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spiderman-homecomeme · 5 years

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Something New

Part 2 of “And a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe”

AN: Here we are with chapter two!! hope you guys like this one. Here, things get a little, shall we say..... steamy ;))) so let me know what you think!

This one’s a little bit longer than the first, but still has all the fluff, humor, and allllll the cheese. <3

Read here or on AO3!

“Red, black, or white?”

MJ's voice cuts through the comfortable silence of the living room. Peter looks over to her, blinking in confusion at the way she’s watching him expectantly from behind her laptop screen.

“Huh?” He asks, a brow raising in question.

“Pick a color.”

“Like… any color?”

“No, like the ones I said.” Her eyes dart right and left. “So… Red, black, or white?”

“Uh….” He pauses, for almost too long, as if his answer could have some sort of lasting consequence. He tilts his head from side to side, chewing at the inside of his lip in thought when he finally settles on one.

“Red?”

A smirk tugs at MJ’s lips as she looks back down at her screen, clicking away. “Good choice.”

“Why’d you ask?”

Her eyes flit up to his for a fraction of a second. “Buying something.”

“What is it?” He asks, sitting forward as if trying to get a small glimpse over her laptop, curiosity piqued.

She pulls the lid closer to her, almost shutting the computer. “None of your business,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she fixes him with a steely glare, though it’s not very convincing with the near minuscule upward twitch at the corner of her mouth in an attempt to conceal the amused grin threatening to form.

(Technically it was his business, or it certainly would be, but he didn’t need to know that.)

But actually telling him that he’d just inadvertently helped her pick out the lingerie she was going to wear on their wedding night would take all the fun out of it.

Well, maybe not all of it.

Still, it was going to be a nice surprise.

At least she had hoped.

In all of their eight years together, with all of their experience—and there was experience—lingerie, the whole get-up, was never really something they did, something they cared about. While MJ’s definitely had her share of nicer, fancier undergarments, they’ve never ventured out into a full on set. To them, it didn’t really make too much sense, especially seeing as the damn thing would just end up forgotten on the floor within a matter of seconds anyway. That wasn’t to say that they were a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am,” kind of couple (though, don’t get them wrong, they weren’t above the occasional, much needed quickie); it wasn’t just a one and done thing with them.

They just didn’t really see the point.

It wasn’t something they needed, both of them more than happy with the current state and direction of their sex life.

But even then, it’s not like that door was completely shut.

She figures it might be something nice to do for their wedding night. A special occasion, and she has a funny feeling that Peter’s not gonna be one to complain; not in the slightest.

It’s new. It’s fun. They’re open.

“Is it for me?” Peter asks, his mouth stretching in a sly grin.

She pauses for a moment’s contemplation before giving a single nod and one-shoulder shrug. “I mean, yeah? Technically it’s for me? But I’m pretty sure you’ll appreciate it.”

An image flashes through her mind, one that makes her subtly shift in her seat on the couch as her stomach, one that shows just how much he’ll appreciate it.

She shakes her head, careful not to let her mind wander too far ahead.

“Can I have a hint?” Peter’s head falls back against the couch, whipping out his best puppy-dog eyes and pout. “Pleeeease?”

Honestly, it was like dealing with a child sometimes.

A grown-ass, twenty-four-year-old child.

MJ doesn’t even glance up from her screen, smirking quietly to herself. “Nope,” she says simply, audibly popping the ‘p,’ just for emphasis.

He deflates, groaning in petulant frustration, though he’s unable to hide that faint hint of amusement to his tone.

For once, she actually takes pity on him, chuckling quietly to herself as she shakes her head. “Hey.” She nudges him gently with her foot, and he looks up at her with that same pleading, overly-dramatic, hopeless expression.

It’s funny; she doesn’t remember buying the tickets for this guilt trip.

God, he was too good at this.

“I can’t ruin the surprise,” she relents, only just.

“Ugh, fine.” His eyes move to her again, though he doesn’t turn completely. “A good surprise?”

And finally, the smirk wins, and she bites her lip in an effort to hide it from behind her computer screen.

“A really good one.”

Surprisingly, Peter hasn’t asked about the mysterious online purchase since that night, even when he finds the suspicious package sitting just outside their door. She’d fully expected him to be more annoying about it, given that he was just a naturally curious person, especially when it was something that involved himself.

The one time he’d said something was a quiet, shady little remark about how secrets didn’t make friends.

MJ had quickly shut that down, reminding him that one, he hides that fact that he’s Spider-Man (or tries to) from literally everyone he meets, and two, on a related note, she had to figure it out on her own. He only told her after the fact.

He shut up after that.

It was truly a thrill, keeping something like this from him, knowing that the suspense was surely driving him absolutely crazy.

And she does well, for the most part, not giving away the surprise.

Even when she takes the UPS box from him, ignoring the way he’s eyeing her carefully, his gaze calculating as she darts to their shared bedroom and shuts the door. Honestly, at this point, he probably has a vague idea as to what this could be, but she doesn’t care.

There’s a smaller, much fancier white box, complete with a delicate little bow when she opens the first one, and she’s almost too careful as she pulls the lid free. The deep red fabric is a stark contrast against the white tissue paper, a simple, yet seemingly complicated number. Her thumb runs over the soft lace, eyes inspecting every inch of the garment, just taking it all in.

Her mouth twitches into a satisfied frown, head nodding in approval.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

The distant sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen reminds her that she’s not exactly home alone. Peter is still very much here. If he really wanted to, he could just burst through the door like the fucking kool-aid man and see the surprise for himself.

She’d have to try it on later.

Preferably when her darling fiancé isn’t home.

(And when she has time to actually figure this thing out.)

Though, if she’s being honest, she does feel the tiniest bit guilty for keeping him in the dark, especially since he’s only made one, frankly pitiful, attempt at getting an answer out of her. Again, she hadn’t expected him to be as patient as he was; perhaps it telling him—or hell, putting it on and showing him—wouldn’t ruin the surprise all that much.

It wasn’t that big of a deal.

But she shakes that thought immediately, instead deciding to just hide the fancy white box in the depths of their closet.

Out of sight, out of mind right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Less than three hours later and she’s already caved.

Because she can’t stop thinking about the box hiding in the back of their walk-in closet, filled with lace and satin, even as they eat dinner together; even as they watch (or rather, don’t watch, both of them too distracted by the other) movies, cuddled on the couch; even as she feels one of Peter’s hands slowly, slowly trailing up her thigh; even as she’s pinned to the mattress after a night of flirting and teasing; even as his hands hitch one of her legs around his waist, feeling him pressing against her inner thigh, and even as his lips leave hers, leaving languid, hungry kisses along the column of her throat.

The distraction is too much.

She can’t take it.

She’s too excited.

Michelle Jones might have been good—no, scratch that, excellent—at keeping secrets, but this was definitely the exception.

“Wait wait wait wait—” She stops him right as his hand dips under the waistband of her (his) sweatpants, placing her own hand on his chest, gently pushing him back despite the way her body is silently screaming in protest.

Immediately, he pulls away, looking down at her with all the worry and concern in the world, brows pinched together. “What? What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah yeah. I’m fine,” She reassures him, trying to catch her breath as they both sit up. “Just got something to show you.”

Relief floods him, and he relaxes, an easy grin pulling at his lips. “Is it the surprise?” He guesses, his hand coming to rest on her thigh, casually smoothing over the fabric of her sweats.

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

He doesn’t miss the flicker or mischief in her eyes as she jumps from the bed and into the closet, his mouth twisting in amusement and anticipation. The implications were there, about a million ideas—all amazing—running through his head as to what this long-awaited surprise could have been. Biting his lip, he leans back, tucking an arm behind his head, waiting patiently as he listens to her shuffle about.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she steps back out, still fully clothed, a fancy box in her outstretched hands.

He fixes her with a bemused smile, tilting his head a fraction as she places the surprise on the bed in front of him.

“What?” She asks when he’s silent for a second too long.

He shrugs. “I thought you were doing that whole, ‘lemme slip into something more comfortable,’ thing… The surprise?”

“Oh,” she remembers herself, barely taking a second before she kicks off her sweatpants, leaving her in the just the thin t-shirt. She quirks an amused brow at him. “There. I know it’s not much, but—”

“—it really changes the look,” Peter finishes for her, nodding seriously as his eyes travel the length of her now bare legs, though the corners of his lips twitch upward as he fights back a grin.

“Exactly.”

“I like it.”

“Okay, but me not wearing pants isn’t the surprise, so…” She gestures vaguely to the box next to him.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs for the fancy box, not taking his eyes off her as he pulls the ribbon free and removes the lid. Her stomach flutters as she watches him, unconsciously holding her breath as he finally looks down.

“Oh,” he breathes, the right corner of his mouth quirking up into an impressed half-smirk as he carefully holds the straps of the red lace in his hands. He turns it around, eyes raking over every inch—though, there’s not a whole lot—of the soft fabric. “What’s this?”

MJ gives a half-hearted, innocent shrug. “Not much. Just something new for the wedding night.”

Realization floods Peter’s features, and somehow, his grin widens. “This is gonna be under your dress?”

“Well, kinda. I’ll wear the underwear… but not the whole set,” she says, eyes shifting from side to side. “That shit’s for later. And I’m pretty sure you’d be able to see it through the dress.”

Peter smirks playfully. “I mean, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

Her face scrunches. “Gross.” She pauses, biting her lip as she watches him inspect the near-burgundy lace. “Do you like it?”

His expression grows serious, calculating, lips twisting in concentration. “I don’t know…” He tilts his head, raising a brow as he looks over at her, then back to the lingerie in his hands, then back to her.

“I think I need to see it on. Just to really form a solid opinion on it.”

He’s entirely too proud of that, she thinks.

“Yeah, no. Not gonna happen.”

His bottom lip juts out slightly into a pout that MJ has to repeatedly tell herself isn’t cute; at least not enough for her to change her mind. “You’re not gonna put it on?”

“No, you dork,” she huffs, trying to seem annoyed. “It’s for our first night of wedded bliss, or whatever. Plus, that’s just more effort on my part.”

Peter chuckles, tossing the lingerie back in the box, reaching out to take her hand and pull her closer, his thumb tracing soft lines into her skin. “Am I not worth it?”

She squints, tilting her head in mock contemplation, her voice more than an octave higher as she pretends to struggle with an answer. “Well…”

A genuine belly laugh escapes him as he lets go of her hand, only to snake both arms around her hips, bringing her even closer. “I love you.” His voice is muffled against her side as he gives her an affectionate squeeze.

Her heart soars at how impossibly soft the gesture is, that fuzzy feeling that always brings a certain comfort with it radiating throughout her body. It’s been years since she’s actually been nervous around Peter. When they got out of that initial honeymoon, 24/7 butterflies-in-your-stomach phase, she’d been worried, wondering if it meant that something was wrong. But, as they grew, both as a couple and as individuals, she’d realized that the new feeling when they were together was a million times better.

It was warm.

It was safe.

It was pure, unadulterated happiness.

“I love you, too.” MJ’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling she’s been doing, a light laugh bubbling out of her as she cards a gentle hand through his curls.

Peter pulls his head back, beaming up at her, though his dopey smile and loving brown eyes do nothing to distract her from the way one of his hands at the small of her back lowers, completely by accident.

She opens her mouth, snarky comment at the ready, to call him out on being so damn handsy, before her world is flipped—literally—and she’s on her back, Peter hovering above her with this dumb grin on his dumb face.

She’d like to say that the sound that had come out of her mouth was a very dainty, cute squeal.

But it’s more of a surprised, if not a little undignified squawk.

He picks up where they left off, bringing a hand to her knee, prising her legs apart and settling in the open space before continuing his earlier assault on her neck.

Desperately fighting off a surrendering smile, she smacks his chest. “I hate you.”

“Damn.” He pulls back, snickering to himself, tongue between his teeth, his wandering hands ghosting over her hips before pinching her sides. “Guess we better call off the wedding then?”

Jolting at the touch, her alarmed laugh brings another big dumb smirk to his face, now inches away from hers. Her skin alights as his hand trails up her bare thigh, breath hitching when his fingers brush against the lace trim of her underwear.

“I guess so,” she jokes with him, tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to maintain some sense of composure as he pulls it off and throws it somewhere across the room; though, to be honest, she’s finding it to be increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything other than his hands on her body, his lips on her neck.

She also finds that they’re still wearing too many clothes.

“What a shame.” His laugh dissolves into a breathy, soft groan when she rolls her hips in retaliation.

Capturing her lips into a searing kiss, he rolls them over, leaning back against the headboard, unable to contain his smug grin at the sigh that leaves her body when she settles fully onto his lap and mindlessly grinds down.

It all starts to happen so quickly, her shirt haphazardly thrown behind her. It's dizzying; the heat of his skin under her hands, the new feeling of his hardness now completely pressing against her. And it’s intoxicating; seeing the way his muscles twitch and flex at even the lightest of touches, his mouth hot as he kisses her.

He intertwines his hand with her own, and she feels him smile against her lips before he suddenly pulls away.

“Hey, since we’re not getting married anymore,” he starts, still teasing, and she has to stop herself from smacking him again as she blinks slowly, staring at the wall just above his head.

Her silence (obviously) doesn't stop him.

"And since there's no wedding night to wait for…” He actually fucking winks at her, the audacity of it all. “Maybe, I dunno… you could…" He trails off, voice dropping as his hands come down to rest on her hips, giving them a playful squeeze. "Put that red thing on? For me?"

Of fucking course he would.

The urge to roll her eyes into another dimension is the strongest it's ever been. She'd say that she can't believe him, but then she'd be a liar. Though, her pointed glare isn't very convincing, the faint upward twitch of the corners of her mouth impossible to miss.

"Nah."

Peter quirks a brow at her. "Why not?"

"Because," she deadpans, giving a weak shrug.

"Because why?"

She shakes her head at his persistence, closing the distance between them, hoping that a sound kiss will shut him up.

And it seems to work at first, until she pulls back and he's still looking at her expectantly, the teasing glint still in his eyes.

The exasperated laugh that bubbles out of her comes without warning; maintaining that stern, steely, assertive glare becoming harder and harder every second he’s looking at her with those big dumb eyes, his dumb teeth biting his dumb tongue.

"Because you're being a little shit!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." His cheeky smirk just barely disappears as he pulls her in for another kiss, abandoning all attempts at subtly as he lets his hands fall even lower on her body.

“Also—” This time, she's the one who stops, her expression almost completely blank, save for the faint beginnings of another grin playing on her lips.

Peter looks up at her, waiting patiently for whatever she has to say as his thumbs rub soothing circles into her skin.

“I can’t figure out how to put it on."

#spideychelle #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #peter parker x michelle jones #spiderman #mcu #fic #silver sixpence fic #rated: m #me: *posts this chapter then runs away*#okay bye!!

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ebhenah · 5 years

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Klancemas December 18: Snowed In

@monthlyklance

Klancemas 2018

"Jigsaw"

Dec 18: Snowed In

(A future Klance-Family Fic)

Keith woke to the smell of food. Something vaguely reminiscent of bacon and eggs, but not… quite. There was a very strange quiet stillness to the air that he wasn’t a huge fan of, too. And he wasn’t the only one who felt it- Kosmo was pacing. Weird. There was something weird going on.

He was just about to call out to Lance when the bedroom door swung open and Lance appeared before him, dressed in pj bottoms and an apron, carrying a tray, and holding a neon green alien flower between his teeth, tango-style. “Ayyy-baape,” he said around the stem, the flower making his pronunciations strange, and set the tray over Keith’s lap. He pulled the flower out of his mouth and bowed dramatically, offering up the pleasant smelling plant with an over the top flourish. “Breakfast in bed for Mr. Kogane, prepared especially for you BY Mr. Kogane.”

“Lance, the wedding was six months ago,” he laughed, accepting the flower, “when are you going to get sick of that joke?”

“Ummm… never!” He looked scandalized, “you, sweetums, did not get to see the look on your face when you found out I was taking your name. If you had, you’d know, I am never going to get sick of reminding you that I am Mr. Kogane. Ever.”

“Dork,” he muttered, letting his hair fall into his face to hide his blush… because, despite his protests, he loved it. He loved that Lance took his name. Loved Lance’s reasons for it “your Dad was a hero, and he had one son… who is also a hero… I am VERY proud to be a Kogane”. Loved that Lance made a point of reminding him of it, or correcting people who called him McClain. Loved that even now, half a year after the wedding, he’d still find ‘Mr. & Mr. Kogane’ doodled on scrap paper and napkins and the margins of paperwork that had been within reach when Lance was trying to pay attention to something that bored him. It was something he hadn’t thought mattered to him until the instant that it happened.

Lance had a knack for knowing what would make him happy, or upset. It sometimes felt like Lance knew him better than he knew himself. When he’d mentioned it, Lance had waved him off saying that Keith knew- he’d just spent so long convincing himself not to care so he didn’t get disappointed when it didn’t happen, that he just ignored it. Lance didn’t ignore it.

Lance’s long fingers cupped his chin and tipped his face back up, “but I’m YOUR dork, so… what does that say about you, Mullet?”

“That I am incredibly lucky?” he guessed, smiling tenderly at Lance.

“Nice save,” Lance laughed, “you’re learning.”

“Maybe marriage just agrees with me,” he countered, closing the distance between them to give his husband a kiss. “Is this all for me, or are we sharing?”

“We are sharing,” Lance crawled into the bed beside him, “it’s more romantic…. And there are fewer dishes that way.”

“Alright, but we shouldn’t get distracted,” Keith said, trying for a serious tone, despite the huge smile on his face. “It feels really late. We need to get going.”

“Yeahhhh,” he drawled, “about that… we aren’t going anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Keith froze, his fork mid-air. “We finished up the mission YESTERDAY. We need to get back.”

“Soooo, while we were sleeping, it snowed,” Lance offered him a wan smile.

“Okay- snow isn’t a big deal.”

“On thiiiiiiis planet, it kinda is, though,” Lance said, “because the entire cabin is buried. I was talking to Rigrill on the intercom- remember Rigrill? He was the check-in guy at that weird pool-slash-gym-slash-bouncey-house- building? Anyway, he said that this happens all the time and that we should be able to leave by the end of the night.”

“The end of the NIGHT?” Keith echoed.

“Yeah…” he looked sheepish, “by the time we get out of here, get to the Lions, and make our way home…”

“It will be lunchtime, at the earliest,” he sighed.

“Yeah.” His shoulders sagged, “I’m sorry. I know you promised my parents we’d be there for Noche Buena celebrations tonight, and your mother and Shiro were going to join us for Christmas brunch in the morning. I shouldn’t have pushed to spend the night here. I messed up our first Christmas as a married couple.”

“You didn’t mess anything up, Lance,” Keith sighed, “you had no way of knowing that we’d get stuck here.”

“I just thought it was so pretty with all the ice walls and the rainbow lights and stuff.”

“I know,” he smiled at Lance, “and it was. We had a really great night. Stop being so hard on yourself. I can think of worse things than being stuck in a luxury cabin with you for a day.”

That seemed to cheer Lance up a bit, he peeked up at Keith, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “you’re sure?”

Keith laughed, “yes, Lance. I’m sure. Now, eat… before the breakfast you made us gets cold.”

Lance picked the flower up from where Keith had set it on the tray and tucked it behind his ear, the bright green standing out against Keith’s black hair. “Love you, Mullet.”

“I can’t believe you STILL call me that,” Keith sighed, “my hair was never a mullet. It’s just long.”

Lance paused in his eating long enough to snicker at him, “mullet… mulllllllll-et…”

“You realize that your mother loves me and has offered to show me allllll the photo albums, right? I heard rumors from your brother about some kind of mishap with beard trimmers?”

Lance gasped, clutching his chest dramatically, “you wouldn’t! You PROMISED!”

He took a bite of the not-bacon and quirked one eyebrow in a clearly challenging expression.

“Keith!” Lance squawked, “I’m serious! No looking at childhood pictures with my Mom! I almost put it in the VOWS!”

He washed the bite down with some water- which tasted oddly perfumey. Not BAD, just weird. “You realize that’s VERY strange, right?” he laughed, “almost concerningly so. Silvio looks almost exactly like you and he’s a cute kid- what on EARTH could be so awful in those pictures.”

“Nope! Not telling! And you are going to KEEP that promise. Right?”

Keith narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but relented. “Fine. I promised. I keep my promises.” He leaned over to kiss Lance’s jaw softly, “just… remember that I ALSO promised to love you no matter what the universe throws at us. I think some bad photographs and embarrassing home videos falls into that category… don’t you, Tumbleweed?”

“Yeahhhh,” Lance drawled, “I don’t want to risk it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey! You knew that when you married me!”

“I wasn’t claiming it was a NEW development, Lance!”

The conversation devolved into their unique brand of flirting- half good natured ribbing, part challenging each other, and part genuine affection. Most people didn’t quite get it, but it worked for them. By the time the food was gone, they were both well-fed, as was Kosmo, who was routinely snuck morsels from each of them as they both pretended not to notice the other breaking the ‘no table scraps for the space wolf’ rule.

Keith insisted on clearing the tray away, since Lance had cooked. The cabin had started to get chilly, so after he loaded the dishes into the cleaning machine, he built up the fire. The alien wood burned blue and purple and green, but he’d been assured that it was absolutely safe. It was pretty, actually. Once the fireplace was pumping heat out again he wandered over to the funky windows. They looked like the rest of the wall, but you could trigger a panel and they turned completely transparent. He and Lance had spent a good few hours taking in the breathtaking views from their windows of the ice walls- huge cliffs of what looked like icicles, that caught the light and glowed in rainbow hues. There had been some absolutely gorgeous pale blue and lilac swan-like creatures that Lance had fallen in love with, too. As the sun set, the entire place lit up, and the birds took to the sky once full dark hit, luminescent against a starless sky. It had been well worth getting stuck here an extra day.

He wanted to get an idea of how the snow clearing was coming along, so he triggered the windows. At first he thought it hadn’t worked- there’d been so little change in the greyish blue wall. It took him a moment to realize that the light was different in the window sections. The walls were the same color as a drift of snow. Lance hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the cabin was buried! Yikes!

“Cool! I found some… umm… I think that’s a board game, but I don’t know the alphabet, so probably not gonna be able to figure out the rules… Oh! This is a jigsaw puzzle! No language barrier to a jigsaw puzzle, right?”

Keith looked over to see his husband, barefoot and bare chested, but wrapped in a blanket he’d stolen from the bed, holding up a wide, shallow box triumphantly. His heart skipped a beat, just at the sight. They’d been married for 6 months, engaged for a year and a half before that, dating for almost a year before THAT… and before they’d started officially dating… well, things had been complicated and confusing and intense. But he could barely remember what life was like without Lance by his side. He SHOULD be accustomed to it by now… but no. A few times a day. Everyday. Every SINGLE day. Without fail. A few times a day, Lance would say something, or he’d catch a glimpse of him doing something totally normal and unremarkable, or he’d catch a whiff of Lance’s scent lingering on his skin, or the pillow, or his collar and he’d fall, all over again. His breath would catch, just like it was doing right now. He’d get butterflies, just like he had right now. His heart would skip a beat, just like it just had… and his blood would sing, drowning out everything but Lance. “No, I guess there isn’t,” he answered with a smile.

“Spiked hot chocolate and puzzles in front of the fire?” Lance suggested, “I’ll share my blanket…”

“I think that’s OUR blanket, babe.”

“Possession is nine tenths of the law, love. I know you know that.” Lance tsked, “but my offer to share still stands…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Keith laugh.

“Alright,” he agreed, “you get set up with the puzzle, I’ll make us some spiked cocoa.”

“Yes! Best hubby ever!”

“Are you talking about me? Or patting yourself on the back?” he teased.

“A little of column a, little of column b,” Lance shot back.

It took four rounds of spiked hot chocolate, and a fair bit of good natured squabbling to complete the puzzle. When they’d pressed the final piece into place, the image on the puzzle changed. What had been a simple geometric pattern of softly shifting colors morphed into a holographic image of the ice cliffs, a flock of those swans taking flight and dissipating into twinkling lights that lingered in the air for a moment.

“Wow,” Lance breathed, his face flushed, eyes bright, features soft and relaxed from the buzz they’d gotten from the hot chocolate, flickering light from the fire dancing over his face and hair. “Soooo beautiful…”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, heat coiling in his gut, skin crackling from being so close to Lance, curled into the same blanket, brushing and bumping against each other for the last couple of hours. “Gorgeous…”

Lance turned his face, it looked like he’d been about to say something, when he’d caught the expression on Keith’s face. Keith could watch the realization that he hadn’t been looking anywhere near the hologram when he’d agreed wash over Lance’s face in a sweep of color. The flush from the alcohol deepened into a true blush, those blue eyes darting away and then back again, “did you even see what the puzzle did?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, “kinda… corner of my eye…” He reached out to trace his fingers along Lance’s jawline, smiling when Lance let his eyes drift shut in a very long blink and sighed.

“You know,” Lance whispered, wrapping his arms around Keith under the blanket, “technically, we are still newlyweds…”

“Mmmm?” He tipped his face up to Lance’s.

“Mmmhmmm… and newlyweds are kind of notorious for not being able to keep their hands off each other…”

“Ahhh… yeah… that… is a thing that is true…”

“And it’s not like we can really GO anywhere…” Lance’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not safely, anyway,” Keith agreed, inching closer, “and we have a limited supply of firewood…”

“Very true… we should,” his gaze settled on Keith’s mouth, his own tongue peeking out to lick his lips, “do all we can to… conserve heat…”

Keith nodded slowly, completely mesmerized by Lance’s face, “keep each other warm…”

“Yeah. That.” And then Lance was kissing him and they were falling back onto the plush rug in in front of the fire all hungry kisses and lazy caresses… and by the time either of them was ready to pay any attention to anything but each other, the snow had been cleared- much earlier than expected.

If they rushed, they might just be able to get to Cuba before midnight. Maybe. Keith slid into the pilot seat in Black’s cockpit and rolled his eyes at Black’s almost teasing reaction to his emotional state. “Stuff it, Kitty. I’m a newlywed. I’m supposed to be lovestruck,” he muttered, getting situated.

“Keith?” Lance’s face popped up on the display in front of him. “There was a gift on my seat when I got here. Is this from you? Or did someone find some way into Red?”

“It’s from me,” Keith answered, smiling, “Kosmo played Santa for me.”

“You want me to open it now?” Lance asked, beaming.

“Up to you,” Keith answered, “it’s nothing that NEEDS to be private, if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Then I think I’ll wait,” he answered, chewing at his lip as if he was second guessing himself. “Let’s get home.”

About halfway back to Earth, Lance popped up on Keith’s display again, “when did you find the time to get this!?!”

Keith laughed, “I thought you said you were going to wait?”

“I DID wait,” Lance huffed, “we are halfway home! Now, answer me!”

“I asked Rigrill about it when we were leaving. He said the gift shop had a bunch. I bought one, the shop wrapped it, Kosmo dropped it off- all while we were walking back to the Lions. You like it?”

“Babe! I love it. That was the coolest puzzle I ever saw,” Lance gushed, “and I like… having… a reminder…” Lance flushed adorably.

Keith smiled, “good. Me, too. I really liked our first Christmas Eve as a married couple.”

“Aww, you’re being all romantic on me and I can’t even kiss you right now. Evil, wonderful man.”

“I feel so loved,” Keith teased.

“You should,” Lance replied, his voice soft and loaded with emotion, “because you are. So loved.”

“I know,” he answered, softly, “I DO know, I never doubt it… and so are you.”

“I never doubt it, either.”

#Klancemas #monthlyklance #Klance #Voltron #vld #Laith #keith (voltron)#vld keith #keith x lance #vld lance #lance (voltron)#Klance future family fic #Christmas #snowed in #fluff #my writing #mywriting

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is-i-halloween-yet · 6 years

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The End Of All Things: Chapter 10 (Antisepticeye X Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, ow ow oh no, swearing but it is Anti so... No shit? The editor was doing weird space things that I couldn’t fix sorry, cut right here to avoid allllll spoilers. AND I MEAN IT! SPOILERS QUICKLY

(AN: This was a fun series to write! It will always hold a special place in my heart as my first series on this blog. And don’t forget this is only series one of three and they are all gonna be connected so keep an eye out for Evermore and Home! Epilogue coming soon!)

(Dark’s POV) It was hard to watch.

This being once filled with all this life and energy seemed to be decaying before everyone's eyes.

He didn't speak or sleep, let alone feed, his skin turning grey and his eyes dull, but he no longer cried, burn marks remaining from where he had cried.

After the third day he finally moved, Once to go downstairs to where he stayed for a day and then moved once more, this time to his room which he locked the door.

“That was a month ago.”

“A month?”

I sighed at the voice irritated at the nativity that it held before continuing, “Yes which is why I asked you-“

“I will call him but I will do you one better.” The voice said with complete seriousness, “I’m coming too.”

I almost spat out the drink I had been sipping but instead swallowed, “That is hardly necessary.”

“We will see you Saturday.”

I sighed as the line went dead, slamming my phone on the table as I clutched my head in my hands, “Damn...”

“Will he do it?” NateNare jumped out of his seat, the entity having been exhausted from standing outside of Anti’s door at night attempting to sing him to sleep, sitting up from where he was taking a nap.

I sighed at my ally, almost embarrassed but also full of pity as I passed my drink over to the entity who shrugged before drinking it in one swallow, then continuing though my disgust, “Yes and no. We are getting him and one better.”

Mare choked at this, politely spitting it back into the cup, “Meaning?”

“HE’S coming too.”

(???’s POV) The plan was simple. Test his love to see if it would be worth it after all the pain he’d caused but for whatever reason, I was frozen solid in front of his door.

“Don’t be a wimp. He’s not going to kill you.” Mare scoffed, “At least he can’t kill you too quickly.”

Dark shot the man a harsh glare before turning to me with a smile, “What my companion means to say is he is weak. Physically and mentally. Do what you have to do and get out.” I nodded, a smile serving its way onto my lips as I touched the doorknob but stopped as Darks hand reached my shoulder, “But- And forgive me for intruding, I don’t think you doing this is necessary. The doctor is plenty to-“

“I don’t expect you to understand how badly he fucked up not my life, my friends life, my families life, and millions more, but at least understand how this is a personal matter.” I spoke as cooly as possible at the dark ego, “He needs to prove that he is worthy of this redemption others wise he isn’t getting jack shit. Now.” I sighed as Dark removed his hand, twisting the knob slightly, “Excuse us.”

And as footsteps walked away slowly, I entered the room.

It was much more... Pungent than I was expecting. Stinking of iron and rust, though I wasn’t sure if I was expecting anything more. Darkness drowned the room, walls practically oozing grey while the floor hardly seemed capable of containing the heaviness of everything it contained; a certain stale feeling everywhere. Emptiness. Almost like the room was isolation in its worst form; Silence and depression.

That was until the silence was broken by a glitched laughed coming from behind the bed, “H̷a̕̕h̵a̢h̵͘ah҉̀a͝h́͢͡a͘͢͜! ̸͞H̨͘͝A̴̕!̀ ͢͠H̨͞A̸̷͠!͏͢ ̶H͡ơ̡w̛̛͠ ͟͡ć͞u̶͜te?͘ T̢́h̵e̴y ̨s̛͢e̴͡ńt̵̢ ҉̢͠yo̡u҉ ͘҉i͏̕n̢͜҉!̸͟͜ ̧̡̕!” Before I could move to find him, he was on the bed, eyes flowing while he stared at me like an animal, “W͡h͝at? ̢͏D̷̵i̡d̷̷ ͟t̸he͟y̧҉͘ ̕t̶͏͠ḩ̕͟i̵n̵̡k s͞en̷d̴͞i͏̕nģ̀ ̸̵y̨͡o̵͝u ͢͡i͏n ̶h͟ęre͘͘ ̵̡a̷̡s s̶o̡̨͝m͡e҉͟ ̨҉̶s͝o͘ŗt͘͝ ̵of́ ͡͠͝s͜a̛͝c̴̀͡r͝͝i̴̴f̢̕͢ic̀i̢͘͞a͠l͢ ̨͜͠l̨͘͡a̡m̢b̡ ̴w͘͟͞o҉u̸͟l̸͜d̢͝ ̷r͜e̷͡sto̵r̷̡e ̕mé?̢̛ HO̡̕W ͢F̸̶U҉̨C͢KI̛͞N̛̛G̴ ̧A̷DO̴R̛͢A̸̢͢BL͘͜E̸!”

I swallowed slightly but kept my cool, remembering my mission, remembering why I came here, “I… I sent myself…”

The being laughed manicatically, a knife visible in his left hand as his head twitched, “Th̸e͠n you ̡a̶re͢ a͏ş ̢muc̛h ͏as a fo̕ol̢ as ̵y͞o̵u ̴w͘er͏e̸ ҉a̵t̢ the̵ ͡sta͜ŗt o͠f͜ ҉t҉hi҉s ̵st͞or̷y.͡ ̛Bưt ́y̵ou̢ ͡a͠r̛e ̕lưc̕k̡y..̶. ͘” He lept swiftly off the bed, pacing around me with caution before placing the knife to my own throat, “M̷҉̪͍̼̭ḁ̖̻̮y̩̲̫b̴̦̜̮̱̤e̳̙̜̪͟͝ ҉̖̝̦͚̙͝y̶͈̙͓ò͖̥̙̯̟u̴͕̲̥͟r̵̷̲̹͕̭̣̞̠̞ ̡̯̘͚͖̦̭͍̕e̸̥̫̬̘̖̳̟̲̪n̤̟̩͍̗̺̹͞͞͝d̢͍̖̭̹̠̰͔ ̢͙̹̩̻͓̫̙̯̱͞o̜̫͖̱͎̟̥̙͟f̰͓̰̹͍́ͅ ̝̜̖͎̳w̦͍͍̫͝í̬͈l̡̖̦̞̫̩͍l͍̣̯̙̮͈͟͟͡ ̡̛̘̠̞̜̖͕̥͢b̷̢͙̲̬̝͈̻͕ͅr͉̞̮͙̹͙̩͎͜i̷̮̖̯̦ͅn͖͎̼̕g̶͉̙̣͎̦̩̠͔͜ ̸̼͍̮̖̬̜ͅm̨̯̟̳̫̼ͅi͕͎̠͙̹̟̖ń̻͚̗̣̻̳e̸̼ ͕̹̳̗͘ͅa̟͕̳͝ͅn̡̫̤̬̥͖͔̺̫d̻͔̳̻̯̻̥͢ ̼͜͜ͅI̠’̯̰̫͈̙͙̯͘l̢̛͇͚͕̳̤͍l̷̢̝̰̻̤̥͖̫̤̀ ̸͈͈̮͈̖̦͖̯b̦̣̟̱͈̝̞ȩ͕͕̱͎̺̪ ̴͓̙̥f̴͚̖̳̙̩͢r̲̭͔͘͟e̢̥͚̺̭͜͠e̴̠͖̻̺̬͓̕ ̴͏̪͔̦̹̤͖a҉͍̪̤̝͉̱̺̙͝t̵̺̼̘̝͉̪̭̗̕ ̶̤̮͓̜̘l̢̗͕̳͈͡a̤͇̦̞s͚̹̬̩̱͎̩̪͡ţ͎̱!̴̡͈”

“You can’t.” I reminded, though still struggled under the blade that only tightened towards my jugular as I attempted to talk my way from this, “Even if you wanted to you can’t.”

A terrifying pause brewed for several moments until the blade dropped to my feet, “Aw͝w͝w̶҉́ ̛͞s̵̨h̀́i̵͝ţ f͢u̷̕c̡͡k͜! ́͝Y͝o̸u̧’͠r̷̛é͟ ̸̧̀ri̧g̢҉h̴t͏́.͏ ̷̶͝H̶͟a͢͞!̴̢͠ ̡̢” Anti chuckled sarcastically with a sadistic smile on his face while he sat on the bed criss crossed, eyes never leaving mine, “k҉ne̴w̨ ̶̵͡I̶̡ ̵̀s̛h̨o̶͠ul͡͏̕d͢͢a̢̛ ̀t̛h̨o̸̢͝ug̀h҉̵͢t̷ ̷͠m̕o͠͝r͜e͡ wi͜͡th̨͟ ͜ţh͘͜҉a̵҉t̶ ͜͏d͠a̢̨m̀́n̨ ̷̕m̧á̧r̷̡k.̨͜͠”

“A mark of peace.” I reminded him as I looked at the once pure red mark on my arm that now was a crispy black around the edges, “A promise.”

It was then that I finally got a good look at him. Everything about him was as Dark had described, grey, lacking of any color or emotion except for the electric eyes and the dried blood that had flaked on his hands and chest, the wound still blessing out. He looked far worse than I had ever seen him, let alone imagined. Everything about him just screamed dull and numb.

The ego eyed the mark on my arm as he sighed, looking to the floor at last, “Yo͝u ͜fe̛l͢t i͞t ̀to̷o͠ t͠h̵en?” He softened, looking at me again with a bitter laughter, “Caņ you̴ ͡b͘lam͢e ̷me ͞f͏or̨ tr̸yi̛ng J҉ack͜ieb̶ǫy? I ̀júst ҉wan͟t̀ this ni͘ght̶m̀a̛re ͜to͜ e͠n̡d̛. ̴”

“So you do love her?” I mused, sitting beside him and setting my bag down and pulling out rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs, setting aside the other medical supplies. Anti sat numb until it rested on him, to which he hissed at me, teach growing sharp and eyes going completely black and I raised my hands in a yield position, “You gotta get it cleaned or it’s gonna get infected and I’ll need to pop it with a large needle. Plus it is fucking disgusting.”

Anti chuckled a bit at this, tilting his neck to me in content and gritting his teeth at the pain. A strange but comforting silence followed as Anti’s features shifted back while I cleaned the blood from his neck and hands then placed gauze on his neck, his voice still slightly glitched in questioning, “So̴ be͟si̴de̴s͏ ǵetti͞ng me͝ ́to̶ lo̸o͝k͡ ͝my ̧best ͞to̵ g̛e̕t̴ back̀ ͡o̡n ̵t͏he mar̡ke͢ţ,̢ wh̨y ͢a̕re Ya͜ he͟r̶e?̷”

“How does a bandage sound?” I dodged the question with a smile before looking away to dig in my bag, “It would be better than wearing turtle necks. Especially in this fucking heat.”

But Anti grabbed my arm, the lack of any kind of heat causing me to look at him, a strange desperation in his eyes that caused me to cave, “It’s rather stupid really…”

Anti chuckled bitterly at this, but the chuckle sounded oddly human as he took a deep breath, his having the same consistency, “Not as stupid as being soulmates with the girl who saved you, broke you, then saved you only to snap you all over again. Try it.”

I sighed and began to wrap the bandage around his neck as a distraction, sighing again before finally speaking, “Come back with me Anti. The egos have a house… You’d be with family rather than here with these crazy- Well with Dark and that… Robot.” Anti chuckled at this as I finished off the bandage, “Prove What all happened was in the past. Apologize to Chase and Henrik. Meet Mar-“

“They all hate me.” He cut me off, pouting almost like a child.

“Can you blame them?” I replied to the out of character line, as Anti perked down even further though he let out a small chuckle at my words, “Y/N changed you Anti. She wouldn’t want you to waste your change in a place you don’t belong. You belong in Septic Manor.”

At mention of Y/N, the physical name he seemed to sink further though his skin flashed a normal color for a moment, “Y/N…” A silence fell as Anti looked to the ground, clearly tensing as he fought off tears. Finally after several minutes, Anti cleared his throat, pulling my attention from the spot I was looking at from out the window to meet his eyes to which he nodded, as though he was trying to persuade himself.

“You don’t have to decide now.” I paused, putting the backpack on my shoulder to stop him from self convulsing as I noticed electricity sparking around him, “But it would be nice to have an answer before I-“

“After I have a service for Y/N. Then I’ll fly back with you and try…” Anti nodded at me, forcing an old grin, “And I mean try.” I smiled at Anti before turning and heading to the door jumping at the noise of him glitching in front of me but concern being replaced with fear upon seeing him panting, “Stay?” I smiled at his figure wider nodding, causing a weak smile to fall on his face as his eyes dropped down, glitching back into his bed his eyes closing with a final, “Bye then.”

Complying, I left the room, quietly shutting the door as I pulled out my phone, sending a simple text to my friend who was likely in the basement with Gear, “Plan A is a go.”

(Anti’s POV)

It was about three in the morning when I finally left my room, still weak with sadness and from using my powers I had to walk with caution holding tightly to the walls as I turned up my headphones on the rare chance I ran into NateMare. Every precaution I could possibly think of I was prepared for. Well all except for the dread and exhaustion I felt with each and every step I took, but I knew that I had to continue.

The first beast I conquered was the stairs, nearly fainting and falling in the process. Though I had sit down after I finished I was instantly glad I did, seeing Jack sound asleep on the couch in the living room that was just below the stairs. Normally Jack was a sound sleeper but as he was in a house with four dark entities, I doubt he would have been sleeping. Sadly this meant that I would either have to glitch down to the basement or risk it and pass.

Naturally I chose the most harmful option.

I fell harshly to the ground, knocking medical supplies down with me as I attempted to grip the tray that was on the trolly next to the metal slab, instantly hiding in a corner for several moments (or an hour). Once I knew for certain I did not startle anyone awake, I snuck out and looked around, the light that my glitching into the room had just happened to be above the corpse, it now shining mockingly over her like a spotlight.

It was sickenly enchanting, but enough to draw me to her figure.

She looked different. She was still pale, looking cold to the touch but she was much more… clean. She still had wounds but they were cleaned, covered and sewn up. It made the appearance of the dull colors of her body unnerving. Her hand were over her chest and eyes closed that would have lead people to believe she was sleeping if The only color that was left on her was the light emerald green off the shoulder gown that she wore, no doubt a mark and memory that was Jack’s idea, a way of saying she was part of our family, though perhaps that is what got her killed.

I was scared to touch her, but I had also been scared to look at her and I was halfway there.

I took it step by step, first moving against the table and staring at her, then stroking her hair before I touched her arm to grab her hand, staring at the mark again. It was almost mocking, nauseating how cold everything but the mark was, the mark hot enough to burn even my skin.

And it was all my fault.

Perhaps if I had done everything I could to make myself known to her sooner… Perhaps then maybe we could have been happy. Perhaps if she would have kept the mark on her from the start… Perhaps this would be the other way around and that would be much better.

“I am sorry.” I muttered as I sniffed, squeezing her hand and slamming my head exhausted onto the slab, my body hitting the floor. “This is all my fault. I am sorry…”

The morning light shined through the single window stung my eyes as I woke up to two cups on the slab, one full of coffee and the other full of a strange liquid that I assumed belonged to Gear. I sighed, toying with the fingers as I listened to the activity going on the upper level.

Piano, drums, and violin playing in a strange tangent, chit chat ensuing as Schneep’s horrible singing voice could be heard and I reached for the coffee with my freehand.

Wait… What is Hennrick doing here? And why are they celebrating?

Y/N’s birthday… Her birthday would have been today...

Is this some kind of sick joke? I chuckled bitterly feeling my head glitch and electricity course through my bones as the cup shattered leaving a sharp double sided weapon in my hand. I’m gonna make those fuckers bleed.

In a furious rage I attempted to stand from my spot only to feel a tug on my arm. Y/N.. Had I really been so quick to succumb to my anger that I forgot about her? But it doesn’t matter anymore. The other part of my thought as one of the ends sliced my arm a bit as I glitched. She’s gone and they are mocking her. Angrily in thought I attempted to drop Y/N’s fingers though they seemed to wrap around mine in protest, not allowing me to pull away.

No… N O… N̛̛Ờ! ̧T́͢h̷̨͝ìs͢ ͢iś ̛҉͢só̴͜me҉͏ ͢k͏̧i̷n͟d̢͢ ̶҉ó̧͡f̧ ̧͘sìc̕k̛ f҉́͠uc̢͝͠ḱ͏i̵n̵̷͠g͡ m͠͏įńd҉̧ ̸t͟͢ri͘҉ç̕k҉́!̢̡͢ I thought as I tried again, this time harder as my head snapped about, S͘T́Ò̵P҉҉! ̴S̸̀͠T̴̛O̡͘͟P̢̢!̵͝T͏̢h̶̛҉i̛s̨̕ ̸i͏̡s̶̨ń̛’̢͡t͏ F̢U̷͠CK̷Ì̕͞N͞G̀͡ ̵̸F̵͞U̵N̵͞N̛҉Y̛͠

A groan was released from the figure causing me to fall to my knees, the glass from the mug digging into my knees though I could hardly feel it as I got closer and her fingers curled tighter around mine, hot tears burning my flesh as she continued to groan. Finally getting there I jumped onto the slab as she began to breath heavily, coughing rapidly as I drew her into my chest, the glass long forgotten as I grabbed both of her hands, attempting to control my glitching. “Ỳ͟/҉̴̡̧͡N̨͟͠҉́?”

She didn’t respond only coughed causing me to panic until I remembered the strange colored liquid, dropping a hand to grab the glass and bring it to her lips which she happily accepted. Once all the liquid was down I slammed the glass on the ground as I resumed hold of her hand whispering in her ear as she began panting heavily, “C̸’́m̨on ̕p͜rin͘c͏es͜s!̛ ̡You ͜g̸ot͠t͡a wa҉ke͝ u͠p n͡o̶w!!͠!”

But she stopped for a moment falling numb causing my heart to flat line, that was until I saw color begin to regrow into her mark and instead I began crying ,gentle sounds being released from Y/N’s mouth as well as she relaxed, her eyelids opening and falling up on me, “An-Anti?” I said nothing, only hugged her against me as I fought off my own sobs by kissing the top of her head, “Anti… Anti I remember you.. I remember.. Everything.”

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honeybutters-world · 7 years

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Mama never stops. The cooking, cleaning, doing hair (edges were the worst, brushing my forehead and junk) threatening to beat us within an inch of our life (completely out of love) if we didn’t act right, going into the store and being told if you touch anything or take your hand off the cart you risk the awful punishment of getting pinched on the back of your arm. Let me reiterate BLACK PARENTS DO NOT BELIEVE IN THE WORD “ABUSE”, its called discipline now if you over here treating your child like “A Child Called It” then you may need to be beaten yourself, js.

Phrases you heard as a child from Mama:

“I’m only going to ask you once….DON’T SAY A SINGLE WORD” *child proceeds to ponder how he/she is expected to answer without opening their mouth* (still confused about this statement today)

“Make sure you get yo black behind in this house before the street lights come on, don’t make me come looking for you”

“CLOSE MY DAMN DOOR, LETTING ALL MY AIR OUT”

“AKIKIKI my ass, go sit down somewhere”

“Who left all these damn dishes in my sink?!”…usually referring to one fork on the clean side of the sink

“Do it again and see what happens”

“You don’t slam MY DOORS, when you pay some bills you can slam some doors”

“You don’t go talking out of my house”

“Honor thy mother and thy father and thy days will be longer”

*uses house shoe to hit child in between shoulder blades*

“You are to stay outside, IF I WALK OUT THIS DOOR AND HOLLER FOR YOU and I find out you in somebody’s house without my permission I’m gettin you”

(Writing these and realizing how grammatically incorrect some of these sound, yet sound so normal to my ears)

The list goes on.

Let me learn ya something real quick folks. Growing up black meant “Yes ma’am, No ma’am”. You respect your elders even if they are a long lost, twice removed, married to your 7th first cousin aunt that met you when you were 3 days old and remembers when you were “this small”. YOU STILL RESPECT THEM or get popped in the mouth later for not doing so, you choose. Growing up black meant returning home from a long day of adventure and Popsicles before the street lights began to come on. Oh and going places without mommy? Usually went something like:

Child: “Mom may I go hangout with my friend?”

Mom: “Oh your friend’s name is “friend”? You ain’t going nowhere until I have an address, phone number, where they mama work, who they daddy is, copies of everyone birth certificate, A PICTURE OF THEIR LICENSE PLATE SO I CAN TELL THE COPS IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, and the name and make of their dog.”

Child: Yes ma’am, but I am only able to get a phone number and address as her parents wouldn’t tell me the rest”

Mom: “Well I guess you better get in that room and find a movie to watch.”

Child: *breathes hard, mutters something under her breath..begins to storm off”

Mom: “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

Child: “Nothing.” *tears building up in eyes as annoyance and anger sets in

Mom: Bring yo black ass back in this room, I’ll give you something to talk about”

Child: *sprints to room and puts on layers of pants as an ass whooping was probably on its way for the disrespect.*

Growing up black meant MOTHERS hear, see, and KNOW everything. Like all black moms are secret agents in the CIA. My mom? My mom knew stuff about me or my sisters before we even knew. When one of us got into trouble, did something sinful, or lied mama ALWAYS made sure she called ALLLLLL the aunts, the grandparents, and of course let all the other kids know that you weren’t going anywhere or doing anything because “You thought you could be sneaky”. One usually wouldn’t live down their bad deeds until another sibling was happy or until mama stopped speaking on it, whichever came first. UNLESS you grew up in my household where if one of us got in trouble WE all got in trouble. In those instances when ya mama is on a war path YOU RUN AND HIDE OR START CLEANING EVEN IF YOU JUST FINISHED YOUR CHORES! Bet our house was always clean.

Growing up black also meant that your house was not your house it was “MY” house as in only your mothers and you will do any sort of disrespect under “MY roof”. Also meant that “when you start paying some bills then you can make some rules and slam doors”.

Growing up black also meant you were a victim of CPT (colored people time). Mama spends all night Saturday looking for church clothes for everyone, ironing, doing hair, and making sure everyone is bathed the night before. Sunday church was always a hassle. No matter how early the kids got up or how fast they got ready. UNTIL MAMA WAS READY YA’LL WEREN’T GOING NOWHERE. And usually by the time mama was ready the first service was over and the late service only had 20 minutes left. Nevertheless we still attended. Shuffled into the rows of seats and threatened with whatever tool was in mama’s purse (usually a brush) if we kicked the back of the bench or talked during the service.Best thing about Sunday church was the brunch that usually followed shortly after.

Growing up black meant “mama knows best”. Your stomach hurt? “You probably need to have a bowel movement, go on in there and sit on the commode”. You feel sick? “Go lay down”. You have a cold? “Here come on in here and let me give you 30ml of tussin, 18 ibuprofen, 12 benadryl, nose spray, flu shot, and test you for the black plague” (All dont in mama’s bathroom or wherver she kept the medicine. You end up at the hospital? “I bet you won’t do it again, now will you?” Then proceeds to tell the doctors and nurses how their jobs should be done because “that’s my baby, ain’t gon let nothin happen to my precious, beautiful, sparkling, fresh out the womb (pushing 13) angel.”

Growing up black meant mama did everything out of love. It meant that even if you were the OLDEST alll your siblings are “old enough to go witchu”. It meant learning to “dry it up” within a matter of seconds. It meant that “No weapon formed against should prosper.” But that didn’t include: house shoes, belts, purse straps, hangers, hair brushes, and switches. And BET we knew EVERY K-Ci & JoJo, Tank, Tyrese, Sisqo, Prince, Stevie Wonder, Tupac, Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson, Isley Brothers, R. Kelly, Keith Sweat and Luther Vandross song, lyrics, high notes, back ground singers parts, and could play your invisible instruments along to the song. It meant getting your hair pressed with the hot comb that sits on the stove (again edges were the WORST), if you ever felt as though your scalp was being burned “Girl its not even touching your scalp its the heat. Now scoot back before I really burn you.”

Lastly, when growing up black, you are to stay in a child’s place and keep out grown folks business. (Even if you’re 32 with two kids, living in yo own house and paying yo own bills.)

#growingupblack

Growing up Black Mama never stops. The cooking, cleaning, doing hair (edges were the worst, brushing my forehead and junk) threatening to beat us within an inch of our life (completely out of love) if we didn't act right, going into the store and being told if you touch anything or take your hand off the cart you risk the awful punishment of getting pinched on the back of your arm.

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