude."

Yoongi picks up his spoon and promptly stabs at the thick layer of sugar in the bottom of his cup, stirring glumly. "Anyway, how's the shop? Anyone walking in asking for condoms again?"

"Well, no, but I was asked if I sell blood bags."

Yoongi raises a brow, probably more surprised that there's a vampire on campus than he is surprised at the question. "Huh. That is weird. Was he cute?"

"Yoongs, you are not asking me if my vampire customer is cute. Tell me you're not." The man promptly starts to sip loudly at his coffee, avoiding eye contact stubbornly. You sigh. "Yes. Yes he was. Damn you." The man grins.

"He really was, though," Jungkook speaks up for the first time since you all sat down — not counting the little hello he'd whispered to Yoongi — and you watch as he sinks down his seat, smiles this shy little thing, cheeks and nose all scrunched up, trying to hide it as he sips aggressively at his oreo milkshake.

You smile knowingly at him and he all but melts, looking out the window, the tips of his ears a pretty pink.

"That so?" Yoongi says, watching you over the rim of his cup, "I was starting to think you two were cave gremlins incapable of feeling. How nice for you."

You scoff out a laugh, "Easy for you to say, you met Hoseok on Grindr."

"And we are positively thriving, thank you for asking."

"Oh!" The tiniest sound, whispered more to himself than anything but you manage to catch it anyway, your familiar's eyes widening prettily as he spots something out the window as his whole face breaks into a smile, cheeks crinkling at the edges, "It's Hobi-hyung!"

"Where?" Yoongi asks but sees him immediately after, the man in question spotting them through the glass and waving frantically, like he thinks you all might not see him.

Hoseok opens the door to the coffee shop cheerily, both the dulcet soft chime above the door and the usual light he carries on his shoulders alerting others of his presence. There are remnants of pixie dust on his shoulders, strapped to his clothes, glued to his hair. He smells of salt water and chlorine and dried flowers and something like pomegranate, just on the edges. The smile that always seems to be perpetually glued to his face brightens as he power walks towards your table by the corner.

"Hey! What're you all doing here?" He asks with a laugh as he slides on the seat beside his boyfriend, and Yoongi allows himself to be hugged by Hoseok, who hugs everyone.

"We're the physical manifestations of Y/n's inner demons." Yoongi says before Jungkook snorts out a laugh endearingly.

"How're classes, Hobi?" You ask, managing to ignore Yoongi only due to several years of training.

Yoongi groans at your question. Pretends to be annoyed. "His yoga classes or his dance classes?" Hoseok laughs at that, a loud and confident thing.

Hoseok laughs a lot. Dances a lot. Smiles a lot. Sometimes helps his dad teach little kids how to swim. Sometimes sea foam sticks to his eyelashes. Knows nothing about flowers but listens patiently when Yoongi talks about them, when Yoongi talks about his greenhouse and his love for jasmines and sweet sweet bubble tea.

You watch as Yoongi listens to Hoseok's ramblings, very much enamored and very much enraptured, eyes filled with love love love, a shy but fiercely sure thing. He's watching with the same soft, scrunched eyes he tends to be looking at everything with these days; at his plants and his friends and his music, like they're something precious, something to be cherished. You watch and it fills you with a not-jealousy, an almost-jealousy, an almost-want.

You want that kind of love, and yet you stray away from it at the first chance you get.

Yoongi leans in close, whispers something in his ear, and it's then that Hoseok snorts the coffee he'd been drinking through his nose, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones and suddenly they're all laughing, the two sneaking glances at each other. Glances you feel are private, intimate, probably something you weren't meant to see. You look away, feeling as if you're intruding.

Your eyes catch shifting from your peripheral vision, and you turn to see Jungkook moving hesitantly about in his seat, nibbling at the straw of his now empty milkshake. He stops. Purses his lips. Makes eye contact for a second before looking away.

You sigh. "If you clean out the backroom at home tomorrow for twenty minutes, I'll buy you another drink."

Jungkook perks up immediately. "How about if I clean out the backroom for ten minutes?"

"Twenty."

"..Fifteen?"

"Twenty."

"Seventeen."

You consider it. "...Deal."

Jungkook bursts into a celebratory dance as Yoongi tries hard to rein in his smile. You flip the two off before catching Hoseok's eye. WHIPPED, he mouths, enunciating it heavily just to be annoying, so you flip him off, too.

Two years ago, Jungkook entertains a visit to the town's newest herb shop; his expectations low and, despite his pack sending him out to search for medicine, his eyes were mostly searching for amusement.

Witches. A funny lot, all of them. They gather leaves for a living and use brooms as a means of transportation and they sprinkle basil into their soups and they think they know how to — how to herb.

The werewolf approaches the wooden door — printing paper taped to it with 'open' written in sharpie — and in he steps, wind chimes tinkling in welcome. If there was one thing he was expecting, it wasn't this.

The air smelled like wood and scented candles, paint that's just beginning to dry. Shelves lined the walls from top to bottom with potions and tea and crystals and, well, herbs, and in the far back stood a nearly empty bookshelf, only half the books on the shelves and the rest still sitting in a box not quite in plain sight but not exactly hidden, either, as if the owner hadn't quite finished packing them.

If Jungkook holds his breath just right, he can feel his heart beating in sync with something in the air. Something living.

Jungkook approaches the counter, searching left and right. No one in sight. "Hello?" He calls out. Flinches when he feels a thud, followed by a very abrupt, very loud—

"OW."

He leans forward tentatively after a moment of hesitation, glancing beneath the counter and, sure enough, there you are. This small thing curled on the floor, rubbing at your head from when you'd just tried to stand. No pointy hat or a big nose or dozens of moles, no evil laugh threatening to tumble out your lips, hidden just under your tongue.

It was just you. Wide eyed you. Sweet smelling you; sugar cookies, his brain supplies even though he didn't ask it to. Sugar cookies and vanilla and dark woods and something like coriander, just on the edges.

"Why were you sitting on the floor?" He asks you, the first thing he asks you.

You look up at him. Stare for a while. Your eyes don't linger on his ears stretched up in curiosity, black fur tipped with brown, or his tail wagging a bit behind him. He grabs at it to make it stop.

"I don't have any chairs." Is all you say, the lilting tone of home in your words. Jungkook laughs that terrible laugh of his, the one with his grin stretched ear to ear, his nose and eyes crinkled terribly. His laugh makes you laugh. Your laughter is terrible too, he notices.

He gets the medicine, tossing a pouch of coins onto the counter, courtesy of his pack. They have a knack at bringing the most inconvenience possible and living as if it were the nineteenth century.

Jungkook thought that would be it. But his father needed more scented candles and his brother needed more tea and his mother whined, like, once, that they were out of basil. And of course there are other shops that sell scented candles and tea and basil, but yours happened to be on his way every time.

True to his word, the vampire does indeed come back.

Despite barely talking to the boy, you know a bit about him from his interactions with Jungkook and what Jungkook, himself, shares with you. There's a dog with angry and very expressive eyebrows as his lock screen. His lips are naturally pouty and his hands are never quite still. Jungkook once stepped into the kitchen with peppa pig bandaids on his knees and despite knowing fully well that it could be any one of your friends, Yoongi is the least prepared person you know, Hoseok was working at that hour, and Jin only carries hello kitty bandaids from down the street, so you have a pretty clear idea of who's responsible.

And despite all that, you know little to nothing about the man personally.

"Noona, he's.. so nice. He's, like, my weekly reminder that I am, in fact, bisexual." Jungkook speaks as he polishes a crystal, sky blue in color and warm in his palm, and you watch him from between the bookshelves, placing your newly ordered volume of Jim Morrison's books through the available spaces.

"That's nice, Guk-ah." And it is, it really is. He's starting to move on and he's happy and his eyes are shining brighter than the crystal in his hands, tiny constellations hidden behind his eyelids, his eyelashes. "Tell me more?"

And so he does. He explains in a tiny voice, a soft one, occasional giggles and nose crinkles and bunny teeth as he talks about this mysterious boy and it all just feels like. So much.

The shop's lights dim the slightest bit. Jungkook doesn't comment on it.

It goes on until you both hear a loud gurgle from the closet-sized kitchen followed by the scent of smoke, and it's only then you remembered the potion you'd left brewing in the cauldron. You trip only once in panic, and Jungkook's laughter echoes through the walls and it follows you the whole way there.

It's a small little thing. A typical witch cauldron in its finest, smaller than average, sitting over your stove and under the kitchen cupboards. They're all filled to the brim with color-coded tupperwares, its ingredients labeled in sharpie in each respective container; because otherwise you wouldn't be able to distinguish the luck potion from the mashed potatoes, the health potion Jungkook thinks tastes like dirt from the apple sauce.

Somewhere between you opening your window to let the smoke out and your attempts at dwindling the damage, your familiar approaches you from behind and looks over your shoulder curiously, ears moving about in alert. "Can you save it? Is it still good?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you." You say in response, but there's no bite to your tone. He bites your shoulder playfully, a tiny howl slipping from his throat. You chuckle, fully endeared.

You grab a nearby measuring cup. You'd prefer glass vials, but they were all being used at the moment, sitting somewhere in your cabinets. You should probably move them somewhere else. Last time they were left alone too long, one exploded and ruined everything else you'd left in that cabinet.

"Do you know if we got any crystal orders recently?"

Jungkook hums at your question, chin propped on your shoulder, his arms still and unsure at his sides. You should probably nudge him off. Some selfish part of you, the bigger part, doesn't let you.

"Um. I think so. Maybe last week? I think you shoved them in a box somewhere." You probably did. It's starting to become a bad habit of yours.

"Dammit."

Jungkook laughs. "What do they do, anyway? Do they predict the future or something?"

"No, unfortunately. Only specific kinds of witches can do that. Divination is pretty hard so I'm pretty sure, like, only Namjoon is capable." You huff out a laugh, "And they're for curses, mostly."

"Namjoon-hyung can do everything so he's the only exception." He pauses. "Except context clues. He's very bad at context clues."

"And taking care of plants," you add. Just last year you'd given him a succulent because you figured it was the easiest thing to keep alive. It died within a week.

You grab a ladle and scoop up some of the liquid from the cauldron, bringing it to your lips before blowing softly. Probably a bad idea to taste test unknown substances, especially in its early stages, but you decide that it's as good a day as any to challenge death, so you swallow some determinedly. It doesn't burn in your throat, just fuzzes and warms a bit on your tongue, so that's a good sign.

"Are we cursing someone?" Jungkook says with a toothy grin before then resolutely, decidedly, adamantly, rests his hands on your hips, twisting his head so his cheek is on your shoulder instead of his chin. You can feel his breath on your neck, goosebumps prickling at your skin, his touch burning even through your clothes.

"No." You say, feeling small. "Not today. Crystals aren't made for that, Gukkie." You mix the wooden spoon through the concoction absentmindedly as you continue, "Plus, curses need a lot of magic. Usually more than one witch. And don't ask Namjoon because I know he would say yes if you asked."

"I think you can do it yourself." He mumbles, nose pressed to your neck.

"Sweet talk isn't going to make me curse someone." You say but your eyes are wide and lovely, as if you'd give in with just a bit more persuasion. "Who do you have in mind, anyway?"

"No one," he hums for a bit, lips pursed, and they tickle your neck a bit in a not-kiss. An almost-kiss. "Yet."

A hearty laugh bursts from your chest and Jungkook giggles along, giggles, the sound delightful and lovely and the cacti on your windowsill hum, leaning into it. You find yourself doing the same. The kitchen gets a tad bit warmer and the lights get a tad bit brighter.

"Any crystal can curse someone if you throw it hard enough." He grins, bright and unreserved. His eyes look like the chocolate truffles he drools over when commercials for it show on TV.

Some days it hurts more than others. This intimacy you have with Jungkook, how safe he makes you feel. How sometimes is hurts just a bit, just around the edges, where it's easy to hide. How sometimes it hurts too much, when the words are all up in your throat and blocking your airway, no space to let your rib cage expand when you try to draw in a breath.

"Guk- grab me some aloe vera roots, please? Please." You whisper, afraid that if you talked any louder the other words would come tumbling out. Your heart sits so big in your chest it's taking too much effort to hold it in place. Hands claw around it incessantly, some squeezing at it and others making it harder for you to breathe.

Jungkook untangles himself from you just as the lights overhead flicker indecisively. His hands don't linger. They feel like they might linger. They hover over your hips for a second, as if he stopped them from lingering.

He says something that sounds like okay, noona but the words get lost somewhere between his tongue and his teeth and only half of it makes it out. You hear cupboards opening and closing—feel Jungkook lingering in the air you breathe in.

You turn around and the werewolf is moving aside your many tupperwares, reading the label of the ones he finds the strangest. He picks up one with a soft pink color, the liquid bubbling unpleasantly. He places it right back, brows furrowed.

"How do you know how to make all this stuff, anyway?" He exclaims with a huff, closing another cupboard with a thud.

"Pinterest. Yoongi. Years of training, maybe. Or not. I think I stopped paying attention after seventh grade."

He laughs a bit at that, a soft thing. Hands you the tupperware with the root you asked for, which ended up being shoved somewhere in the fridge. You really should reorganize your things.

You take trains sometimes.

Faraway trains, hidden somewhere in the deepest part of the city. Trains taken straight out of Ghibli films, splashes of watercolor and pencil art drawn by hand. You take them when you feel like getting away, like outrunning the heartbreak chasing you down, like you want to go somewhere but have no destination in mind. You get off on stops where you don't know where you are.

The train sometimes takes you to farms, where the horizon is burning against the tips of the wheat, setting the world on fire. Sometimes it takes you to towns you haven't even heard of, where everything is homey and everyone knows each other and the flowers sitting on windowsills to bask in the sun greet you softly.

Everything is nice. Calming. You like when the train goes through tunnels, the dark inviting and comforting, a childlike wonder. The sound of the rail wheel on the track almost lulls you to sleep at times, white noise in your ears, and the few people in the train agree — most already doing exactly that, slumped against the seats.

The train skids to a halt. Nothing compels you to get off, so you don't.

People are leaving, a mother sitting in the seat in front of you urging her daughter awake, the old man sitting a few seats back getting up slowly, with kind eyes and laughter lines. You stay slumped by the window, sunlight warming the side of your face.

Amidst your daydreaming and despite the available seats, a man gets on board, spots you, sits beside you. He watches your side profile for a bit, as if waiting for you to complain or call him out on it. You don't, so he gets comfortable in his seat, closes his eyes. His skin is the color of honey and gold.

He looks absolutely horrible. Well, not outwardly—not outwardly at all. He's wearing slippers with little rabbit ears drooping horribly endearingly, a flannel and basketball shorts, two articles of clothing that don't match at all, as if he grabbed them last minute, but he makes them work. You have a feeling he would look good dressed in cardboard and trash bags.

His ears are a light brown color, and on his head sat a pair of antlers, the tip of one broken off a bit.

But his aura. His aura is absolutely horrible. It's gloomy and so unbelievably dark, hovering over his form and twisting into something ugly.

Maybe this strange man is like you. Maybe he likes to take train rides to the middle of nowhere in early mornings, when the clouds are still blurring over the horizon. You catch him staring at it, the horizon; right when you look up and see him looking not at you, but just past your head up to the skies.

You stare, too. The silence stretches, and a voice—thick and smooth like honey—breaks it. You're comparing him to honey a lot, you notice. His voice and his skin. You'll call him honey boy for now. "Blue."

The sky is awfully blue today, only a few clouds hovering overhead. "It'll rain soon," you reply thoughtlessly.

"How'd you know?" You sense a lilting tone of comfort in his tone of voice. He has a bit of a lisp. His eyes are big and open and honest.

"The leaves are turned on their back, the crickets are chirping, there were some colorful streaks on the sky today." You can tell he's processing the words, taking them to heart, listening gently.

"Oh." Is all he says. The silence stretches again. It doesn't last long. "Are you sad, too?"

Your eyes are wide with surprise when you turn to look at him. A grin splits across his face at your unintentional open admittance, and it's so pretty you can't look away.

The man explains he hasn't gotten more than four hours of sleep for the past two weeks. That he hasn't properly interacted with another human that wasn't his roommate and his mom probably since last Wednesday ("Maybe, that might have been a fever dream," he adds. You laugh). That he's been functioning solely through chocolate, granola bars and vitamin gummies—not coffee, no, he can't stand caffeine—and you laugh until he opens his backpack and pulls out, like, thirteen kitkats.

Describing honey boy is some new word you don't know. Like all the gentle love in his heart has manifested itself, is seeping out through his skin. You wonder how many strangers he's charmed in his life.

Honey boy hums a song absentmindedly from beside you, probably unaware that he's doing it. His voice is a deep timbre that fills the silence in a quiet way. His voice is nice and the train ride is nice and for a second it feels like you've run so far ahead from the heartbreak that it's likely impossible for it to ever catch up.

"Do you like the ocean?" He asks after a bit. The train is getting closer to it, to the ocean, and you can see the line where the blue of the sky blurs into the blue of the ocean. He answers before you get the chance to, "I really like the ocean. I would come here a lot with my grandparents. I like how my dad used to chase me around the sand and my mom would sing to me and my grandma would buy me cotton candy from the vendors that walked by and my grandpa would playfully pull at my antlers. And how the pretty scaled mermaids kept the tide gentle when I was learning to swim and it's, just. A cradley sort of place."

The way he views the world is so gentle. "It'll kick your ass, though," you mutter.

He giggles, really giggles, and it comes out as a ehehe kind of sound. It's cute, your mind supplies even though you didn't ask it to.

"It will, won't it?" He says between laughter. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No!" You say too quickly. Clear your throat at the realization. "No, you're not. I like when you ramble."

Pretty pink on his cheeks. He looks small, somehow. "You sound like someone I know."

"That's good. You should have those kind of people in your life or else you'll go mad."

He laughs. The train skids to a stop the same way it always does, but it feels different. The man goes to stand up, hesitates, sits back down. Looks at you, almost as if to ask for permission. "Will I see you again?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. "I don't know."

"Gram says that people that are meant to find each other, will." He looks determined. One of his ears twitch. "See you soon."

And with that he gets off the train, doesn't look back for even a second, is saving that glimpse for when you see each other again. A part of you doesn't think you will. Another finds itself wishing for it.

#poly!au #poly bts #bts x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts jimin #jimin x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #maknae line x reader #werewolf bts #werewolf au #werewolf jungkook #vampire bts #vampire au #vampire jimin #hybrid au #hybrid bts #hybrid taehyung

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donnajons · 5 years

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Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 2

So, this is over due, but it’s here and it’s alive! I couldn't post all the tags, it was a fully mess. Please tell me what you think about. it

It was too late to change her last name.

Her landlady registered her under that name, so the bills came under that name. Her boss, Miss Prince, wrote her checks under Marinette A. Wayne, and she got a fake ID under that name and her photo.

But why the last name Wayne was such a bad thing?

Well, turns out that the last name was well known in Gotham thanks to an eccentric playboy billionaire, whose company hold the 87 percent of the jobs in the Gothic city. At least twenty people asked her if she was related to Bruce Wayne last week. Even Miss Prince asked her if she was one of Bruce’s children. Apparently, the man had adopted a dozen children with black hair and blue eyes like her.

Well, she couldn’t change her last name, but she had the option of change her appearance. That was one of the reasons why she changed her hair color to a pastel pink. She kept her bangs just to divided in two and hold them with pins, so she could show her forehead. The pink was a good choice. It made her look like a totally different person. The only thing that didn’t match were her black eyebrows, but she didn’t want to dye them too.

After paying and say goodbye to Selena, Marinette still had more than a hundred dollars in her pocket, and it was still early, so after a whole internal debate and some encouragement from Tikki, Marinette went to a Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of embroidery thread and some needles. She felt guilty when she gave the money to the cashier and walked home with her knew embroidery set. A strong part of her wanted to go back to the store and return the threads, but Tikki was stronger than that part of her.

“Remember, Marinette. You deserve to have pretty things and hobbies. You can buy embroidery thread and not feel guilty about it. Think of all the pretty pattern that you can sew in your clothes! Tell me one.”

Marinette smilled. What would she do without Tikki?

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Marinette was nervous, and this time it wasn’t because of Char Noir, the miraculous, or money.

The Pink haired girl was about to ask her boss if she could use the sewing machine in the back to fix some of her clothes in her free time. It wasn’t that her clothes were ragged. The thing about her clothes was that they were too plain. She bought them in the discount section of Walmart in the men’s and women's section. Some of them were way too big for her, and others were just… not her style. After she came back from the store and checked the miraculous box, Marinette started to decorate her clothes… well the ones that fit her. That’s why she wanted to ask Miss Prince if she could use the sewing machine, so she could fix her clothes.

It was lunch time, and Marinette was as ready as she could be.

“M-miss Prince.” Her voice lacked confidence even though her boss was kind to her.

A tall woman with black long hair turned around to see her.

“Oh, Marinette. You change your hairstyle! Pink suits you well!”

The girl shyly moved a piece of hair from her face. “T-thank you, Miss Prince. Miss Prince I-I was wondering if you are okay with it, but of course if you don’t that’s fine. I would totally understand, and I don’t want to bother you…”

For someone that wasn’t a native English speaker, Marinette knew how to bladbling like a pro.

Miss Prince put a hand on her shoulder and said “Hey, breathe. You can’t ask me what you want if you don’t breathe, breath, Marinette, breath.”

And she did.

“Good. By the way, your English is getting better. You’re speaking more fluently.” Her boss smiled, “Now, tell me what you need.”

Marinette took a deep breath, “I-I was wondering if you could let me use the sewing machine on the back. I want to fix some clothes that I bought, b-but of course it would be in my lunch break and only if you let me.”

Quickly, Miss Prince smiled to her. “Of course, you can use the sewing machine but not at lunch time. You are a young woman still developing, so take your last hour to fix your clothes.”

Marinette opened her eyes in surprise. “B-but, Miss Prince, we have some clients at 3:00. You told me that you want me to take measurements and star the pattern for their suits. I could fix my clothes tomorrow if you let me.”

Her boss choked her head, “And you will, but you will only take measurements. I have seen your work. You are quick and precise when you take measurements. It would take at most ten minutes per customer. The pattern will take you less time. Now, don’t argue with me and eat something.”

As Marinette walked to the back store, she couldn’t help but be grateful for having a great boss like Miss Prince. She was always comprehensive and kind to her like the time she forgot her money lunch. Miss Prince bought her favorite sandwich and didn’t took it from her paycheck. Oh yes, Miss Diana Prince is an excellent boss by caring about her employees, well employee.

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Bruce Wayne was a patience man… most of the time.

There were just a few things that could make him lose his cool. One of them was getting gala clothes for his oldest sons. Tim and Damian, his youngest, were easy to dress because they had a style. While Tim liked a more classic suit, Damian preferred a little bit more extravagant style and yet elegant. This was what made easy to dress them: they had a good taste in fashion. His oldests, for the other side, had not taste whatsoever. Dick was too extravagant for his own good (If it wasn’t for his father and Alfred intervention, he would be planning on buying a pink suit with falcon feathers. His next son wasn’t better. Jason’s concept of a suit is a clean letter jacket, jeans, and a bow tie.

There was only one person who could help this fashion disasters, and that person… wasn’t, Bruce.

Diana Prince, AKA Wonder Woman, has a boutique with pretty high standards, and by God’s sake, the warrior was the only one that could tame his sons and at the same convince them to use a fucking tuxedo.

“On other news, there has been another victim from the mysterious serial killer, The Jewel Panther, this time on the city of Nice, France. The victim was a nineteen-year-old Japanese girl and was found on a local jewelry store in the same way the other victims of the Jewel Panther. We recommend all young ladies from the age of thirteen to twenty-two that have Asian heritage, fair skin, prominent freckles, black hair, and blue eyes to take precautions in France and neighboring countries…”

Bruce turned off the radio.

It was bad enough that the league didn’t want to take that case, but to hear it repeatedly was just tiring. The league didn’t consider this Jewel Panther to be a menace worthy of them. He was “too normal” for they, but what could be normal about a fucking serial killer that some how ripped off all the organs from the thoracic are of the victims without making an insertion of any kind just too leave their skin flawless.

That wasn’t fucking normal.

Bruce finally arrived at Diana’s boutique where his oldest sons were waiting for him.

“Finally, you are here. Two more minutes and I was going to leave.” Jason, his second oldest, reclaimed the three men got inside of the boutique. “For somebody that preach about responsibility, you’re late.”

“Knowing that you two aren’t a bit punctual, I told you two to be here by two thirty. You will probably arrive at two fifty. We have an appointment at three.”

“You know I would be offended if it wasn’t true.” Dick said as he sat down on one of the chairs. “So does Diana have the suits?”

“No, she is going to take your measurements to make them from scratch.”

“Do we have a saying on the style” Jason asked without hope because he knew that answer would be:

“No.” Unexpectedly, this answer came from Diana Prince, who got inside the room with a small, very small girl.

“As long as I am alive, you two will dress properly… at least just for the gala. For what you two are wearing, I cannot do miracles.” Diana said as she looked like them like if she was judging their appearances (Little note, she was.)

She got an offended hey from the brothers at what she only smiled.

“This is Marinette. She will take your measurements in the changing room. Marinette can you take them there?”

The small girl gave a shy nod “I-if you could follow me.” She said with a thick accent that neither of the brothers could identify came from. Dick and Jason followed the tiny girl.

Once his sons were gone, Bruce asked Diana “Since when do you hire help?”

“Since the business grow up” Diana knew that tone. It was the I-know-that-you-doing tone.

“Not likely, you like to do your clothes by all yourself. The only people that you have ever hired is a few Amazonians, and she has a French accent. Her physique is not anywhere near an Amazonian.” He gave her the look again. “So, what’s her story?”

Diana signed. He wasn’t the best detective just to don’t live it up.

“It’s good that you bring up the topic because I was going to tell you anyway.” She stood up closer to him “Three weeks ago, she came up looking up for work. You should have seen her. She looked so lost and even thinner than she is today. She told me she needed a Summer job, but by Artemins’ sake, she looked like she was starving for weeks. It was obvious that the money was for food and a place to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Her story had holes like how her parents haven’t move from France yet because they were busy or how she couldn’t give me her ID because she lost it in the airplane, but what gave it away was her last name.”

Bruce lift an eyebrow, “Her last name?”

“Her full name, or the name that she gave me, is Marinette A. Wayne.”

Marinette A. Wayne. What are the chances?

Bruce was about to ask when Diana interrupted him.

“I asked her if she is related to you. I mean at the time she had all the Wayne’s characteristics: black hair, and blue eyes. She seemed like one of your children, but she told me that she wasn’t related to you. She didn’t even know who you were until I told her that Bruce Wayne was a rich influence man that basically rules Gotham, which makes it even more weird.”

“There is a lot of people with the last name of Wayne, what would be weird?”

“Because, not offence, but anyone knows that the last name Wayne bring problems in Gotham. Nobody in their right set of minds would move to Gotham having that last name.”

She had a point. The Wayne family had a lot of money and prestige, but they also had an immense number of enemies. Having that last name was dangerous, and more for a teenager without supervision.

“What are your theories about her?” Bruce asked her.

“She is an immigrant, maybe illegal if she didn’t want me to see her ID. Probably from France, her accent gives her away even though she tries to sound Chinese. She is running away from somebody because her parents are not in the picture. She is always alert and ready to hide. I have seen how she shakes and jumps every time something makes a loud noise. She cries in the bathroom sometimes. She is trying to survive, but she can’t do it alone for more effort she tries to put in.”

Marinette had another characteristic of the Wayne family: Psychological trauma.

“You said you were going to tell me eventually, why?”

Diana stopped for a second.

“I’m leaving for France after the gala for two weeks. If the League doesn’t want to do something about the Panther, I will. Those girls didn’t deserve that end, and their sisters don’t deserve to live under all that fear,” For the look on his face, Diana could tell that he was with her on this. “and that’s why I need you to ask you a huge favor.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m not here.”

“You want me to babysitter her?” Bruce asked her.

“Not babysitter her, I just make sure that she is fine without letting her know. I will leave Gotham with more peace knowing that you and your sons will keep tabs on her.”

“And what would be the excuse to come to your boutique for three weeks? Another suit?” The trillionaire asked her. He was on board to keep an eye on this girl because somehow this girl reminded him of her other daughters… I said somehow.

“The boutique will be closed, so I’ll give her three weeks in advance and the materials, so she can work from her apartment. I also will talk to her about a mandatory Summer fashion course in Gotham University that will began a week before I go. I understood that your son, Damian, is taking Summer classes there to get ahead. So that would be a good excuse to keep an eye on her. Don’t you think?”

Bruce smirked. Diana was a sneaky woman.

“You planned this pretty well, didn’t you?”

“I like to be prepared. You better than no one should know it. So, can I count on you?”

Diana offered her hand to him, and Bruce willingly accepted.

“You can go without worrying about her.”

Diana gave him a small smile. “Just please, don’t adopt her before I come back. You have enough children.”

Bruce was used to this constant running joke about his obsession, as Jason liked to call it, but never tease Bruce Wayne about adopting more children because it would end in him preparing the adoption papers.

“You are very funny.” Diana could swear that she saw a little smile on his face. “Lets go, before my kids start bothering your ward.”

The two of them started walking to the changing room. “I wouldn't be worried about her. Under that shy face, I can see a ferocious warrior. I kinda want to teach her how to fight when I come back.”

“Carefull, you may end up having a daughter” This time she could swear over Athermis that she saw a smile on his face.

Diana just smiled. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

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Diana was right about her; Marinette was good at taking measurements.

It took her eight minutes to get Dick’s and another eleven to finish with Jason. It could have been eight, but the man was too ticklish and too tall. She had to stand up on two boxes just too get the measurements of the two men.

“Soo, do you like working with Diana?” Dick said trying to break the ice. Noone have something since they arrived to the changing room, well except a few reprimanding words from the little girl with pink hair.

Marinette finished taking the last measurement from Dick’s waist. She tried not to look at them in their eyes. The less attention she got, the better.

“I-it’s good. Miss P-prince is a kind boss.” She said as she wrote down the measurement on Diana’s notebook

“How long have you been working with her?”This time it was Jason who asked.

Was this an interrogatory?

“N-not long. Three weeks I think.”

“That’s good. Does she gives you a discount in the store?” The man with a few white hairs asked again.

“I-I don’t think so. We have never talk about discounts, but she lets me use the sewing machines to fix some oversized clothes and finish the embroidery. She also buys me lunch most of the time and doesn’t take it out of my paycheck. So I guess that’s better than a discount.” She kept her look on the notebook even though she finished writing down on it.

Dick and Jason shared a look. The way that she said the part about the lunch was, sad and full of gratefulness. Both men look at the girl more carefully. She was thin, at the point that they could see the bones or her hands. Maybe they should avoid that topic.

“You said you put embroidery on your clothes. Are those like the ones that you have on your blouse?” Dick asked pointing at her.

She looked down her clothes. She was wearing an orange blouse with pretty blue patrons on the collar.

Marinette gave a shy nod.

“Did you used a sewing machine?”

She shocked her head.

“No? Well, I’m impressed. This is a pretty good job. Do you think you can put something like that on my suit for the gala?”

Marinette’s blood cold down and her heart almost stopped. The idea of disobeyed Miss Diana terrorized her.

“I-I don’t think that Miss Diana would let me. She already has your suits figured out.” She passed to them the photos of the suit. They looked really formal, elegant, and expensive… and boring for Marinette’s taste.

“In your opinion, what would you change about the suit. In the hypothetical case that Diana ask you to make some adjustments for the suit.” Dick asked her.

“I don’t know if I should. I-I may get in a problem.”

“You won’t. That’s the beauty of the first amendment. Tell us your thoughts, Stephanie. It’s not like Rovin Rotten it’s gonna appear.”

Marinette didn’t understood the reference, but somehow it gave her the it gave it the valor to tell what was on her mind.

“I-if was unto me, I wouldn’t change the design of the suits, but rather the materials. Like for example for you uhm…” Marinette pointed at the tallest.

“Jason”

“Yes, Jason, Sorry. I would change the material to a more shining, like the leather jacket that you are wearing, but it’s not actually leather. It’s lighter. And you…”

“Richard, but call me Dick.”

“Right… W-well Dick, I’m t-thinking that you would look good with some metallic blue embroidery pattern on the lapel, and...and the pockets…. But I-I guess the original design is more proper for that kind of gala.“ She could feel how her face redded at the look of the two men.

“You know…” Dick said as he gave her a polite smile… “your ideas are pretty good. Maybe if we tell Diana about it, she could put ‘em on the suit.”

No, what if she gets mad? What if Miss Prince gets so mad at her that she decides to fire her?! How could she keep the miraculous box safe if she didn’t have money to sustain herself?!

“N-no. I-I don’t want to disrespect her. S-she worked so hard in those designs.”

“Never be afraid to speak your mind if you think that you can improve something” Marinette’s blood cooled again. She quickly stood up and bowed. It was forced habit that she did every time she apologized.

“Hey, Diana. We were just takin’ with your talented girl. She has great ideas.” Jason said.

Diana crossed her arms and gave her a sneaky smile. “Is that so?”

Marinette wanted apologize, but before she could even open her mouth, Dick spoke.

“Yeah, she is talented. Like the ideas she has for our suits. I bet that you heard them?”

The woman nodded.

“I did, and I think they are really good ideas. You have a lot of future in the fashion field so much that I want to talk to you about a great opportunity to improve your career. We can talk about it after our guss are gone, which remind me did you finish taking their measurements?”

Marinette couldn't believe this. It was too good to be true. Maybe it was true, and miss Prince wanted to talk to her about something good, but there was also the chance that she wanted to be alone with her, so she could fire her in private and not in front of her clients.

“Marinette.” She turned at the Diana and the other. Their faces seemed concerned. “You okay?”

She spaced out. She should stop doing that.

“Y-yes, I just got lost in translation. I finished taking their measurements.”

“If we are no longer needed, my sons and I will leave.” Bruce stepped up avoiding to look at the girl to not make her uncomfortable.

“Of course, we will have your suits for the first fit in by Friday.” She and Bruce shaked hands.

Marinette saw his two sons stand up and cme closer to her. Maybe, this was the last time that she would see them again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Pinkie Pie.” He put his hand up waiting for a high five. “Pss, this is the part you high five me back.”

The girl shakingly high fived him.

“Hey, I want a high five too.” Dick put up his hand, and Marinette awkwardly high fived him.

“Dick, Jason we got to go. Alfred is making dinner.”His sons left the room while saying goodbye to Diana. Then Bruce turned to Marinette to shake her hand. “Miss Marinette it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will meet again.”

“L-likewise, Mister…”

“Bruce Wayne, but call me Bruce, Miss Wayne.”

Marinette opened her eyes while open. Bruce Wayne as the Bruce Wayne, and he knew her last name.

“P-please, c-call me Marinette.”

The man just smiled and left the room letting Diana and Marinette alone.

So the worst things that could happen today may happened at the end. She may lose her job and get sued by the Bruce Wayne for taking his last name, and lets not forget that she is using a fake ID. Scratch that, she is an immigrant. Marinettes has seen enough news to now that that country is in thin line with immigrants She was in soo many problems.

“Marinette,” The older woman took her purse. “What do you think if we go out for dinner?”

Well… Marinette didn’t expect that.

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Marinette couldn't say no to miss Prince. She was just too nervous to reduce the offer.

The restaurant was fancy and expensive. Only the beverage was worth more than three months of rent. The people there were dressed in fancy outfits from Versace to Oscar de la Renta; it made Marinette feel underdressed with her orange T-shirt and cheap jeans.

“So, Marinette, you told me you are interested in the fashion field.” Miss prince said as the took a sip from her glass of wine.

“Y-yes miss Prince. I do ever s-since I was a little girl.”

“And what do you plant to accomplish them?”

Marinette froze. What were her plans?

Months ago, she had a prosperous future. She commissioned big pop and rock stars like Jagged and Clara. She won many design competitions from Gabriel Agreste. She was building a name, but now, all her work and effort was worthless. She had to start all over again, but the difference now is that she didn't have the same motivation. Before Gotham, she did it because she has her parents supporting her. Today, she did it to hold to the little sense of normality in her life of chaos.

“I-I don’t know ma’am. Maybe I could start by designing clothes and maybe sell them on Etsy. I h-hadn’t have the time to think through it. Moving here was too time consuming.” The girl said as tried not to shiver. If Miss Prince was going to fire her, Marinette hoped that she did it quickly, so she didn’t have to live with this fear any longer.

Miss Diana put her glass down. “Marinette I’m am gonna be sincere to you. You have talent and dedication. Those two qualities can get you somewhere good, but that can bring you to the glory, to your golden dream is passion. And by Arthemis’ sake, you have more passion than a hundred people together. I have seen how you enjoy creating new clothes and fixing them like if it was a way to get away from everything. That’s why I want you, if you allow me, to support you to become a fashion designer.

Okay… okay.... That took Marinette by surprise. She expected miss Prince to fire her for over speak, not to offer her support.

“I-I.. Y-you want to help me?”

Diana smiled. “Of course, in fact, I have a proposition to you.”

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Marinette locked the door of her apartment, put her key pack at her purse, and started happy dancing.

Diana (she insisted to be called by her first name) told her that after the Wayne’s gala she was going to close the boutique for three weeks. While this made Marinette sad because she would have to live from her saving can, what Diana told her next made her really happy. Diana offered her to work with her not for her.

Here was the deal, for the next three week after the gala, Marinette would be working on her usual tasks but at her apartment while she attended a course about fashion design in Gotham University, fully paid by Diana. At the beginning, Marinette refused telling Diana that she felt that she would be abusing her kindness, but the older woman said that she saw this as an investment. Paying for her education was an investment so Diana and she would sell her clothes on her store under the girl’s name. They both would win. Marinette gets an education, and Diana a new brand for her boutique.

For Marinette this was like a dream come true. In fact, this was the best thing that has happened to her since… well since she defeated Hawkmoth. She will be studying in one of the most prestigious schools of fashion in the world, and if everything goes well, she will sell her clothes at Diana’s boutique, which is one of the most prestigious boutiques in the US.

“I still cannot believe it, Tikki!” Marinette said to the goddess, “this feels like a dream come true!”

The Kwami giggled, “I’m so proud of you Marinette! You deserve this!”

After putting her pajamas, Marinette let her body fell on her hard bed. She smiled like in a way that she hasn’t in the last month. “Tikki, please tell me that this is not a dream.”

The Kwami turned off the light and put a blanket over her body. “You aren’t dreaming, but you should do it soon. Diana wants to hear your ideas for the suits tomorrow morning.”

Marinette closed her eyes while she smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt that she could just fall asleep and worry about nothing.

“Hey, Tikki?”

“Yes, Marinette?” The kwami said as she lay beside her hodder’s shoulder.

“Thank you for everything.”

The kwami gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for everything. You deserve the best.”

Eventhught her apartment was cold, sink in the kitchen dropped all night, and her neighbors screamed like if they wanted to kill each other, Marinette felt more at peace for the first time in ages…

Sadly this wouldn’t last long.

@cyborgcandy

@mikantsume @cyborgcandy @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5@livpc @serina-leigh @tazanna-blythe @blue-peach14 @justarandomtumblerblog@fantasticfourintraining@indecisive-mess-named-me @xxmadamjinxx @ captainmac6 @luckysouleaglenerd@sidefrienda@mindfulmagics @komaedasnatched @adrienne7698@akira-daiyamondo-suta @raingirl0135@kittyotakunoir666 @a-cat-with-a-knife l@thebananathatwrites@howtoshuckatlife @dolph1nch1ca1@spicytacos @re-side-this @emocinamonroll@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna a @salladanne @mjisntme @lunar-wolf-warrior @tazanna-blythe @yin-390 @constancetruggle @celestiacq @laurakinneylance @roseinbloom02

@literallytryingmybestbutok @ellerahs @felicityroth @liawinchester67 @octoberscorn @eliza-bich @chrismarium @captainmac6

#damien x marinette #daminette #ml x dc #maribat #lpmg

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softbiker · 5 years

Text

Born to Run - Chapter 2

Warnings: some language, secondhand embarrassment

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: What a gif to use amirite ;) Thank y’all so much for your responses to the first chapter! It was so encouraging, which is why I’m 2 chapters ahead on the writing for this fic lol. So keep telling me what you think! <3

“We have a few appointments set for today,” Charlotte, the front desk nurse, was saying. “But they’re just wellness checkups, so nothing crazy.”

Y/N nodded, tucking a pen into the pocket of her lab coat. “So these are regular patients?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yep, the usual. It’s a small town, so you’ll see the same faces plenty while you’re here.” She sipped water from her large tumbler as she pulled a floral desk calendar from under her keyboard. “But we also provide some urgent care services, since it’s a 30 minute drive to the nearest emergency room. So don’t be surprised when we get some walk-ins.”

“That’s alright I guess,” Y/N shrugged. “Good to stay busy.”

To say she was nervous about her first real day as a real doctor would be an understatement. Sure, she wouldn’t have many patients - not in a primary care clinic in the middle of nowhere - and the stakes were probably low, but still. She had tossed and turned the night before, eventually hopping out of bed at 5:00 am and slipping her running shoes on. Jogging through her little neighborhood and down the highway for an hour or so before dawn had transferred her first day jitters into adrenaline, but she couldn’t distract herself now. This was the real deal.

But it turned out the real deal moved at a glacial pace - at least in a town like this. Y/N saw a grand total of 5 patients, all of whom were in mostly good health, with the exception of one boil that needed lancing. The rest were just fine, a bit chatty when they met their new doctor, undoubtedly a subject of town gossip. They were eager to fill her in on the local news and suggest churches and social clubs for her to try. She nodded and made noncommittal comments to every invitation. No unscheduled patients had wandered in either, so she had far too much down time to sit in her office and refresh her inbox, waiting for emails from friends and former colleagues as they all settled in to new lives and new cities and new hospitals. None came.

Y/N sighed as she climbed into her car, and leaned her head back against the seat. Doing nothing was almost more exhausting than being busy. She just wanted to get home, pour a glass of wine, and lay around on her couch. And eat dinner. Which she would have to cook...with groceries she didn’t have. Fuck.

Grocery store it is.

Even a remote town like this one managed to have a Walmart somehow - not a huge one, but big enough to have the necessities. The fluorescent lighting made the inside of the store look dingy and gray, desperately in need of a remodel. Y/N pushed her cart up and down the aisles, grabbing items at random now that her growling stomach made everything look appetizing. She made sure she had quick ingredients for the night’s dinner - a simple chicken spaghetti, a mouthwatering recipe from her best friend.

She turned up the baking aisle, ready to head back to the front of the store. While mentally calculating the time left standing between now and her dinner, a box on the right caught her eye. Top shelf. Brownie mix. Supreme fudge. Oh hell yeah.

The shelf seemed a little high at first glance, but surely they wouldn’t put common items like brownie mix out of reach of the customer? Y/N left her cart parked in the middle of the aisle and stepped up to the shelf, lifting up on her tiptoes and stretching her arm as far as she could. The tips of her fingers could just touch the bottom of the box, but it wasn’t enough to get a grip on it. Tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, she strained harder, her other hand gripping the lower shelves for support. No dice.

A little grunt of frustration passed her lips and she stepped back, hands on her hips. Now it was just a matter of pride - she couldn’t just give up and walk away from these brownies. That was more pathetic than buying them and eating the batter alone in her kitchen, which was her original plan. With a sigh, she stepped back up to the shelf and jumped, trying to knock the box over into her hand. The first attempt failed, as did the second, but on the third she managed to tap the box enough to make one corner stick out a quarter inch over the edge of the shelf. Just as she was preparing for one last jump to claim her prize, she heard a throat clearing behind her.

She whipped around, feeling exposed as she had left her dignity behind before the first desperate hop for her brownie mix. Her cheeks burned even hotter as she met the eyes of her witness...her very tall, handsome witness. Broad shoulders under a buttery soft leather jacket, his long hair brushing the collar and

Oh shit that’s my neighbor

“Um,” he smiled, shifting his weight. “Do you need some help with that?” He gestured to the frustrating box on the top shelf.

Y/N’s brain needed a moment to catch up - she hadn’t yet seen him this close, hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t seen him at all since that one moment in the driveway on the afternoon she arrived. He was a lot to take in.

“Yeah, uh sure,” she backed up from the shelf and pointed. “It’s that one. The, um, ‘supreme fudge’ kind.”

His smile widened (was that a dimple?) and he stepped forward, easily reaching up and plucking the mix from its place. Y/N forced her eyes away from his abs as his t-shirt lifted away from the hem of his jeans. When he turned back and offered her the box, his bright blue eyes were on her face.

“Here you go. One supreme fudge,” he teased, smirk creeping up the side of his mouth. Y/N took the box with both hands and held it to her chest.

“Thanks, you’re a real life-saver,” she laughed, self-conscious.

“And here I thought that was your job?”

Y/N’s brow wrinkled, until he nodded towards her clothes and she remembered she was still wearing her scrubs.

“Oh! Right,” she wrinkled her nose in embarrassment. “Well, I definitely didn’t save any lives today, so. You’re doing better than me.”

“Hm. I doubt that.”

The conversation lulled, but he stayed planted in front of her cart. He settled his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, seeming to have no intention of leaving. Y/N took a deep breath and forged ahead.

“It’s...Mr. Barnes I think? I’m sorry I never got a first name.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, it’s just, uh, just Bucky. How’d you know…?”

“Oh, Mr. Van Horn told me you were my neighbor when he gave me the keys the other day. I’m living in his mother’s house -”

“Across the street, yeah!” he blurted, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “That’s how I recognized you, I just couldn’t place it.” He shook his head, laughing at himself. “God, I’m sorry, must’ve seemed rude, I didn’t even introduce myself or ask your name.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waved him off, sticking her hand out and giving him her name, still relishing the ‘Dr.’ title. “But you can just call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, his grip gentle but firm. His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, bright and searching. He took a breath to say something else, when his gaze shifted, locking on something behind her. His posture stiffened and he jerked his hand back, jaw tightening.

“See you around,” he said coldly, shoulder bumping hers as he strode past her down the aisle. Y/N turned in confusion, trying to see what had changed his mood so abruptly. But the only thing she could see at the end of the aisle was a discarded candy wrapper, soon crackled under Bucky’s heavy boot. Then he was gone.

Y/N’s lips pursed in a frustrated pout. Two strikes Barnes.

That night, as she sipped wine from her grandma bed in her grandma house, she scrolled through social media on her phone in a vain attempt to feel close to her friends. Engagement, pregnancy, travel, engagement. Scoffing, she tossed her phone to the side and hunkered down in the bed. She stared at the popcorn ceiling, tiny glitter particles glinting in the lamplight. The wine in her glass was drained to the last drop and she twirled the stem absentmindedly.

She went over the scene in the baking aisle again and again, wondering if she had said something wrong and offended Bucky somehow. His dismissal was just so strange. On a whim, she snatched up her phone again and typed his name into Facebook. A few Bucky Barnes’s, but none that looked like him. She tried Instagram and Twitter with the same result. No social media presence, in this day and age? So fucking strange.

Outside the house, an engine started up, revving a couple of times before the sound retreated down the street.

Good riddance.

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #biker!bucky #biker!au

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helly-watermelonsmellinfellon · 4 years

Note

I notice you post quite a bit about your family being extremely poor but also are an adult and seem to write a lot. Do you work to help out your family, or are you unable to? There are jobs out there that involve writing if that’s the extent you're capable of, like if disabilities get in the way of normal jobs. The level of poverty you describe your family dealing with is really depressing.

So...

I spent 11/14 years in one Christian School. There was a hiatus of 3 years of me trying out public school but I got shoved back into RBCS in 8th grade and stayed. I did not not want to go but Sperm Donor said it was a punishment for my behavior, so I’d be forced to be around Bible Thumpers every damn day.

Private Schools in America cost money. Tuition for this place was $1500 a year for kids over 10. I found out my mom’s brother John paid all my former years of education there to try and keep me close to the family(since my Nana was my school teacher) and make sure my mom didn’t go full broke.

Sperm Donor was in a pickle himself at the time. He was in the processes of being arrested for stealing nearly a million dollars from his clients(he was a financial adviser). He only took from the very desperate, disabled clients too. One died because her parents couldn’t afford her medication, because he was stealing their money. We were in a tight spot as a result, though I didn’t know enough until later. He didn’t pay my tuition or book fees($100+).

So he’s carted off to prison a month before 8th grade ends and I’m sent back to my mom’s custody. And my principal(also pastor) calls my mom to inform her that she has a $1600+ bill to pay for my schooling. She definitely does not have that and I certainly don’t either.

Next day at school I get cornered about how stealing is a sin and dishonesty is a sin(instead of blaming Sperm Donor because God forbid the man in prison for STEALING be in the wrong here). I’m offered a chance to lower the bill if I go candy-selling with the rest of the students every Friday. I will get half the profits made and it’ll be taken off my debt. So I told my mom I’d help her out and I went and did it. I ended up having to stay in the school another year where the money added on and I went candy-selling on Tuesdays too to try and make up for it. I’d earn about $50 each time so $100 a week was put toward the debt, meaning $400 a month.

The chick who was the school/church secretary however, was a bitch who had it out for us. Monthly we’d get notices about how much debt we were in with the school, and one month a student would have $457 and the next month on the first day they apparently had $890. If tuition monthly is about $150 for teen, how did the number shoot up so much? Mine kept getting abnormally higher and reaching into the $3,000s. And I told my mom who then bitched at the school.

The secretary barely finished high school and the only reason she was in that position that she was not capable of handling alone or at all, was because she was kissing the church’s ass. She had sex outside of marriage on school property and got pregnant and was forced to marry him to save her dignity the moment she turned 18. They kept her very close with guilt ever since. Instead of just leaving, she chose to stay and be a bitch to everyone.

My tuition issue plagued me the entire time no matter how much I did. I was so stressed constantly and letters from Sperm Donor who got to write to me in prison, said the school wouldn’t accept his tuition payments when he re-enrolled me. He said he even got his new fiance to monitor a fund he set up before leaving, and sent the money in monthly for the year he signed on. IDK who to believe because he’s a pathological liar, but the church has also been trying for 4 years to get me back into their fold, popping up at my mom’s house uninvited, trying to guilt trip me with Godly reasons, accusing me of being a ‘whore’ who needs to get right with God all because I wore pants, and using my terminally ill Nana as an excuse. They very much would and have actually taken payments without recording them in the logbooks.

I spent my HS years in debt, working hard to get out of it. My HS teacher actually helped me by letting me clean her house once a month and I’d earn $150 in two days because the house was pretty big. I ended up candy-selling more and more days a week and bringing candy boxes home to sell in the neighborhood.

And it seemed to never let up. The numbers did not match. Somehow my debt was always in the $2000s+ but I was making at least $300 a month? My mom finally snapped and said she’d call the cops on the school if something didn’t change. A month later we get the updates to our accounts and the numbers dropped drastically. My Senior Year and I only had a couple hundred dollars left. And the Secretary was suspiciously quiet from then on and kept to herself and left us alone.

Still, I spent the whole time doing candy-selling for them so much, and having to attend church activities for them, that I never got a job. Candy-selling actually brought in more money than what a teen would be allowed to earn anyway. At the time I was so up the church’s ass and scared to make my own decisions that they said I wasn’t capable of making because I was so young, I had already agreed to continue being the church pianist past graduation and they’d agreed to help me fund college so long as I went to the one of their choice with my friends. They had set up my future vocation(teacher in the their school, pianist in their church) and my future husband(Sam most likely) and I wouldn’t have to do anything but follow rules. And as I was scared, I planned to go along with it.

But then they fucked me over a week before Senior Year ended and when June 5th passed and I got my diploma, I peaced out. We changed our phone number, stopped coming to the door when they came by, and ignored their chances at re-connection. And it was months after I got fucked over when they found out they were the ones in the wrong and tried to half ass an apology to me. Didn’t work.

After graduating, my step-dad demanded I get a job finally. Mind you, his failure of a son dropped out of HS & moved to PA with us and proceeded to rely on daddy to do all his work for him. Daddy got him a job at Weis, he faked being sick so much he was fired. Daddy got him another job at Walmart, he took too many days off and he got fired. He moved out of our house and in with his new girlfriend(after milking 3 of their cash already). This one was a trust fund baby(Bree) who was adopted. Her parents paid for her apartment, her nursing education, and gave her a card with $1,000 on it a month for anything she needed. Step-bro moved in and they wasted that whole card name-brand candy in a week.

She started skipping classes to go out to eat with him. Her parents stopped by to see if she was doing well because the school became concerned over abnormal behavior. They wanted step-bro out of the apartment and the relationship to end because they said he was using her for her money(he was and admitted it to mine and my mom’s faces) and would get in the way of her goals in life. She refused. They said they’d take away her card if she didn’t. Well, they did. And another month went by with no changes and they withdrew the full payments for the schooling too. She dropped out. And finally the apartment a month after that.

So now she’s homeless and step-bro manages to swindle both of them back into our apartment. They have to sleep on the floor in the living room. Daddy got them both jobs at Amazon with him. The pay was pretty fucking good at the time. There was a year in between there where we had money and were contemplating getting our own house for the first time. Things were going well.

Step-dad didn’t try to help me get a job though. I asked for help because my search went nowhere. Those 3 got transportation every day and I was stuck with walking. We lived on a mountain and all businesses were at the bottom 2 miles away, so I applied to all available businesses within 2 miles, either in person or online. Never got any responses. As it was a bust, my mom just said, ‘help clean the house since they’re gone all day and help be my legs to watch your sister and I’ll consider that your rent’. So I did. Every day. And I hated it. And there are a lot of posts on here from then of me complaining about it.

So I asked him for help and he never did. But he would demand to know why I didn’t have a job yet or why the house wasn’t perfectly clean? And I’m like, “Dude, you leave your dirty clothes everywhere. You don’t take your dishes into the kitchen. I clean in the day, you get back in the evening and trash the place and by the morning when you’re gone, it’s all a mess. You only see mess because it’s all you 3 make all day with candy wrappers and soda cans!”

After year he had a seizure on the floor and had to be rushed to the hospital from Amazon. Epileptic issues meant no more work at Amazon because his job was operating heavy machinery and he kept having small seizures weeks later! Without him there every day to keep step-bro and gf on their toes, they started calling in sick together or skipping work with dumb reasons. They got fired soon after. The job hunt was a failure, but daddy was still getting jobs for all of them! Instead of over the table jobs, they now worked under the table, fixing up houses(sheetrock, spackle, insulation, etc...). Still didn’t try and help me get a job. I didn’t know how to do any of that, but gf didn’t either but they taught her how to do it.

Frankly, it got to a point of me being a live-in maid in exchange for me staying under their roof, while step-bro and gf made up excuses to not have to help step-dad. Sick, business, too tired, whatever they came up with. I remained home, handling my sister’s online education with my mom, cleaning the house, handling my sister’s bullies, handling our shitty inspector, and all that crap.

Step-dad takes in a friend of his who was evicted and homeless so he’s sleeping on our other couch at this time. Kind of easy to forget but we felt bad for his situation as it was his girlfriend who fucked him over.

And then step-dad and step-bro opened their mouths on something they should have avoided. In that place we kept to ourselves. There was shady shit going on. Murder, drug deals, drive-bys, etc. Mom and I left them all alone and turned the other way and they left us alone. 19 years in that place. If a cop came by asking questions of the only white person in the joint, she’d go, ‘we know nothing, we saw nothing, sorry’. But step-dad and Junior opened their mouths and one of the newer guys reported the son and gf because they weren’t on our lease. We got evicted after 19 years of good relations with management because someone inserted an opinion in something he should have stayed out of.

So 30 days to gtfo, no one in the house has a real job with consistent pay, we move in with my mom’s uncle for the time being. The house is huge with many bedrooms but to conserve space, I, mom, and my sister bunk in the same room. Mom and Bethy got the bed and I slept on the floor for 2 years. Step-dad don’t know what the eff he’s doing for months. We’re up in buttfuck Egypt. He and the Tweedle dimwits are still doing what they were doing before but now have to drive 3 hours to and 3 hours back just to make it. Mom is doing surveys online to make extra money. She’s trying to do her best while disabled. I’m helping clean the house as my form of payment. The car fails, money that was being saved up to move out, has to go to that. The next one fails too so that has to be handled and we’re in debt now! Christmases and Birthdays are nonexistent. Her Uncle’s new wife isn’t quite so open to us being there and complains a lot.

Step-dad manages to make a deal with a guy he’s working with. He fixes up a house the guy owns, and works for him on more houses after that, and he’ll get a considerably low payment for the rent monthly. He didn’t do much work and lied to mom about what was done and when all was said and done, we moved in and it was a wreck. Worse than it is now but it’s still pretty effin terrible. No kitchen, the bathroom is half-finished still, no insulation, power problems, you name it. It’s bad. But cheap because the lease shows we owe $20 a month instead of $200 because the guy forgot to add a zero when he was drawing up the contract.

Then step-bro and gf manage to convince step-bro’s grammy to move down to PA and rent a house for them to use. They still don’t have jobs, disabled grammy pays for everything. Step-dad’s couch-dwelling friend gets a new gf and moves in with her. Step-dad is driving 3 hours to work and by the time he gets back, he sleeps for 4 hours and then has to leave again. Finally he starts staying at his son’s place because it’s closer and less gas to spend, but that also means he’s taken the car. We’re stranded here with only a mini mart across the street as the only shop for miles! He makes excuses for why he can’t come up. Mom has so many health problems but hasn’t seen a doctor in 5 years because of this. I haven’t seen one in 6. My sister is the only one with regular appointments because they’re necessary for school. If anything, at least she remains unaffected by this crap.

I too have taken to doing surveys now. If I get 500 pts a day that’s a $5 gift card to target which delivers here. One of the few places that do.

I can’t even work at the mini mart because the man has 6 employees for each day of the day. 1 works with him each day but Monday where he works alone because there’s less rush on Mondays.

No matter how I complain it’s not like I can go anywhere. There’s still a roof over my head and I have access to the internet. Even if I’m cold every day, borderline ill, and miserable, it’s better than being on the streets.

Some poor people are very unlucky. We are those people. The ones where everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Step-dad’s been through 4 cars since coming here cuz they keep breaking down and needing to be fixed. My sister’s been sick every other month. Power goes out a lot.

I cope by whining online.

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jj-lynn21 · 4 years

Text

Plastic and Glass: Rocker Axel ch 3

Ch 1 ch 2 ch 4 ch 5 ch 6 ch 7

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut

Songs: Take Me with U by Prince

Painting of Axel by @hiddlelecki

Axel and Stephanie put their socks and boots back on and Axel pulls his shirt over his head as a slight chill fills the air. He grabs them the bottle waters from the small cooler he brought. He downs his quickly as Stephanie sips hers until it is gone. She lays back on him as he wraps his arms around her. Her Mother watches with a disapproving smirk. Her brother and sister in-law cuddle.

“Where did you and Axel go?” Her Mother prodded.

“Just along the lake,” Stephanie answered.

“I didn’t see you,” Her Mother cackled.

“I didn’t know you were looking for us,” Stephanie counter. “We talked to some friends we ran into.”

Axel whispered, “You better not have been behind the changing room making out with that hoodlum.”

Stephanie giggled.

The DJ announced, “I’ll be playing some of your favorite tunes that people came up her to suggest while I was setting up. Enjoy the fireworks.”

The song Take Me with U by Prince starts to play. The sky lights up. Stephanie jumps at the first big bang. Axel holds her tighter and laughs. Axel starts singing not real loud but loud enough for Stephanie to hear over the fireworks. “I can’t disguise the pounding of my heart, it feels so strong.” Stephanie joins in, “It’s in your eyes, what can I say, they turn me on. I don’t care where we go, I don’t care pretty baby, just take me with you…”

Another firework crashes as beautiful multicolors light up the sky. Stephanie’s body shakes again. Axel keeps singing to calm her which helps. “Come on and touch the place in me that’s calling out your name… We want each other oh so much why must we play this game...”

Stephanie joins in on the chorus again. Voice a little shaky but perfectly in key complementing Axel’s. “I don’t care where we go, I don’t care pretty baby just take me with you…”

“Hey sis,” Mark leaned to see her. “Who sings this?”

“Prince and Apollonia,” She said proudly.

“Let them,” Mark laughed.

Stephanie smirked singing louder, “All I want is to spend the night together. All I want is to spend the night in your arms...”

Axel laughed, “Funny, but I think you sound great babe.” He kissed her cheek and sang with her a little quieter. Snuggled her tightly whenever another extra loud firework went off.

“I’ve always loved the colors, but the sound of fireworks is a little jarring sometimes.” She nuzzled into Axel.

There were other songs Axel sang into her ear to try to relax her during the barrage of huge bangs in the sky that lit up in magnificent colors. When the finale started she buried her head into his chest. He stroked her hair softly until that was all over. Everyone got up. Some were clapping, hooting, and hollering for the grandeur of the event. Axel scooped up the blanket folding it under his arm, puts the cooler over his shoulder.

“Say goodbye to your friend Stephanie,” Her mother remarks. “I’m sure he wants to get home to bed.”

“Actually, I will be riding home with Axel,” She was matter of fact. “I need to pack up some cloths. Then follow him home. Might be back Sunday.”

Her mother’s jaw drops as Stephanie walks away with Axel.

Stephanie giggles and kicks her feet as Axel grabs her up in a bridle hold, “We better get there before her, I really don’t want a confrontation.”

“No problem.” Axel grins. “Just want to get you back to my place to wreck that pussy. All your defiant behavior has me hard already.”

She laughs more, “I think anything I do makes you hard.”

“Maybe,” he put her down. Grabbed the helmets.

As Axel was putting the helmet on Stephanie, Mark walked over, “You two have a half hour to get her things and go. Mom is pretty fuming. I’ll do my best to calm her down before dropping her at home. Have fun sis. Axel, just be gentle and wear protection.”

Stephanie holds in a laugh.

“Always,” He got on the motorcycle and Stephanie got on the back.

They were zooming off as Mark walked back to the van thinking about what to tell his Mom. He was supposed to discourage Stephanie from leaving with Axel. He didn’t do that and eventually his Mother would be reaming him out for it.

As soon as Axel stopped the motorcycle, Stephanie jumped off to run in the house to pack up some cloths frantically. Axel put the kick stand down and followed her.

“Calm down Babe,” Axel suggested. “It only took us ten minutes to get here. We have twenty more minutes.”

Stephanie stuffs cloths in her backpack, “I just really don’t want to deal with her tonight.”

“I don’t want you driving all frazzled like this.” Axel said calmly. “Come here.” He pulled her away from pushing on her bag to zip it.

“We don’t have time Axel,” She squirmed.

He took her face in his hands, “Just two minutes to focus on something else.” He leaned down to kiss her. To take her breath away. To take her mind off the current dilemma. “Better?”

She nods. Softly said, “We should go.”

“I’m going to pull in the Walmart I saw a few miles away. I need to buy some more magnums.” He winks.

Stephanie grins as she grabs her bag and heads upstairs. Axel follows. Slaps her ass as she get to the top.

“Enough of that for now young man,” She runs though the upstairs out the door.

Axel follows with his large strides catching up easily. Stephanie jumped in her car. Axel swung his leg over his cycle. As they pull off turning left out of the driveway her brother came in the other way dropping her Mother off.

At almost midnight on July fourth the Walmart parking lot was mostly empty when they pulled in. Stephanie pulled where a truck was on one side of her and an empty space for Axel on the other side. On the other side of that was a van. They went inside straight to the area he knew he could find what he was looking for. He bought two boxes which made the young cashier look at him and Stephanie with wide eyes. She looked at the Magnums and back at Axel again.

He grinned, “Holiday weekend.”

The cashier turned beat red and hurriedly scanned the items and took Axel’s cash. As soon as Axel walk out he busted out laughing.

“Poor girl didn’t know what to think.” He laughed harder.

“I think it tipped her over the edge when you said, ‘holiday weekend.’ Like we are going to use two boxes in two days.” Stephanie giggles.

He grins, “I usually order the 100 pack to last longer but since twelve packs is all they had I got two. I’ll order more soon.”

Stephanie goes to get in her car.

“Let me in the passenger side.” Axel was giving her that look of hedonistic need.

As soon as she got in, she unlocked the door. Axel reached down and found the lever to push the seat all the way back. Then the button that lays it back. He got one of the condoms out while he looked round searching for any spectators or cameras. The truck blocked the closest camera. He took his pants and shorts down.

“What are you doing?” Stephanie looked around nervously.

“I told you, you gave me a hardon and riding my motorcycle is a little difficult in this position so what do you think we are doing.” He got situated in the seat all on display. “We are going to fuck right here. Take your panties off and jump on pretty girl. It is all for you.”

She hurries out of her panties as she giggles, “You are so bad Axel.” She holds his shoulds as she attempted to ease his cock inside, lowering herself as she whimpered.

“Been good all day,” he hissed. “Its time we let go and be bad.”

He grabbed her hips forcing her down quickly. She gasped. Tears welling in her eyes from the shock. He pulled her down again a little less forcefully.

“You got this Stephanie,” Axel gritted his teeth. “move those hips how I like. Take my cock deep.

“Yes Axel,” she muttered as she found her comfort.

She felt him thrust as she rolled her hips keeping up with him. Her hands gripping his shirt as her hair fell around his face. She moaned out as he hit her exactly right. He began to rub her clit so she would come with him soon.

“Fuck you are so good Stephanie.” he grunted. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, sooo… Oh fuck Axel,” She threw her head back losing her speech as she came.

He came with a growl hold her hips as she road out her orgasm. She fell over him minutes later. He held her.

“That was fucking great for being in a car, babe,” He kissed her. “I have a cramp in my foot, but it was worth it.” Axel takes a deep breath. “You alright? Will you be able to drive to my place?”

“As soon as I can feel my legs, I’ll be fine,” Stephanie giggles as she moves back over to the driver’s side and puts her panties on.

Axel opens the door and tosses the condom in the parking lot. He gets his pants back on with some struggle. He sits there a minute more before looking over at Stephanie who is looking at him eyes droopy. “I guess I’m ready to ride easier now if you can drive.”

Stephanie starts her car, ‘I’m good.”

He reaches and leans over to kiss her, “That’s my dirty bad girl.” He gets out and straddles his motorcycle. Pulling out.

The own over the truck is just stepping around to get in as they pull away. He see’s the newly used condom laying there, “Damn horny kids. I miss that time.” He grumbles before getting into his truck.

#axel cluney #rocker axel #axel and stephanie #original story #fanfic #fan fiction #creative writing #writing #short story #love story #smut #angst #fluff #bill skarsgard #rock n roll #walmart

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momtemplative · 4 years

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MASKED.

In a house with two young kids, our quickest sanity-stabilizer in this COVID era was to head outside and go for a walk, or a bike ride, or to roller skate. We’d pay close attention to the proximity of passers-by, but typically the grassy fields by the bike paths were an open canvas for the kids to blow off some steam. And we’d all return home a bit winded and slightly more stable.

Then, a little more than two weeks ago, a strong recommendation came from Governor Polis for everyone to wear masks in public. But what, pray-tell, was “public” referring to?

Here’s what the CDC endorsed: wearing cloth face coverings in public settings where other social distancing measures are difficult to maintain (e.g., grocery stores and pharmacies) especially in areas of significant community-based transmission.

So that’s what we assumed Polis recommended as well. That night we even had a happy hour gathering with our neighbors, all at least 6-feet-away, but without masks. We didn’t feel like we were being sneaky or non-compliant, we were simply following the guidelines as we understood them.

But then we started seeing people in their yards wearing masks, and on walks wearing masks— in addition to 6-feet! There was an eerie infiltration of mask-wearers, and, with that, the non-verbal communication of an abrupt change of protocol. Our sacred, oft-traveled, 1,000-step bike path that loops around the block started to feel unfamiliar, as if it were a movie set peppered with strangers, wearing homemade cloth curtains over their cheeks.

We quickly felt like a minority out there with our bare faces.

An afternoon walk was once a favorite time of day—quarantine or not. Quickly though, in light of the current mask situation, and before I began to wear one, my brain started to get stuck in a grinding pattern of managing everyone else’s whereabouts in accordance with my own. I noticed that I was judging those who were masked, at least in part because I was sure they were judging me.

Their judgment and my judgment felt cut from the same cloth: judgement as a way of controlling the uncontrollable. There is so much confusion about protocols. So much fear of the radio broadcast of white noise and speculation that is to be our future. All these feelings get lumped together into just trying to do it right. I returned from one particular walk stiff as a board and deeply grumpy.

“Jesse,” I said, “I’m not going on a walk again without a mask.”

I opted out of any domestic sewing of masks at first, and started with my old-lady cardigan tied around my face like a waist. I then upgraded to a bedazzled bandana that I bought to fill Opal’s Easter basket last year. I love the happy fabric, but it wouldn’t stay up over my nose for anything beyond the liquor drive-through (my singular biweekly errand). Store-bought masks are not an option. They’ve been back-ordered for weeks and if the stock is replenished, it needs to be saved for the blessed healthcare workers.

By the next weekend, Jesse and Opal wore masks that they made from a YouTube video, using mustard-yellow t-shirts and rubber bands, while on a bike ride. That ride turned out to be very brief because, according to Opal, it was so hard to breathe.

The solidarity and confidence that come from wearing a mask are helpful and significant, sure. But the act of wearing a mask changes the experience entirely.

On a purely physical level, it muddles your peripheral vision, steams up your glasses, makes it hot and very hard to breathe.

On a social-emotional level, the masks create a real separation between people. It feels similar to being at a costume party—even if the invite list includes most of your friends, everyone is suddenly anonymous.

I walked behind two people (in masks) and a dog from a block away that I thought were my beloved next door neighbors. I even hollered at them. (They didn't hear me.) Then I got closer and realized it was a different dog and very much not my neighbors. It’s all very disorienting.

One week in, and Opal has taken Polis’s suggestion as gospel. Of course, I don’t blame her. Sometimes when we are out and about, so is the rest of the neighborhood. During those times, the mask feels safe and dare-I-say comforting. (Like we are good, complaint citizens. Go us.) But other times, there is nobody outside. I tell Opal, “Sweetie, we can keep our masks around our chins until we see someone (dozens of feet away!) and then put up our masks.”

Opal’s reply: NOT A CHANCE.

I try to imagine what it would be like to experience all this at age ten. What other such details has her system become accustomed to over the last month? Zoom call playdates, online school, little sister around all-the-effing-time. Maybe some feelings come out sideways? Maybe everything seems overwhelming and busy even though very little is happening?

In the olden days, before COVID, any sort of outdoor trek was soul-nourishing for all of us. It ticks a lot of boxes: sunshine, fresh air, exercise for me and the dog and the kids, a brain reset. Now, masked, such an activity is beyond taxing. Ruth has no desire to keep her mask on and she’s a runner. We can bribe her with a lollipop to stay in the stroller, but the girth of the BOB, along with the leashed (80-pound) dog requires skill and intentional footing on an average day. Trying to juggle it all through a face-drape is the emotional equivalent of walking through tar. A guaranteed headache.

Returning to our backyard, with its creaky swingset and patchwork yard, and removing our masks (along with the associated invisible constraints) is beyond restorative.

“That’s the best part about a mask,” Opal said. “Taking it off and having the air taste so fresh and cold again.”

On Sunday morning—a few days ago and two solid weeks into the mask-in-public rules of conduct—the kids were scattered on the floor watching Frozen while I folded laundry and Jesse tinkered away at the sewing machine. Project: to sew face-masks that fit each of us properly. It was a lovely scene of the times. I would imagine Norman Rockwell painting such an episode if he were alive during COVID. A family of four (plus cat, plus dog) in their natural weekend habitat. Slow to dress, sipping juice or coffee, and, sewing face masks.

“Ruth,” Jesse said, “Come on over here and try this on to see if it fits.” Ruth scurried over to him to try on her mask like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Later that day, I walked our dog wearing the mask Jesse so lovingly crafted for me (after three fittings). It was exquisite, hands-free, spacious around the mouth. He even used the sweetest yellow-petal, summer dress fabric. When I returned, I kissed him straight through the mask.

In spite of a good fit, it still takes exponentially more effort to greet someone while masked—you have to yell or over-gesture to compensate for the fact that both of your faces are completely erased. Because we wear ours primarily outside, most people are in sunglasses with their masks. But if not, they are far enough away where eye-reading is not an option. It’s all a straight-up guessing game.

More often than not, for the sake of simplicity, it’s just me and the dog these days. Typically, I have my dog’s leash in my left hand, and a steamy bag of his shit in my right that gets carried for countless unpleasant blocks. This is due to the lack of public trash facilities on the neighborhood routes I find are easier to navigate within the guidelines of 6-feet-between. Bike paths are pretty tight if there isn’t open space to veer off on either side. And now I’ve got my mask on, and fogged-up sunglasses. The uniform is similar to that of someone on Halloween in a last-minute ghost-sheet costume, with just the eyes cut out, cobbling along with both hands full. This is not a “path is the journey” sort of moment. I’m lucky if I can twitch out a head-nod or an elbow-wave to a passer-by.

It feels important to counteract the separation that has become synonymous with health and life. But I’d be lying if I said I was able to muster a greeting every time.

In our culture, masks (when not worn in a medical setting) often represent sinister actions—bandits or bank robbers or the KKK who want to hide defining features.

For many Asian countries, mask-wearing was a cultural norm even before the coronavirus outbreak. In East Asia, many people are used to wearing masks when they are sick or when it's hayfever season, because it's considered impolite to sneeze or cough in public.

The 2003 Sars virus outbreak, which affected several countries in the region, also drove home the importance of wearing masks, particularly in Hong Kong, where many died as a result of the virus. Says the BBC news: “One key difference between these societies and Western ones, is that they have experienced a contagion before—and the memories are still fresh and painful.”

I recently read a story about two black men who were wearing masks at Walmart—fully in compliance and trying to keep themselves safe—when they were accosted by police. It hit me like a whip how individualized each of us are experiencing this pandemic. I skoff at my mask because it’s a pain-in-the-ass. But I’ll never be faced with also having to weigh the risks of racial profiling.

Delving further, I read that to-mask-or-not-to-mask has become a way to take a political stance. Trump supporters carrying “My body, My choice” signs, with an illustration of a crossed-out mask—this is a common image to see in the media right now.

The Washington Post said: “Even as governors, mayors and the federal government urge or require Americans to wear masks in stores, transit systems and other public spaces to contain the spread of the novel coronavirus, the nation is divided about whether to comply. And it is divided in painfully familiar ways — by politics and by attitudes about government power and individual choice.”

So, clearly, it is about so much more than just a mask.

This just in.

In a press conference that took place a few days ago, April 20th, Governor Jared Polis and state epidemiologist Dr. Rachel Herlihy outlined how life may change in Colorado as soon as next week, when “shelter-in-place” shifts to “safer-at-home.” They are essentially the same, just with a select few businesses opening with strict distancing rules and incremental shifts toward less physical distancing over all. Polis mentions nothing different about mask-wearing. Meaning, still wear them in public, especially if you can’t get 6-feet-between, especially if you’ve been exposed or have symptoms.

I noticed an immediate difference on my walk following his announcement. There was a family of four playing frisbee in an open space without masks! My initial feeling was wait, WTF? (And yes, I realize we are living in a strange state of affairs for my initial reaction to a beautiful family frolicking in a field to be contempt.) There was a man throwing a ball for his dog in a park that still had many visible CLOSED signs—also NO MASK. (Again, WTF??) I then gave a wide, grassy birth to a group of mask-free bike riders.

I notice my mask feels more like a burden on my face without the unifying solidarity of everyone doing it. We all seem to be getting different memos.

There’s a huge relief that people are back to having faces, to be sure. I miss people. I love faces. But I have to admit that in spite of my hemming and hawing, I’d gotten used to feeling protected. It’s impossible to make sense of any of it. Even little Ruth came in yesterday and gave a tiny cough. “I’m sick,” she said, “Since I didn’t wear a mask today.”

Circling back to the facts, the only thing worth grasping at right now, I am challenged to find any bit of news to suggest that our household need to be wearing masks while out on walks—under any level of regulation thus far. Neither Jesse nor myself are working outside of the house. We don’t visit with friends or family. (Big sigh.* We miss everyone terribly.) The odds of us being silent carriers are beyond slim. We are not immuno-compromised. So wearing masks these last few weeks—while still on socially distanced walks—could probably be categorized as an act of cultural alignment, an act of doing everything we can for the cause.

As of right now, this moment, I do not see our mask-wearing as being impactful to our macro OR micro community. So, for the sake of preserving the sanity of our tiny culture for the long haul, I vote that we wear our beautifully-Jesse-crafted masks on our chins, like flattened feathers at the ready.

“As it (the “safer-at-home” regulations) rolls off April 27, we need to figure out how to run the marathon now that we’ve run the sprint,” Governor Polis said in his most recent press conference. “I hate to break it to you, but the easy part was the sprint.”

#momtemplative #HeatMamaWords #mindfulparenting #COVIDwords #masked

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remmiesaloser · 4 years

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13 Years | 4 Weeks

honestly, I dont know which of the two have been longer in my life.

so recently I ended a 13 year long relationship with the guy I've been dating since my freshman year of high school. it took me this long to understand, acknowledge, and accept the relationship was emotionally (and borderline physically) abusive and thanks two my two best friends and a very nice therapist I asked him to move out.

I thought the overwhelming life style change would be the hardest. I haven't been alone since I was 14 and it took me a long time to build up the courage to end things because I am terrified of change and had little to no idea what to do without him. to my surprise I've adapted to being alone pretty well. the loneliness does get to me sometimes - I miss those moments we had where we could have a conversation without speaking. I miss over a decade’s worth of inside jokes, and it still hurts when I see something and instantly think of him cause it was our thing.

its a daily struggle to remind myself why I did this because its frighteningly easy to minimize the damage he did when he’s not here to do it every day. the gaslighting and emotional manipulation isn't something that just switches off or diminishes with distance. somehow, in some super shitty, unfair way, it gets worse. because im left alone with my thoughts that he’s managed to turn against me and they’re still working angles for him that catch me off-guard sometimes. I still battle with guilt for making him move out, because I feel terrible that now he’s stuck living with his mom and all his things are in boxes. and I hate that it’s gonna take a long time for that to go away.

but I digress. because all of that isn’t the hardest part. the hardest part is getting him the fuck out of this apartment. we 'ended things’ April 5th. there are quotes around that because we haven’t officially broken up. like, I told him I needed a break till he gets his shit together, and he’s all but moved out, but I haven’t even changed our relationship status on Facebook (yay, guilt!) and we haven't really agreed that we’re broken up. Jesus, again I digress. ANYWAYS. I knew it was gonna be a process to move him out because our lives are so intertwined that we’ve had to go through rooms and drawers and boxes one by one separating our shit. and this process has been fucking agonizing because he is dragging his goddamn feet.

Initially I thought we were gonna bang this out in a weekend, get all the shit out and be done. A month later, and there’s still a pile of his shit at the top of the stairs, a handful of things in the corner of the living room (including the giant china cabinet filled with his things) and his grandmother’s dishes in my cupboards. but that’s a post for another day. because right now im just gonna vent about him taking his sweet ass time, being insanely petty, and still somehow fucking manipulating me when he doesn’t even live here anymore.

honestly the pettiness and inconsideration for my own time and requests is the biggest thing that’s getting to me, what’s driving me to write this. most of the time he’s been here for his shit, his mom’s been with him, and I was chalking up a lot of the pettiness to her. because he’d be here to get the things from the living room, and hours after they'd left I’d notice small things had been taken from other parts of the house. now some of the stuff he’s taken was his, just something I was using with him that I’d assumed he’d at least mention he was taking. im a lot of things, but selfish isn’t one of them and honestly unless it’s something from my family or something that I bought that was expensive, I don’t care. he can have it. It’s more the fact that, when I need something all of a sudden I cant find it and realize he took it.

like, his nana’s pots and pans. They’re a really nice set his mom let us have and I fully expected them gone. my only request was that he give me a heads up so I could go out and get my own set when he planned to take them because with them gone, all I’d have left is a few frying pans. This is our conversation from that weekend:

This was Saturday afternoon. He never told me he wasn’t going to come by Saturday, and gave me a 15 minute heads up he was on his way over on Sunday - which did me no good because I wasn’t even home. That meant I couldn’t clean out the dressers (I didnt want to do it until the day he was going to get them because I would have to leave my clothes on the bed until I could get my own dresser from my parent’s house once his were gone). When I got home, all of my clothes were thrown on my bed and the ground.I had to rewash a bunch of shit, refold everything, and then clean the entire room from the mess that was made.

fucking on top of that, his mom decided to take the pots and pans. I’d specifically asked him Saturday because I was going to Walmart and could have bought a new set for myself while there. I didn't want to buy them until I needed to because I’m trying to save money and didn’t get paid that weekend, so I figured if he’s not taking them I don’t need to get things until I get paid next weekend. Wrong. I had to go out that night again and get a set because, as I said, all I had were 3 frying pans and a skillet thing. Oddly enough, she didn’t take the dishes. They were her mom’s, just like the pots and pans, and for some reason she didn’t want them... don’t worry, I already plan to pack them up this weekend and give them back because lord knows what’ll happen if I dont and she decides she wants them six years from now.

honestly though the biggest level of petty was the Tylenol PM. I know, it’s not a big deal. But it’s just one of those little things that I stopped and was like, are you fucking kidding me. I noticed that, after taking his bed and dressers, the pack of tissues he’d got us from Sam’s was gone. Again, he bought them, whatever. would’ve been nice for him to tell me so I had a heads up to fucking get them when I was at Walmart but whatever. he also took a 6-pack of toilet paper he’d gotten literally the day we ended things (because he’d gone to king Soopers with his mother instead of talking to me about the fight we’d had) and he’d initially told me to keep it, it was for me anyways. I noticed just last weekend it was gone.

but the fucking Tylenol PM. I'm not one to buy brand name medicine. if I can get store brand, I will. Almost all my medicine is store brand except that Tylenol PM because I was really sick one year and wanted the good stuff. Y’all know how expensive Tylenol is. I sprang for it, and I used it sparingly because I didnt want to have to buy more if I didn’t really need it. Well, two weekends ago I fell down a fucking mountain. I was running a trail down a mountain, tripped, flew through the air, and landed on my shoulder and kneecap. It still hurts, and that day I was in a lot of pain. The regular Tylenol and Ibuprofen that I’d been switching back and forth with all day just wasn’t doing the trick and I was like, okay. this is a Tylenol PM kind of pain. That night, right before bed, I went to grab it from the bathroom cabinet.

it was gone. the rest of my medicines, the store brand acetaminophen and store brand ibuprofen, those were still there, but the Tylenol PM was gone. It has exclusively only lived either on the dresser/nightstand in the bedroom, or the bathroom cabinet. as he took the dresser and nightstand, and it wasn’t in the cabinet, it had been taken. I cannot tell you how livid I was. it still pisses me off. because of all the things to take he took that. Not the rest of his bathroom shit, not even all his shit from the bedroom. but he took the Tylenol PM. I even asked if he knew where it might be - thinking he’d come across it at some point. he told me “it’s always been in the linen closet” where the rest of our medicines are. It was never there, but I checked the entire closet just in case - nothing. Again, I know it’s small. it’s just a bottle of pills. but it’s the whole damn thought behind it.

there’s more things too - the fact that no, he doesn’t take all his things from a certain room, and I have to then box the rest of his shit up, move it out of my way, and clean the room that he trashed.

It’s the fact that 90% of the things on our walls were his (which helps show me how little say I had on my own things in the apartment I exclusively pay for) and now that he’s taken them, he’s left the walls, hooks, and nails behind. most of them are up way above my head - he needed a ladder to put them in - and now they’re littered all over the wall. today, as he worked to get the shit from our front bedroom (hopefully the last things he’ll need to get) I asked him if he could also get the nails and hooks out of the wall because I can’t reach them. he asked me, “did you try using the step-ladder?”. I answered no, and he simply said, “that should work then”. Like, no. you put those up, so you could display all the things of yours YOU wanted to display (3 out of 4 walls in the room were covered with his things) and now he can’t even take the tacks down even though he took the hangings down.

and then of course, it’s the fact that he just leaves a mess in his wake. when he first moved things out of the living room it was a mess. I spent hours rearranging shit, packing up the rest of his shit that he left behind, and then cleaning up everything because I still have to live here. it was the same with the bedroom. and now it’s gonna be the same thing with the front room. I told him today that everything needs to be out by next weekend because I can’t do this every weekend. He asked what I meant by ‘this’ and explained that I was tired of having to clean up everything that got messed up. He told me simply “it’s not being destroyed. I’m just taking my things”. At the moment the entire room was in shambles, everything askew from him digging his things out and leaving my stuff lying in piles. It’s cleaned up now - save the pile of boxes and junk at the top of the stairs - but I told him I have to clean up the mess that’s left behind. He didn’t have an answer for that.

Honestly there’s really not a point to this. I’m just pissed, I’m annoyed, and I’m angry, and I’m sad. I’m just tired. And I wanted to vent. So if you stuck with me through this, I wanna thank you for listening. I appreciate being heard, because I haven’t been for so long. your time means a lot to me.

#abuse #emotional abuse #physical abuse #mental abuse #gaslighting #manipulation #breakup #ending a relationship #thoughts #rant

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loveinthetimeofcorona · 4 years

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March 17

I woke up this morning feeling a bit better after sleeping for a full 8 hours and taking meds again. My cough is still persistent but doesn’t hurt as bad anymore, plus, a big bonus that my body doesn’t hurt *everywhere.* However, my nose is running like 45 away from his taxes so that’s been a pleasure to handle.

Bodies are a weird thing. For a long time I had an off-again, on-again relationship with my own around positivity, opinions from lovers, and projection & acceptance of it. I don’t have to tell you the extreme pressure of a woman’s body to be anatomically incorrect and hairless and thin, but in these times of needing to extra listen to your body for health and wellness, I am damn glad my biggest “problem” is my midsection. My arms work for petting cats and my legs function well for standing in the shower. My vision to look at my beautiful yard and my hearing to listen to my partner tell me he loves me is immeasurably valuable.

...which is why I was initially so sad to find a lump underneath my right armpit last night after taking the best hot shower in recent memory. However, before anyone panics, when I was sick in December from my URTI the doctor told me it was normal to have a blocked sweatgland as a side effect. Part of me feels relieved in a weird way to see this old friend again because I know what to do, but another part of me is like:

Toe-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Also, fun fact, while we’re oversharing, I stopped shaving my armpits in December when I got my first blocked sweatgland (you’ll always remember your first) because my doc said it may irritate the area. And I just didn’t pick it back up, 3 months later...

So, where are we in the healthcare game right now so I can tackle getting better? Well...here we go.

Monday:

I attempted to “get seen” by a doctor via virtual waiting room. This means scheduling a video call with a doctor so you can talk to them about what you’re feeling, and they put a visual on your symptoms. I’ve never done this before but considering all the precautions of the coronavirus, it seemed like a good idea (famous last words). Particularly if you think you have COVID-19, you should make arrangements with your health provider to get an initial screen via phone or video call first. If the symptoms persist, the nearest hospital will prep for your arrival. Because I don’t know if I have COVID-19 or a plain ol URTI again, I figured I’d give technology a shot and got my list of symptoms ready to talk with the doc about. But after having the UHC app open for 4+ hours and no bites, I closed it and attempted again this morning.

Tuesday:

Here was my schedule:

10:09am - get an email that “It’s time to join your Virtual Visit” - great! Pick up my phone to open the app and then...

10:10 - get a second email that says “A Teladoc provider was unable to reach you for your visit“ - for real? 60 seconds and then the doc bounced? Even Lyft has better waiting windows than this.

10:11-10:19 - bitch to coworkers about not being able to be seen, our healthcare system is in shambles, and I am running out of Kleenex.

10:20 - after making a cup of tea I re-join the app waiting room and decide to just keep my phone on, with the app open, for the forseeable future since I’m dealing with a REAL LIFE ONE MINUTE MAN (and subsequently go down a Missy Elliott video k-hole, which, always OK).

10:26 - get kicked out of the UHC app with a generic “we’ve experienced an error” in addition to getting completely logged out of the app somehow. At this point I am invested. I’ve been ignoring text messages and avoiding going on Instagram just to have this fucking app open. I log back in.

10:45 - the app still shows the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. This banner is the Hoover Dam. 11:30 - the app is still showing the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I also realize the mic and video options on the app have been active this whole time. In a moment of WTF, I mute myself and position the camera to get a good view of the smoke detector on my ceiling. 12pm - I swap to FaceTime to catch up with a friend and lay out I may need to jump if UHC calls me back for the app appointment. It is good to see a face across the country that reminds me my friends are awesome. 12:45 - (in Morgan Freeman voice) "They, in fact, did not join the virtual waiting room." I take more meds in hopes my chest hurts less. I realize I'm out of Cepacol. I contemplate bum rushing Walmart and if my legs in a weakened state could make a run for it. 1:55 - I am going to murder the "We apologize for the wait. You are still in the queue for the next available provider" banner. I'm bummed that in five minutes, I will be attending a webinar called "Managing Isolation and Loneliness" and not "Managing Community Activism to Overthrow the Government and Rage." I still have my phone literally 6 inches away from my laptop, still open to the dumb app waiting for a human on the other end to validate me being sick. My husband asks me to put a blanket on my lap so I don't get cold. I tell him that if I burn the place down I will stay warm that way. I decide if I still don't get a bite by the end of this webinar, I will venture into no mans land - actually calling the patient support line for my health care provider.

6:43 - work takes precedence, and I tie up everything I can to close out my work day so I can talk to my brother. He describes his Mad Max journey heading back from Tahoe to the Bay Area with his girlfriend, which includes going to BFN for toilet paper and going on an epic search for eggs. After making my umpteenth cup of tea, I finally hunker down and call the 800 number on the back of my insurance card. I opt in for a call back and set a timer to see how long *this* process will take.

6:45 - someone calls me back. I silently yelp in surprise. What black magic is this that a phone call is faster than an app? I ask no questions. I describe my troubles to the admin: I’ve waited around in the app, I feel like shit, somehow the doc didn’t see me for my visit in the morning because I was too “slow” to log into the waiting room. While we talk an “Unknown” caller is on other side but I ignore it because I’m talking to a human. Then I get a text that a doc tried me again and I didn’t answer, so my virtual visit has now been canceled.

It took everything I had to not snap my phone in two and use it as a digital shank. I explain that to the admin who just says “Wow. Let’s just cancel this virtual visit and I’ll sign you up for a phone call consultation tomorrow.”

Hours wasted in an app to be seen: 8. Time on the phone to get scheduled: 3 minutes. Way to go, UHC. But hey! I have to keep remembering that there’s ice cream in the freezer and I don’t have a fever. And that I am flipping fortunate to actually have health insurance. Maybe tomorrow I will try my luck on day three of “I’d really like to know if Satan is going to take me away now.”

Five random thoughts for today:

The dye job for my roots I got 6 weeks ago is hanging on for dear life these days, but I urge all of you - DO NOT BOX DYE.

A friend on the East Coast FaceTimed me out of the blue yesterday, simply because I mentioned on my Instagram I wanted more human interaction. That inspired me to do more of that, too.

Last night when I took a hot shower it occurred to me this was the time I could touch my face *incessantly* without much consequence. It made me wonder if everyone’s skincare routine is gonna be next level lit and we’re all going to be just glowing in the summer.

My friends with kids who are having to stay home with them during this time are some of the fuckin MVPs of the century.

Keep track of when the last time you left the house was. For me, it was 4 days ago and I’ve figured out that is my breaking point. Because I’m sick my plan is to do a mini hike tomorrow far far away from anyone so I can at least feel fresh air.

#coronavirus #loveinthetimeofcorona

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