#people be bringing them into walmart and we don’t even live in ‘the city’

[carrots-and-tater-tots]

If You're Reading This, I'm sorry.

Dear you,

It has been approximately 28 days since we last spoke. 28 days since I decided to go “Gone Girl” and blow up the entire friendship. 28 days since I left group chats, unfollowed all of our friends, and pretended the world was dead. During this time, there were a lot of reflections. I truly haven’t known a peaceful life until now. You would be shocked at the number of people who were proud of me when I told them what happened, even if I insist that what I did was horrible. But, in all, I’ve been doing good. But, as we get closer to the one-month anniversary, some of the residual guilt has been eating me alive. And I think I want to finally bring this story to a close, as much as I can.

You may have already seen my manifesto to Savannah. If you haven’t, I will summarize because it’s 7 pages long and I would rather not write it out again. To make a long story short, I noticed I was being pushed to the side. People were not making the same efforts to see me as they were doing with Kat even though I lived closer and lived there for longer. The one time people did come to visit my city, I was a pity invite, and expected to drive all over God’s green earth to find the Walmart they were at because no one could care enough to look at what highway the Walmart was nearby. I was an enigma to y’all despite knowing everyone for over 5 years, people were overriding events that I had planned, and it got too much so I decided to leave. Not only did I plan everything, but I also confided in someone about what I planned to do. Frankly, I don’t want to know the aftermath of what happened in the friend group. I highly doubt you’ll even see this and know that it’s addressed to you. Savannah and Kat told me that you were Team “Give her space”, and I can’t tell if I’m a bit disappointed or if I’m grateful. I’m not going to sit here and say what I did wasn’t fucked up. It absolutely was. It was dramatic, overzealous, stupid, and above all toxic. I am also not going to say that I regret what I did. At the end of the day, though I’m not proud of how I did it, what I did was the best choice for me. Frankly, I don’t think there was another way for our friendship to end without me sacrificing my happiness for the nth time. But I owe you an apology specifically, even if you don’t read this.

I haven’t been truthful to you during our friendship. In case it wasn’t obvious enough, I liked you. I had a crush on you for about 3 years, starting when I came home from my first winter break during college. I’m not going to go into the specifics of why it happened, how I tried to kill the crush myself a million times, or how I spent nights upon nights overanalyzing each and every single interaction. I knew that I would never have a chance with you. Why would I? You were this gorgeous being who dazzled every room you walked into, the personification of Artemis herself. I was more aligned with the ugly duckling, never growing into my resting bitch face and unconventional features. Plus, you were so cool and were (and continue to be) this awesome person. As much as I liked you, I liked having you as a friend so much more, and I knew that if I said anything it would blow everything up. So, it was best if I kept my mouth shut, thinking if I didn’t talk about my feelings then they wouldn’t exist anymore. Clearly, that did not work. You would think that after so long, I would at least say something. If you thought that, you clearly don’t know that much about me and are therefore proving my point.

I used to write about you, you know. I wrote about you a lot—too much if I am being honest. In my work, I used to beg for you to give me the bare minimum. Although I had dedicated so much to you in my story, I wanted to be just anything in yours even if it was small. A sentence, a footnote, I would have even taken an endnote. Anything to prove that I had made an impact on your life. Between you and me, I also used to say that you could convince me to stay in our town. I hated it there, that’s why I left. I used to keep track of the days to graduation because it meant that it was only one more day closer to being able to leave. But all you had to say was “Stay” or “Come back,” and I would have done so. You could have even said, “Let me come with you,” and I would have made room. And though I will never admit it verbally and will actively deny it, the same is true for the situation in which I left. I was used to being brushed aside from the others. But from you, it pushed me to the edge. For about 30 minutes before I made my ultimate move, I begged the stars and the streetlights for a sign, a reason to stay. It may not seem like it, but I would have stayed if you texted. It was even true after everything had happened. As much as I appreciate the apology and peace offerings I got from Savannah and Kat, it put a sour taste in my mouth. Felt too much like they were apologizing because I was mad and they didn’t want me to be mad anymore (truth be told, I wasn’t mad. I was never mad at anyone; I was angry at the situation). I don’t think I would have changed my decision to distance myself from everyone. But, if it were you, I would have made an exception. And maybe that is unfair to you. It’s toxic to assume that someone will know exactly how you are feeling without telling them. I completely understand that and never had that expectation of you. Regardless, it would have been nice to know someone cared before I left.

In short, because if you know me at all, you know that once I get started I never shut up: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I stopped talking to you out of nowhere. I’m sorry that I wasn’t truthful to you during our friendship. I’m sorry that I kept everything in as opposed to actually talking to you and everyone else. I’m sorry our friendship had to end like this.

There is so much that I want to say to you. Maybe someday I will. Maybe someday I’ll get raging drunk and send you a text expressing everything to you (I almost did once, on Halloween a few years ago. I’ve been searching for that bravado ever since.) Maybe someday I’ll look back on all the good parts of our friendship and regret ever leaving you. A twisted part of me wants to fantasize about you reaching out to me first. Maybe you felt the same way. Maybe you had the same shock of electricity go through you when you adjusted my shirt in the dressing room. Maybe your heart also swelled to the faux domesticity during our talks in the kitchen at Claremont. Maybe you also had several drunken nights pouring your heart out to the stars and moon above your window. Maybe you would have left if I invited you to. Maybe you’ve been pushing your feelings down like I had. Or maybe none of that is true. Maybe you think of me and miss me as a friend. Maybe you don’t feel right knowing how poorly we ended. Maybe you wanted us to try to be better friends. Maybe someday we will reconnect. Someday.

Yours,

Me

#writing #letters i'll never send #my writing

[ilostmyself0000]

Hard Decisions

"The right person won't let you doubt if you must leave or stay. Find someone that will never let you feel that leaving is an option"

👆🏼That is exactly how I've been feeling lately... or tbh, for quite a while now; it is actually sad. I feel alone, lost, nowhere to go if the worst comes at me. I have no friends to actually meet up at a cafe and talk to (and I miss that a lot)... I have no social life, I don't go out and I'm stuck at home. I have lost myself throughout the years and the girl that I was before is dead. I am married with 2 lovely boys... but now, my boys are 21 and my baby just turned 18 this past June. So, both of them are no longer little boys that need to be taken care of... both of them are adults and to the point where they will leave the nest to live their lives soon.

What is wrong with me? I feel I am not happy where I am because I can't do the most simplest things that will make me smile... one of them is just drive to the beach, walk around near the ocean, smell that ocean breeze, walk on the sand, feel the cool water of the Pacific on my feet, recharge my soul, see seagulls & people and to just see the beauty of what my city has to offer. Every time I say to my husband I want to go to the beach he brings up gas, mileage on the car, that it's too far, that I don't have money for gas, etc. And you know what?... the distance to where we live to any beach in the county is in the 30's miles (round trip will be 60's miles). I don't ask to go to the beach every single day just sometimes. I miss the beach and the ocean. One thing that really hurt me was when my husband told me "I don't forbid you to go anywhere" ...but when he tells me if I go/leave to the beach when he prefers me not to go... he will report the car stolen? Why do that? Why? So, he prefers that I take the bus and spend hours riding the bus (or busses)? Why do this to me? That right there hurt my heart and made me doubt many things. Am I stupid to try and avoid arguments and go for what he FEELS is the right thing to do?

I feel lost and alone... and I also feel useless. Another thing is that I haven't work in almost 22 years; I also lost my confidence. I truly don't know what I want. I am completely dependent on my husband FOR EVERYTHING. I feel I need to ask for "permission" to even go to the Dollar Tree, Walmart, Target, etc. I can't just say "hey, I'm going to the store to buy this or that" and just leave and come back later. I feel he is in control of everything and I don't have any say in anything because I don't work... I don't buy things like food, pay the bills, etc. What am I doing? I don't want to fall into depression again. Right now, I feel extremely sad that I am trying soo hard not to cry while I am writing this. Today, I had to force myself to eat dinner... I cried today before dinner as it was very hard not too. I don't know if my kids sensed something was wrong with me because they were very quiet at the dinner table... I did checked my eyes if they were red and/or if it was obvious I was crying before they came down for dinner (my husband eats his dinner at the living room and not at the table with us).

I don't know. 😥

#journal #personal #dear diary #journaling #life

[vickisventures]

Back in the Saddle

(Look what happens when it rains and rains and rains...)

We are back in the saddle again.  I think Steve and I both wondered if we’d be able to or not at first.  The general job came right back to us, but the computer commands and some of the handy tricks of the trade we’d learned, didn’t.  We didn’t get a refresher course either like we’d thought.  They put us on the computer for a couple of hours in order to set our scanners up and do some “paperwork” but after that we were put out on the floor to start picking.  After a week, we were feeling better about things.  We are both happy with our bays (in general).  Steve is at a cut tape bay which he is comfortable with and I am in bulk which I don’t mind. My bay mate is a bit odd. She’s another Express Pro employee who was in our training class last July.  She stayed here through the winter. She’s just different…I’ve gotten frustrated with her several times.  She brags about how her integrity and desire to do the right thing at work, but yet she tends to neglect certain jobs.  I’m not sure if she does it intentionally or if she’s just clueless, but she may drive me crazy.  Express Pro asked returnees if they’d be willing to be buddies to people coming out of training.  Steve and I agreed, so week 2 and week 3, we have been mentors to trainees.  It’s been alright but due to questions and trying to help them, we aren’t able to get the number of picks that we need to get.  They watch our numbers and expect us to do a certain amount of picks a day.  We asked to have a break, so next week, we will not have buddies.  They are supposed to be bringing in a lot of workampers in the next month, so I expect us to be mentors several more times in our 3 month stint.

It has been a rainy, windy and cool Spring.  We weren’t sure what Spring would be like here.  I think I’d take it over the high temperatures they’ve been having in Amarillo and Phoenix!  One of these days, I hope to get my lawn chair out and sit outside some.

Steve thinks he’s figured out the problem with the slide and the leak.  I couldn’t explain what he’s going to have to do if I tried.  He tried to find a mobile repairman that could do the work, but there’s only one and he didn’t feel comfortable with the job…wasn’t in his skill set, I guess.  So, that means Steve gets to do it by himself.  He has to buy some “tools” to do the job and then he’ll get to it.  Hopefully he’ll get it done before the rain stops or we won’t be able to check to see if he found the problem.  We sure would like to get this problem checked off the to-do list.  

It’s been weird working Sunday through Thursday, but we like working Sundays.  It’s super chill on Sundays.  There’s not many working and we basically just wander around looking for labels to fulfill.  Last Sunday, we pretty much ran out of work and they told us we could leave early but we didn’t.  We are here to make money!  We never found a church here last year that fits our beliefs, therefore, we’ve been doing online church with our church in Amarillo.  So,  we still have church on Sundays before we go to work at 1:30.  

We much prefer living in town.  It’s so nice being able to run to Walmart without it being an event, especially since diesel prices here are over $5 (thanks Joe).  Also we can make it to work in a couple of minutes, so we don’t have to leave as early as we did when we were parked at St. Hilaire.  I do miss the peace and quiet of the city park but we are better off here.  Last night, our neighbors had a party until around midnight. We are going to call the owners today and talk to them about it. Quiet time is late here but it’s still 11pm. They are young kids that live next door…not sure how many live there or what their situation is but with our schedules, we can’t afford to deal with late night parties. The other problem is they don’t have a camp host or even an after-hour phone number to reach out to in situations like this; so last night the only thing we could do was call the police and we chose not to do that. Hopefully management will take care of the situation and we won’t have to deal with it anymore.

#workamping #full time rving #digikey

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without. 

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him. 

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison. 

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved. 

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?” 

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor. 

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand. 

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father. 

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #Kurt Hummel

[hasegawasosise]

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick  with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six,  Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did,  he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s  roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they  The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.  

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

1.

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.  

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.  

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

2.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

#bat family #batman #bruce being a good dad #bruce is a bad dad #bruce is a bat dad #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #timothy drake #damian wayne #cass Wayne #harper #barbara gordon #prompt by @outoftheframework #prompt fill #numbering system #Alfred is the leader #bruce is one of the kids too

[felix-sullivan]

a(n incomplete) list of our plots, compiled in order of what storylines we’ll prioritise & focus on. every storyline may involve as many different characters, pairings & conversations as we please, but the context & content of the conversations should ideally directly relate to the storyline in question for the duration of the plot event.

––– the order is as follows

1. lucas adoption ––

current status ––– following a fight at school, geraldine kane was called into the principle’s office to talk about her son’s involvement in the altercation. joyce foster, who has long since developed motherly feelings for lucas, has now come to the definite decision to adopt him –  to give him a steady family even after he turns 18 and because she is convinced geraldine & john kane should have no legal authority over lucas. while initially met with some resistance from her husband, george foster, the two have since agreed to bring the idea up to the family and eventually start the adoption process. of course, they didn’t want to blindside lucas, so joyce has told him about their plan just a few days ago – something lucas now has to process by himself. and with other people. the fact that his uncle weston taylor is now out of prison might change everything, anyway.

possible conversations ––– lucas & maeve. lucas & benji. lucas & wes. benji & tammi. tammi & cari. wes & piper. cari & roman. joyce & lucas. george & benji. &more.

2. tom & jill ––

current status ––– now that almost all their children are all grown up and out of the house, jill & tom sullivan have made a decision. they know they don’t want any more children, so tom agreed to a vasectomy as an alternative to hormonal or barrier contraception. only a few months after the procedure, jill noticed changes that she first attributed to menopause – a thought that scared her. though the reality of the situation ended up being the even scarier thought. she’s pregnant. 24 years after her first and 16 years after her last pregnancy. before she had even worked up the courage to tell tom, he had already found the positive pregnancy test. and there was only one possible explanation in his mind – jill cheated on him. she denies it, he’s too hurt and proud to listen. so their relationship has been on ice and the athmosphere in the whole sullivan house has been rather frigid too for a few weeks now. he doesn’t sleep in their bed anymore, drowns himself in work & jill thinks she just needs to give him time. but time doesn’t heal all wounds, especially not when he pretty much ignores her existence alltogether.

possible conversations –––  jill & clarissa. tom & john. tom & danny. jill & roman. tom & felix. roman & felix. roman & cari. felix & noah. felix & chris. &more.

3. vicky & cory ––

current status ––– vicky owens most likely thought that the day she’d see cory langley again would never come – which would have probably been for the best for everyone. but she did see him again, one afternoon, in a walmart. 17 years had passed since they last saw each other. and even though they parted in a fight that was never resolved for either of them back then, they agreed to catch up over a cup of coffee at vicky’s house. vicky’s son, noah owens aged 16, came home while cory was still over and as he was beginning to do the maths, he realised that this kid was most likely his. he left that afternoon utterly dumfounded, trying to put the pieces together. only once he was back home did it start to really sink in – he most likely has a kid. cory went back to vicky’s house a few days later, shaking with anger, and loudly demanded answers. only after he’d already started screaming at her did vicky confirm to him in a small voice, ‘he’s yours.’ noah and his boyfriend, liam caldwell-moore, stepped in once they heard the raised voices, telling the rather threatening seeming man to get away from a crying vicky without having any context of the conversation. cory now knows this life changing secret that vicky has done her all to keep sealed tight over the past 17 years, while noah remains clueless

possible conversations ––– noah & liam. cory & noah. noah & felix. vicky & cory. &more.

4. lance & the hughes ––

current status ––– lance hughes’ situation is continuing to quietly deteriorate. after his overdose nearly a year ago he was clean for a few months, but fell into a major lethargic depressive episode. when the shock of it wore off a little and marisol & john hughes loosened their reigns on him, it didn’t take long for him to find himself going back to the drugs. he’s become a good liar, a better liar, knows exactly what people like his parents and bella bennett want to hear from him. he tells her he still smokes from time to time but that’s it – nothing else.

possible conversations ––– marisol & john. marisol & jill. marisol & lance. john & tom. john & piper. lance & bella. lance & charlie. piper & wes. bella & maddie. &more.

5. gabe & ana ––

current status ––– gabe thompson and ana caldwell-moore had been sleeping together again for months behind avery caldwell-moore’s back before it started to blow up in their faces. carelessly, they were caught in the act by ana’s son, liam caldwell-moore, a couple weeks ago. he has since been refusing to talk to ana or gabe, internally battling with himself about whether he should be the one to tell his mother, avery caldwell-moore, who knows something is up but is being kept in the dark about it. ana, feeling ashamed, has also been avoiding gabe while trying to fix things at home, though he wasn’t really having any of it – he confessed to her that he wants to give the two of them a try now and asked ana to break up with her wife. ana wasn’t ready to sacrifice her family – though things might look different once she finds out that she’s currently pregnant.

possible conversations ––– gabe & ana. ana & avery. ana & liam. liam & noah. liam & hazel. liam & zara. &more.

6. maddie & dom ––

current status ––– now that their little nova has finally come into the world, things have been quite different for maddie carmichael & dom parrish. they’re now full time parents living with dom’s parents, clay & vivian parrish. maddie barely even goes into the city to see her own dad, jesse carmichael, these days. clay and vivian help out where they can, something vivian especially is happy to do because it means she can keep an eye on her son too – she’s not too thrilled about his plans to drop out of school or even them getting married. those are things that are up for discussion between maddie and dom, though they don’t always see eye to eye on those topics either. however, vivian brought up the idea of buying a place for the young parents to raise their family to clay not too long ago.

possible conversations ––– vivian & clay. vivian & dom. clay & jesse. maddie & bella. maddie & vicky. dom & nick. maddie & hazel. &more.

7. jordyn & naoki ––

current status ––– n/a.

possible conversations ––– jordyn & caleb. jordyn & khloe. naoki & tristan. tristan & matthew. eric & khloe. ted & eric. ted & tristan. &more.

8. the bennett family ––

current status ––– danny bennett came back a changed man – and his family is starting to have to pay the price for it. his helplessness is making him rude and ungrateful to his wife, clarissa bennett, who has been trying her hardest to be understanding but is slowly starting to lose her patience too. especially because there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to danny’s mood swings anymore. he’ll lash out over the smallest things, refuses therapy, drowns himself in mindless activities and even goes as far as being stricter with his children, bella & nancy bennett, than usual – anything that will give him some semblence of control.

possible conversation ––– danny & clarissa. danny & bella. danny & nancy. clarissa & jill. danny & tom. bella & maddie. bella & lance. nancy & dani. &more.

9. lennon & sasha & levi ––

current status ––– n/a

possible conversations ––– sasha & levi. lennon & sasha. toni & sasha. mona & levi. mona & lennon. sebastian & levi.

#okay... this got longer than intended #what happened here #ANYWAY lmao #thought it would be nice to have it in one place #please tell me if theres anything to be added or corrected about any of the summaries

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Celebrating Fearless: Taylor’s Version- My Swiftie Story

Hi friends! So we are just TWO DAYS away from Fearless: Taylor’s Version and I don’t know about you but I am SO EXCITED! The Fearless Era was when I became a Swiftie and my friend Ashley, who runs The World According to Taylor Swift: Fanpage for Swifties on Facebook, as well as several other social media pages, had her followers submit pictures/videos from their experiences of the Fearless era and I because I don’t have any photos, I asked if I could share my story so I wanted to share it with all of you! As well as try to see if Tay is lurking around and happens to run into this too. I am so ready for Taylor to FINALLY own all her music and we all can enjoy each album again like we’re hearing them for the first time. Please enjoy my Swiftie Story!

I became a Swiftie sometime in 2008 when I was 12 years old. I can’t remember exactly when it was, but I remember I had a few girlfriends who were crazy about country music. One of the girls lived on a farm and she would play Taylor’s music all the time. I didn’t like country music at all, and I’m still very selective about it today, but I do remember, the first song I heard was Love Story and it was New Year’s Eve. I think we listened to the song on YouTube (most likely) and I was really impressed by her voice and the story the song was telling. My friend had wanted me to sing along with her but I didn’t want to because I didn’t know all the lyrics and I just wanted to hear Taylor sing. 

Fast forward to 2009 and at this point, I was OBSESSED with Taylor. I remember I was at Walmart and bought the first album made by Justin Bieber and Taylor’s first album because I didn’t know she had an album before Fearless. I do know I was really interested and enchanted by the words she sang, the videos she made, and the stories she told. I wanted so much to be like her, that I even thought that was how high school was going to be for me when I heard Fifteen for the first time. Turns out, I was homeschooled for my entire middle school and high school years so I didn’t get to experience any “senior boys who would wink at me and say they hadn’t seen me around before.” I even had my Mom listen to her too, and she’s always enjoyed Taylor’s music and the kind of person she is, just like I do. 

As the years had gone by and I grew a bit older, I made a long-standing dream come true; I got to go to one of Taylor’s shows. It was July 19, 2013, at one of her shows in Philadelphia, which is very close to where she grew up. I had surprised my youth group leader with the tickets for her wedding since she was a really big fan like I was. We had made a day of it since the drive was about two hours from the town we lived in and I had just turned 17 the week before, so we wanted to celebrate. Summer in Philly was HOT and that day had reached 120 degrees. We were standing outside in that heat before we were allowed to go in and people had been passing out from it. Once we finally got inside and the whole arena went dark, the opening music to State of Grace began to play and the whole crowd of 50,000 people began screaming. I’ll never forget just seeing Taylor’s silhouette behind the red curtains, my heart was racing. Finally, I was going to see Taylor Swift in person and, even though I wasn’t able to get any photos and just one crappy video of the intro to the show, I’ll never forget that night. Or when Taylor stopped to look around at everyone as we all cheered for her and she seemed in disbelief that many people were there to see her. Or when she asked the audience if it was our first time seeing her, I shot my hand up so fast; I was so proud. 

 Now, at almost 25 years old, I still love Taylor just as much today as I did back in 2008. I owe so much of my happiness to Taylor because I can relate to her in a lot of ways. When life gets to be too much for me, I turn to Taylor’s music, sometimes even before I even tell anyone else about what’s going on. Her music is a way for me to cope with life; it’s therapy to me. I can play just about any song and I’ll immediately start to feel better. I sing along and imagine myself dancing around with Taylor in her apartment in New York City. 

If I ever have the opportunity to meet Taylor, I would tell her all of this and thank her from the bottom of my heart for saving my life on numerous occasions. Without her music or even just her posting on her social media channels, I would not be where I am today or who I am today. Every day is a chance to quote Taylor’s lyrics and then burst out the music on Spotify and that happens quite often. If I do get to meet Taylor, I would want my Mom to be there because she has seen firsthand the impact Taylor has had on me over all these years. She can attest to my journey and just how much I’ve looked up to Taylor. I want my Mom to experience being there when I finally get a hug and/or picture with Taylor because she has been a part of a lot of special things in my life. If I bring my Mom to a future show, I would make a sign that reads: “Here’s to my Momma, she listens to all my drama” with an arrow pointing to her because how cool would that be? My relationship with my Mom is very similar to Taylor and Andrea’s relationship so I’m sure we all could talk about that for a long time too. All in all, I’m very excited to hear the rerecording of Fearless, as it was the first album I heard and when I became a Swiftie, and it would feel like I was back in 2008 in my living room, listening to Love Story for the very first time with my friends, not wanting to sing along unless I knew the words. I will be a Swiftie forever & always. @taylorswift @taylornation​

#taylor swift #taylor nation #taylor swift fearless #taylorstans #taylors version #taylurking #swfities #story time

[donnajons]

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

[stellarune]

ok so i dont want to post anything to ao3 before im entirely done, but heres the beginning of my superhero au

tw : abuse (physical & psychological)

Tam was finally starting to relax and was getting ready to sleep when his phone vibrated on his bedside table. The lit up screen of his phone, diffusing a red light in the dark room, indicated a supervillain attack in town. Since he was a superhero, he couldn't exactly ignore it, so he got up with a grunt and checked what it was about. Apparently, the alert came from the automatic alarm of one of the biggest jewelries in town. Robbery. Pretty common. He should be back home in less than an hour if the guys were the usual type.

The real question was why he received the alert since it was supposed to be his day off. The answer was evident when he looked outside of his window to see multiple trails of smoke in two different areas of the city. Perks of living on the 46th floor of a skyscraper he supposed. He was able every Major Threat around, unless it was a mind control thing.

 Since the other heroes were apparently busy and he hadn't been pegged to party, he put his costume on and got ready for the fight.

Ondine wasn't exactly well known in the hero world and to be honest, he wasn't well-liked by those who knew about him either. Something about being new and having typic supervillain-like powers Sophie had told him. She had also told him that the people's opinion would change with time, but two years later that still remained to be seen. He still hurried to the scene, wanting to know exactly who was the jerk who stopped him from finally falling asleep.

Turns out the jerk in question was also a clown. Seriously, who went to rob a jewelry store in a neon, color clashing, eye straining costume and expected to be taken seriously ? maybe he didn't and was just there for shits and giggles. If he hadn't been a hero and was therefore supposed to be a model, Ondine would have killed him for stealing his day. This buffoon didn't even look like he was wearing a real mask. He could honestly swear he had seen the same exact one at Walmart the day before. At least taking him out would be easy. Maybe he wouldn't even need his powers.

He pulled out his rapier and prepared to strike. It was a simple move, supposed to knock out, not kill. It was a move that had worked each and every time he had tried it on low grade villains like this guy. So you could say Ondine was surprised when it was immediately blocked by this guy -- Hazart, they had called him. He didn't know if the misspell was supposed to mean something or if this guy was just that bad, but at least he could use a sword.

Ondine, who was used to defeating most of his opponents with his rapier instead of his powers was incapable of getting one solid blow in. Hazart was really good, at least his equal, if not better with his weird, glowy, appeared out of nowhere longsword. Which meant Ondine was going to have to bring out the big guns as soon as there was an opportunity to do so. 

The opportunity in question took shape in a particularly violent strike which left them both on the floor a few feet from each other. Ondine immediately started taking possession of the shadows lurking in the corners of the shop. This guy might have been good, but Ondine was nearly unbeatable in the night. Unfortunately for him Hazart seemed to see the opportunity as well. Maybe. Honestly he had no idea why this guy had started gesticulating in the air at nothing. He had no no idea why he was signing perfectly good ASL with a hand -- about how hot he thought Ondine was apparently-- and making weird gestures with the other. He decided to ask him.

“What the fuck are you doing with your hands ?” he signed back. Hazart froze for a moment before replying. Probably wasn't expecting an answer. He smirked.

“Wouldn't you like to know.” And before Ondine could react, a gun appeared out of thin air. A 8 feet long, glowy, kind of transparent gun. For a moment, he still didn’t understand what was happening. Then he saw Hazart taunting him with his right hand and still gesticulating with the other. “I’m drawing,” he signed, a wide grin on his face.

Then ondine has the gun pointed on him and has to get over the shock to summon his shadows next to him. Hazart might have been good, better than most of the people he had fought, but he was still no match for him in the night, and all the dark it offered. Shadows surrounded Hazart immediately, blinding him.

Ondine had thought that not being able to see would stop Hazart from “drawing”-- as he called it-- but it didn't. 

He just kept drawing like he had when he could see, and soon he had conjured a bunch of shurikens he started throwing at him. Dammit, he was making it hard to concentrate. And he needed to, because even though Ondine was in great control of his powers, there was always a risk of striking too hard if he didn't pay attention. Shadows were dangerous. 

Eventually though, he found an opportunity and immobilized Hazart. He put a sharp shadow under his shin, the blindfold back on, hoping it would at least slow him down a bit if he managed to escape and waited.

He could have tied Hazart’s hands behind his back right then, but he wanted to see Hazarts reaction first. So he stayed where he was, immobilizing the guy’s legs and head, but letting his arms free. after all, he could just knock him out if he tried anything. So he waited. Waited for the “freak”, or “why don't you want to join my villain group” he always got once people discovered that he wasn't in fact a hydrokinetic like his name and costume suggested. It never came.  

“Dude, these powers are so cool !” Hazart said from under the shadow blindfold that was covering pretty much his entire face now. Ondine was taken aback for a bit, not expecting the comment nor the voice. “What the fuck are the water name and costume for ?” 

Nope. This guy was shutting up right this minute. He scoffed and put a shadow over Hazart’s mouth and tied his hands behind his back. Only then did he remove the blindfold. He probably shouldn't have done that if he hadn't wanted Hazart to escape. His bad. He turned his back on him for a second to clean the place up a bit, but when he turned back, Hazart was standing on the other side of the window, ready to bolt.

“I'll see you around, Blue Tokoyami.” He made finger guns to ondine and ran.

Now Tam could understand why he had chosen Hazart for his name. This guy was a complete idiot. 

He was pretty sure he could have caught him pretty easily, but honestly he was kinda too lazy to do so. And he had gotten the diamonds back so everything was right in his book. He 

sighed and left the scene.

He hoped he would be able to finally get a little sleep once he returned to his apartment.

____

Keefe was already hurting everywhere from the fight he had had with Ondine. “It will be easy, even you will be able to do it”, they’d said. “No one will be there, they will all be busy with us,” they’d said. Well they had been wrong. It hadn't been easy, he had not succeeded and he hadn't been alone.

He sighed and entered the hallway. With a bit of luck he wouldn't run into any--

“My my, what do we have here.” Keefe turned and looked at Gethen, getting ready for what was likely to come. “I heard you couldn't even defeat a single hero ?” He tutted, getting closer and grabbing Keefe’s chin in his hand. “Boy, you need to toughen the fuck up.” Then his knee was in Keefe’s stomach and he saw butterflies.

He didn't really fight back, he never did, just letting the storm pass. There was no point anyway. He knew Gethen was better at close combat, and the protections in the Manor stopped him from using his powers.

So he laid on  the ground, making himself into a tight ball and took it. He had to anyway. Gethen was right, he should have been able to beat that hero with no problem. He had been training for it his entire life, yet he had been beaten. So he waited for it to end. And once Gethen was done, he simply walked to his room and slept. The kicks and punches would bruise, but at least he was pretty sure he had managed to protect his face.

He was definitely hurting in the morning. He took a shower and cleaned his cuts before preparing for another day.

#Keefe Sencen #tam song #superhero au #my fic #tw : abuse #psychological abuse #physical abuse #keefe sencen has adhd #kotlc

[mewhenhorrormovies]

Look at this kid.

This is terrible. USA needs to change, and it needs to change right now.

Black Lives Matter. All of them. I don’t care what name they have, where they live, where they grew up, what gender, they all matter.

And it’s our job to stand up and voice that. It’s our job to do everything in our power to fix what the US has done. We have to protest and protect at all cost.

If you’re sick?:

Don’t go out on the streets. Don’t go protest with all of those other people. You can save more than just black lives, you can save all lives by staying at home. But it doesn’t mean you can’t help. You can write poems and songs, you can draw and edit pictures, write pages on how it’s wrong or stories showing how terrible it is. You can do plenty of things to help, even if you stay at home.

Too Afraid To Go Out Into The Crowd Of Protestors?:

That’s fine. You can still help. If you live near the riots, you can help by letting the people maced and beaten into your house. You can help by letting them stay the night, feeding them, tending to their wounds. Or the least you could do is bye some supplies and when they come around, set it in backpacks, dufflebags, beach bags-heck set them in Walmart bags. And leave them out. It’ll help, trust me. Give them some Milk or water-I’ve heard that Milk can just make it last longer, but I don’t know- pack them some food, some water. Pack them some clothes, maybe some books or paper and markers. Maybe even leave them a note. Anything. I promise you will be helping.

Don’t Know How To Contribute?:

There is plenty of ways you can contribute. Some ways you can contribute in person/physically is:

Joining the riots

If you see somebody being beaten or knocked down in the riots go back and help them

Protect the black, show them we are on their side

Pack the rioters things they need

Let the hurt and the wounded stay over, tend to them

Bring them over to your house if they block of their houses/cars

Some ways to contribute over media or alone are:

Make some art or some edits. Post them on your Social Media platforms or print them out and hang them around the city, town, apartment and all that.

Write a song or a poem. A black actor named Dexter Darden-one of the kindest, funniest, and caring people I’ve ever seen- wrote a poem and posted it on Insta.

Write a type of story. Make up some type of character-or use a famous black person or maybe just one of your black friends! Write a story about all the things they’ve been through, how they react. Show the people through words and long, drawn out descriptions how they feel

Write pages and pages on how terrible it is. Heck, do what I’m doing-shine light to every possible problem. Help people. Try and get them to stand and fight for what’s right, explain how to do it.

Work together over your phone with your school friends, office friends, coworkers, rioters, online friends-anything. If you guys work together, writing a song or making a video of some sort I’m telling you it’ll help. Any type of movement helps. Make some type of club, and work on it.

Make your opinions known. Make your side, your team, your choices, your life known. Show people that you are supporting the right side.

Talk about all the terrible things that have happened, that people have done to us. I know that it might be sad, and may seem terrible-but if you spread the word about the cruelty going on, spread the word about all that has happened I’m telling you people will see what’s wrong.

And I want you all to know that if you are black and you’re scared or afraid, or you don’t know how to cope with this let me tell you a few things-

First off, I am always here. I can sit there and listen. I can make you forget about all the terrible things going on in life for a while. I can help you think of ways to get your voice out. I can give advise. I can make a group of people who can help you get through this-anything. I am always here. And not just for those who are black and can’t cope with this-for all. All genders. All skin colors. All sexualities. Everybody at anytime. I’m. Always. Here.

Secondly, you don’t have to be afraid. There is people out there, fighting for you. Fighting for your rights. And they can and will protect you if you went into the riot. I’ve read so many stories, and white and black people alike are working together.

Thirdly, you don’t have to be afraid of speaking up. Nobody can hurt you. Not physically. Verbally though? Possibly. But you know what? You have to block it out. It’s your life, you should be able to walk around without fear of being attacked for the color of your skin. And you should be able to tell people that. Don’t let people’s words scare you. Words are meaningless.

I hope that I have been able to help somebody during this, and I swear this is most definitely, 100% 💯 not the end of this. Remember that even the smallest voice can make the biggest difference. Don’t quit fighting for what’s right. Stay together. I promise this...fight will end. I promise that this battle, this attack, this argument, this WAR will be over-and we will be coming out the other side with what we deserve. Stay strong, stand together, and fight back.

Black Lives Matter ✊

#black lives are important #black lives matter #george floyd #fight for freedom #fight for whats right #fight #stand together #stand for whats right #protest #stand up #stand up for what you believe in #make your voice heard #speak up #voice your opinion

[brokenbones-singsongs]

If I am being entirely honest, I don’t want to be married. I don’t want to feel like I am tied to someone.  I don’t want to share my things. I don’t want to have to take care of someone else. I don’t want to sleep in the same bed as someone. I don’t want to feel bad for never wanting to have sex. I don’t want kisses. I don’t want to be touched.  I don’t want to go on trips together. I don’t want any of it. It damn near kills me that every time I look at my wedding dress I have to think about how much I want to forget that day. I want to forget wondering where my husband and my friends were when I was inside dancing. I want to forget that nothing worked out from the very start. That my best friend walked away from me and so many of the people I wanted there the most couldn’t make it. I want to forget that I didn’t get to walk down the aisle to the song I dreamed of for years. I can’t remember what the sanctuary looked like. I don’t remember the vows he said to me and I don’t remember what I wrote. We didn’t get to take communion and I barely got to speak to anyone. I was tired and frustrated and sick and I just wanted to go home.  I’v spent an entire year waiting on things that won’t happen. Wanting more of what I can’t have. The simple fact of the matter is that we are two very different people and the things that matter most to me don’t matter to him at all. He doesn’t see the beauty in the smallest of things. He doesn’t understand how important safety and security are to me. He doesn’t understand why things are so hard for me and why home is so important.  Everything I do is a problem. I have too many feelings. I have too many things. I care about too much. I’m too possessive of my things. I don’t look at it all as “ours” because I know that without the money I bring home we’d both be homeless, hungry, carless, phoneless, insuranceless, and whatever elseless.  We can’t go on dates together because I can’t afford to do everything on my own. I can’t suggest a weekend to do halloween things with friends without hearing him mutter something about “more money” as if it’s not money I worked for to begin with. I can’t exist without hearing something about how I haven’t touched him or I never sleep with him. I hate myself. I hate how I look. I am not comfortable. I don’t like taking my clothes off. Sex is inconvenient and irritating. It’s messy, it’s sticky, and the gratification doesn’t outweigh the frustration. It doesn’t make me feel loved. It’s not intimate to me. It’s nice for five minutes and then I have to get up and take care of myself so I don’t get an infection or something stupid and then I go to sleep like nothing ever happened. The bed isn’t big enough to share and he wakes me up every hour or so with moving and shaking and weird ass noises and I’m never fully rested.  He’s messy and he destroys the bathroom and leaves things in odd places and doesn’t care that it bothers me. He leaves me to do practically everything on my own. I manage the plans. I keep track of the calendar. I know when the bills are due. I make all of the calls. I keep track of groceries and cleaning tasks and everything in between.  He has no understanding of my want for more. For better. For not settling. I grew up in a broken home. I grew up in a place where things were broken so often that none of the dishes matched. Nothing was ever really new. A lot of our things were hand-me-downs from somewhere else. We couldn’t always get the name brand cereals and poptarts. Simple things like toaster strudels and christmas tree cakes were a special treat. I remember eating eggos and peanut butter sandwiches for days and weeks at a time. Most of our clothes came from walmart. We only got to have one pair of shoes at a time. We were limited to how much we could eat or drink because groceries were so expensive. We always shared a room with someone. In fact, we shared everything. I never got to play sports because it cost money. I spent so much of middle and high school conscious of how much things were, missing out on trips of a lifetime because we just didn’t have the money. And no, it wasn’t always that way and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that life was the way it was. But I want to be able to open my cabinets and have my things match. I like that my cookie sheets are still silver. My silverware still matches. I like that nothing sticks to my pots and all of my measuring cups are still living on their little rings. My oven mitts aren’t stained and don’t have holes. My picture frames match my blankets that match the couch that matches the tables and chairs. I have a full set of Pyrex measuring cups and none of my coffee mugs are chipped. I have SO MANY shoes and they match all of my outfits. I have running shoes and work shoes and black heels and nude heels and blue heels and silver and gold heels. I have keds and converse and vans I have white shoes and pink shoes and blue shoes and red shoes too. I have dresses for every occasion and new, expensive clothes. Clothes that have stood the test of time. Clothes that I used to walk by the storefronts and say “maybe someday.” I have these things and I am proud of these things. I have worked and worked hard for these things. I saved and I was diligent and I never wanted to settle. I didn’t settle. I wanted more so I worked for it. I wanted to see the world outside of NC so I did. I took my happy self to Seattle and Alaska and California. I saw mountains and valleys and waterfalls that I once dreamed of. I’ve made far away friends and served strangers in cities that feel like home in a past life.  I walked across bridges and saw musicals and sang way too loud in restaurants with my best friend. I’ve ran along shorelines and sat on the edges of cliffs because those are the things that matter the most to me. 

I always thought this was what I wanted. To be married and in a pretty house with the love of my life with all the tiny things I’ve procured from the world around me. Quiet evenings curled up on the couch. Books and movies and dinner and lights wrapped around the rails on the back porch. Fireplaces and fuzzy blankets. Coffee at 9:00pm because I can.  I’m realizing now that I still want those things, but I want them without the pressure of pleasing someone else. I like being alone. I like doing what I want. I like coming and going and not feeling obligated to sometimes snuggle or let someone kiss me. I like not having someone try to get me to take my clothes off when I’m half asleep. I like making a pot of coffee for one person. I like doing things without wondering if I’m going to be questioned about the money I spent later. I like only having semi one-sided conversations with the cat and listening to the music I enjoy in every room Alexa can reach without knowing I’m the only one who likes it.  I’ve never done well with respecting people simply because they’re a man and that’s what they need. I never have understood the inherent NEED for sex and how it’s the driving force of everything and how it’s somehow a problem that I just don’t care for it. I don’t understand why I should have to give more than he should just because I have it. I deliberately chose the things I did because I wanted more, why can’t he choose more too? Why does everything have to revolve around how long he can sit in front of his computer and call people cocksuckers and hope he gets money out of it? Why isn’t his real job more important? Why does he settle for so little? Why doesn’t he do everything he can to be better? Why doesn’t he have the same drive that I do? Why is everything “just the way it is?” to him? Why doesn’t he see doctors or workout more or talk to someone, or something to fix the things that make his life harder? Nothing is “just how it is.” If you want it to be better, fix it. Why am I not allowed to wonder here his money goes? Why do I have to be made to feel guilty for expecting him to give as much as I do?  I don’t think I should have to do without when I alone have the means for more. If I have the ability to do a little extra, why can’t I? The bills are paid, we’re not starving, why should I feel bad about going out of town or buying that new set of makeup brushes or the sweater I fell in love with? Why do I get the “well you ARE married now...” lectures whenever I say I would like to do my own laundry and clean up my own messes and let him worry about his things? Why is it a problem I don’t fucking want to be a mother? I just am really not happy. I’m not. But I made a promise and I took a vow and I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to break another person. I’ve broken so many before and still haven’t forgiven myself for it. I just also know I can’t live like this forever. It isn’t fair to either of us. It isn’t and I can’t keep locking myself in the closet and literally crying myself to sleep every evening after work only to emerge like some gremlin and pretend nothing happened. I just....can’t.  

[quatschmachen]

Hitch Work

Follows Fresh Powder

2000′s. Edward finally visits Mac up north.

Master post

XXXX

Whenever he fell into that in-between miasma, where other options no longer seemed to exist, he usually found himself escaping Edmonton. Usually it was to Montreal, but that option was out now.  So he decided to take Mac up on his offer, an offer that he had often apologetically refused, due to being busy with something or other. But this time Mac somehow made going up to where it was colder, less populated, with a sky full of the dancing lights, more appealing than participating in civil society.

As always, before they even left the city, they had to pull into the Costco to get some essentials.

For Fort McMurray might be the place where most of the money was pulled out of the ground through the sweat and tears of the blue collar worker, but the money shifted south faster than a fart. The big city basics, the stuff the city dweller takes for granted, like Costco, Walmart, dipping out for some reasonably priced provisions…

Mac had to make the six hour journey down for that. He had come with a list. There was the usual on the list – toilet paper, essential food items such as potato chips, mustard pretzels, all the items that were hell to get up north – or if you could it would be twice the price for the inconvenience of lugging it up there. Never mind the desperation to get as much reasonably priced alcohol as possible.

It was almost as an afterthought that Mac led Edward to the aisle with dishes, and wordlessly grabbed a single mug. Edward thought nothing of it, other than Mac obviously needed a new mug.

His hockey bag packed with the essentials, Mac’s truck with all his supplies, Edward felt slightly optimistic.

They had to time it just right, but with a few pitstops, and the black ice which even the winter tires had difficulty navigating, the five hours turned into six. The ride interspersed with their conversation, both of them smoking like chimneys, the country radio that dominated rural Alberta, but not enough to not cut in and out sometimes, the flat prairie farms turning into boreal forest, dominated by the tall frames of the lodgepole pines.  A land carefully cultivated for centuries with a respect to nature, a land which now was being cut up to feed the white man’s economy. Brushing that thought aside, Edward let himself contentedly look at the nature around him.  

As they pulled into Fort McMurray, Edward was interested to see how the place had changed, and how it hadn’t. It was an odd mixture, the place where the money flowed from, the place where the money often did not stay. A place of historic transience, where one’s home was contained in the heart, but physically was far away. Something like he was doing – running away, getting to work. The grief heavy within him had settled like rocks in the bottom of his heart and stomach. A manageable pain, a manageable self hatred.

As they drove up to a relatively new house, Mac got visibly nervous.

Almost shyly, Mac announced he had finally bought a house. “Oh ye knows, I was rentin’ but then the owner wanted ta move right? So I figures, it’s a nice place, might as well just buy.”

As far as Edward knew, Mac had bounced around his own town unable to settle, never bothering too much with property, probably because it was so easy to crash at Edward’s between hitches. Why invest in a place you barely spent any time in, right? Or at least that had been his own pet theory. It was a feeling of shock and surprise then, at this announcement. Surprise because the man hadn’t bothered to hold a housewarming party, or even mention much about it.

Edward was too tired to even ask why his friend was renting in his own town. Mac did things his own way, and sometimes you just had to accept that. Edward had not seen this house before, and the build looked relatively new.

Pulling his hockey bag out of the truck, Edward followed Mac inside. Mac’s arms were full of the shopping, the bags dangling from the elbows, as he huffed from the weight of it. Edward offered to take something, but Mac was determined to bring it all into the house in one go. Edward locked the truck, and after careful instruction from Mac, which involved awkwardly reaching into Mac’s jacket pocket to retrieve the keys, opened the door to the house.

Taking his boots off, Edward glanced into the living room and frowned. It was a rather sparse room.

Mac had moved ahead to lazily dump the bags down in the nearest location, rubbing his arms.

“Mac… do you live in the basement or something?”

“No. I rents that out.”

Edward looked again at the living room. A space with bare wood floor where huddled in a corner sat one lamp, a worn-out bean bag chair covered in duct tape, gaming consoles and a very large television.  There was an overflowing ashtray beside the bean bag, and if he looked hard enough he could see some of the foam peanuts leaking out of the bag.

There was nothing else.

“Where’s your furniture?”

“You blind or wha’? It’s all there.” Mac gestured to the bean bag chair.

“Do you ever have guests?”

“Sometimes – but ye knows holdin’ a kitchen party ye jus’ needs takeout and alcohol.”

Edward made a ‘hmm’ing sound as he shifted his bag. “Well, you can show me where I’m supposed to sleep at least.”

“Sure thing, though now I’m realizing maybe should have got you a blanket or something,” Mac laughed. Edward laughed as well, as he was lead to the guest room.

The laughing stopped.

Before his eyes, was a room yes. In the room? For guests?

In the middle of the floor lay the saddest mattress on the ground. No box spring, no pillow. No duvet.

Simply something that looked like it should have been burnt in the last century.

Attempting to keep his shit together (for Edward knew that while Mac was a competent man, he also needed to be handled in the right way), he asked in a high pitched voice,

“So… am I supposed to sleep in here, or?”

Mac frowned, “Guess it’s not ideal, didn’t really think this through eh?”

Looking at the other man’s profile, Edward let out a breath, “We can make this work, though, I think tonight it might be too late to get me a place to sleep.”

Inwardly he screamed, when we went to Costco you could have said I would need to buy fucking pillows! A duvet! An entire bed! Instead you encouraged me to get more mustard pretzels!!

“Hell we can just share my bed, it’s big enough.”

Raising his eyebrow, and not quite looking at the other man, Edward attempted to joke, “You sure? You might get gay cooties.”

In response Mac slung his arm around Edward’s shoulders and firmly squished him into his warm side, “Chuck, if I’s a gay that would have been apparent years ago. I’s not worried ‘bout that.”

“Years ago?” Edward questioned, peering up at Mac’s amused expression. His internal screaming monologue quelled for the moment.

Giving him a reassuring squeeze, Mac let him go and cryptically replied, “This ain’t a place bustling with women in case ye haven’t noticed.”

“Maaaac… are you saying you’ve been experimenting?” Edward slowly asked, feeling somewhat delighted and surprised.

“Chucky, just cuz I ain’t a big city slicker don’t mean I don’t leave the house and sees people and does stuff, and I’ve realized that I am for sure not going to be worrying about turning homo.”

“Alright then buster… we can drop my stuff in your room and make some food.”

Mac was silent on the way to his room - which unsurprisingly smelt like sweat and something else.

This room had more stuff in it at least, Edward thought. He looked at the bed – simply a mattress on top of a box spring on the floor with what he supposed was the head pushed up against the wall. He knew he should probably count himself lucky that the box spring even existed in this scenario. The bed was messy and unmade, and he could just make out the forms of crushed potato chips amongst the black sheets.

Directly above the bed was a poster of a lady in a bikini, and then on the walls were scattered posters of other ladies, Oilers stuff, and the odd truck poster.

Clothes overflowed from the dresser, balled up tissues propagated on the floor, hiding in the green shag carpet. Edward’s gaze returned to linger to the bed.

“Uh, when was the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Ye change ‘em?”

“…Do you have some like, fresh bedsheets, Mac?”

Mac shrugged, “Maybe? I dunno. Maybe in the cupboard.”

Maybe? Maybe? Was Mac’s plan to share the bed all along? Mac? How the hell did he live like this?!

Edward frowned, attempting to figure out if he cared for the night. He was tired, they both were tired. He had slept in worse locations. He knew when there were times to fight, he also knew when it was time to eat.

“Let’s eat.”

Edward attempted to keep his trepidation at bay. It was as if this house wasn’t actually lived in. Simply a place for Mac to play games and pass out. A house – not a home.

Mac had said kitchen parties but… the stove still had plastic wrap on it. He was not sure what to expect when it came to the cupboards. He opened one and saw an open package of cookies, the plastic tray slightly hanging out of the bag, and on further inspection, only one broken cookie left. Squinting at the bag, Edward realized the cookie had expired over a year ago. The cupboard beside that one was empty.

The next cupboard contained one bowl, one mug, and one plate.

His next step had his foot stick to the floor, his hand fumbling on the next cupboard.

“Oh I calls that the fly trap.”

“What?”

Mac gestured to the sticky patch on the floor, “Keeps meaning to clean it up but ye know, easier to just not step in it.”

“Mac…” Edward sighed, as he opened the next cupboard, and was relieved that it contained some packs of ramen.

He opened a drawer and found it crammed with odd bits of silverware, free floating in the drawer, a divider nowhere in sight. He could discern a sharp knife, a wooden spoon, two forks, a butter knife and three spoons. And what possibly might be a cheese grater buried at the bottom of it all. There also happened to be about six different types of novelty beer openers.  The drawer beneath that contained cedar planks, hot dog buns, a long lighter, a metal spatula, and those tiny condiments you get from take out.

“That’s the barbeque drawer.” Mac offered in explanation.

One of the cupboards under the sink was crammed full of fishing supplies. Edward dearly hoped that the locked metal container did not contain fish bait. He did not open to find out.

With slight trepidation Edward opened the refrigerator.

On the top shelf, was an open can of peaches with a fork stuck into it. It stood in the middle of the top shelf like a sculpture – a sculpture that smelled. In the door was some open juice, pickled radishes, mustard, ketchup, relish and hot sauce. Edward could deal with this, indeed he had dealt with far worse before when it came to mysterious refrigerator contents.

Opening the freezer Edward let out a cry of surprise. Neatly stacked, packaged and dated was various cuts of meat that Mac had hunted.

Is this what he spent all his time doing? Edward mentally grumbled, expend all the energy to make sure you ate the meat in the right order?

Beside the meat was an assortment of frozen dinners crammed around a tub of ice cream, one of them nearly bent in half, and Edward did not want to spend too much thought as to how Mac had managed that.

He opened the door of what he supposed was going to be the pantry. He expected to find at least a potato or something, but instead it was full of neatly arranged video games on the shelves, and a few gaming consoles tucked into a corner. On the floor was a half full box of whippets.

His eyes scanned the pantry still searching and not finding.

There was something missing though. Sure there was a bowl and stuff, but what the hell did Mac cook his food in? Ramen existed, the one mug was not large enough to cook it. Did Mac just eat it raw like some moody teenager?

“Mac. Where’s your pots and pans?” Edward turned to ask the other man, who was leaning against the counter simply staring at him with amusement.

In answer he shifted and in the corner of the counter was a small silver pot. By itself.

Edward had no words, as in a dream like state he crossed the room, deliberately ignoring the sticky bits of the floor, and went to examine this battered little pot.

“Mac… why do you have a pot with no handle?”

“Oh you knows it broke a while back haven’t gots the time to jus’ pop down to the store to get a new one, and its not like I needs it.” He shrugged, “It’s like my bowl too – I just make the noodles innit then I moves it to the counter on the little cork pot pad and eats straight outta it.”

Edward was not quite sure how to describe the sensation he was feeling as he looked at the fully grown man in front of him. How… how did Mac survive? How was this even life? Sure he thought himself as screwed up but Mac seemed to be existing on another level.

“Mac… do you just spend all your money on your truck and video games?”

“Beers, cocaine, darts and the prostitutes too.” He gamely added.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to the store to uh…” Edward frowned, struggling to find words, “Well, to at least get me my own fucking mug.”

At this Mac brightened, “I got you one! It’s in the pile of crap I brought in from Costco. Chuck – Chuck why are you crying!?”

Edward was laughing as well as crying, as he looked up at the other man, “Mac… I think you’re more fucked up than I am. Shit – you’re supposed to be the epitome of the ideal man—well paying job, a house, passably white, heterosexual – and here you are-” at this Edward’s voice had raised in pitch as he held the pot, “using a pot with no handle! YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A FRYING PAN.”

“Don’t need it on the barbeque.”

Edward choked slightly at that response.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to Canadian Tire and I swear to god, I may be a fucking mess, but I at least know how to get a pot with a handle on it for you.”

A small smile graced the other man’s lips, “So’s did ya decide what ya wanna eat for dinner?”

“A microwave dinner.”

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll get it made then?”

Edward snorted. “Comfortable where? You don’t even have a kitchen table or chair.”

“Uh,” Mac’s ears turned red, his words apparently escaping him, his hands fumbling slightly with the microwave dinner packaging.

Realizing his tone was probably a little too harsh, Edward attempted to settle against the counter, “I’m fine standing here I guess.”

Mac nodded and stuck the meals into the microwave (which Edward pointedly did not look into, he feared for his life and decided that in this case ignorance was his friend.) For a man of money Mac didn’t have a lot of appliances, hell he didn’t even have a kettle or a toaster.

“What do you usually eat?” he asked, his voice slightly louder than necessary to be heard over the hum of the microwave.

Mac looked slightly ashamed, “Oh takeout, or I just go to my favourite restaurant or pub. I mean it’s not like being home is a place I’m at too much – spend most of my time up at the camps. They feed ye well there. Sometimes its just easier being at work. Don’t need to worry about nothing. Just get the job done.”

Breathing deeply, Edward nodded, “That sounds nice. No need to think, just work.”

“Which is why you’re up here.” Mac grabbed the meals out of the microwave, and they ate their respective meals standing in the kitchen in companionable silence.

Together they unpacked the groceries, Edward already attempting to bring some sort of order to the cupboards. Satisfied that there was some sort of start, he grabbed his toiletries and made his way to the washroom. Flicking on the light, his life flashed before his eyes.

He wasn’t sure where to start first. The dried pee puddles by the toilet, of a man who didn’t care if he missed? (Granted, he had been specifically trained by a VERY grouchy Edith to NEVER EVER make a mess like that.) The ragged shower curtain? The suspicious black mold in the bathtub, or the sink? It was as if Mac was simply a boy in a man’s body, with no one around to teach him about the joys of bleach. As he carefully shuffled into the washroom, mentally informing himself that all he needed to focus upon was getting himself suitable for bed, Edward looked at himself in the mirror splotched with water and tooth paste. His mind whirring to who possibly would be the person to take Mac to the side to teach him the basics of cleaning. Johnny B’y? Freddy? While they were capable men in their own rights, Edward wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to Mac to inform him what a mop was. Johnny B’y was rather outspoken, and Edward felt if he had visited there would be loud words… a thought crossed his mind. A rather unpleasant one.

Mac had mentioned kitchen parties, but the place really did feel unlived in. Sure there was empty beer cans, but there wasn’t any signs that the Atlantic coasters had dropped by. No off-brand screech, none of their specialty favourite foods… – hell he had Johnny B’y stop by for a short visit and he was finding random Purity brand items months later. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that a Newfoundlander would bring food from home with them. There was no evidence of that.  Mac was lying, came his conclusion.

Spitting into the sink, and cupping water to his mouth, Edward swished the toothpaste out, and then cleaned his toothbrush.

Not trusting to leave his toiletries overnight in this washroom, Edward packed them up.  As he went to turn off the light he cringed. Like the other light switches in the house, which he suspected were supposed to be white, this was a dark grey of grime. Things he hadn’t thought about cleaning were dirty – such as the edges of corners where one brushed up. He was fairly certain Mac had never thought about washing a wall. Or perhaps not tossing his dirty coveralls on the floor. Like a little boy with free reign of a house and no mother to nag after him.

Oh god, Edward panicked, am I the mother?

He was glad he had had the two to three beers. No one wanted to be sober entering Mac’s bedroom.

Mac had scrubbed his teeth before, and was already in bed, snoring lightly. Edward decided to keep his thought to himself, and try to sleep himself. As his hand brushed against something in the bed, that was not attached to Mac, and which was not a pillow, Edward concluded, maybe acting as the surrogate mother was not a bad thing.

XXXX

Entering Canadian Tire was like entering a holy cathedral, Edward thought, breathing the tire smell in deeply. Wherever you went Canadian Tire had the same smell, the same atmosphere, the same lighting that wasn’t overbearing, but instead felt like entering a sacred space. Directing Mac to the shopping cart, Edward lead the way to the main aisle which held the string of palettes in the middle of the floor, the first one piled up with boxes of sale Christmas decorations.  Ignoring the temptations, he looked around, torn between kitchen appliances and decent fucking bedding.

He was trying to block last night. Or this morning. Time had ceased to mean anything to him. Dinner had been alright, he was aghast that Mac wanted to use the dishwasher for all two forks. He asked where the liquid detergent was and from the shifty look on Mac’s face he realized that it didn’t exist. Unbidden to his mind was the memory of the bed. The foul smell. The fact that he had found a half eaten kubasa amongst the potato chips. There was even some marijuana hidden under the pillow. And then god, Mac’s snoring. Edward too afraid to move in the bed, in fear his foot would strike a crusty cum sock.

He was tired as hell, but simply being in the Canadian Tire was reviving him. His mind began clicking in place, as he headed to the kitchen appliances, it was the closest to them. Pots and pans gleamed on display, like holy implements of cookery. He stared at them hard, calculating the best costs, seeing what was on sale, what would be the easiest for Mac to maintain.

“You’re getting this set.” Edward pointed to a boxset of copper pots and pans. “And that cast iron skillet.” Edward bent down to lift the heavy boxset, grunting in effort. It was heavier than he thought.

“Chuck, stop.”

“Mac! You need pots with handles on them!” Edward grunted as he crab walked the box towards the shopping cart.

The box was suddenly lifted out of his arms, as Mac rolled his eyes, and easily placed it into the cart. “I’ll get the stuff, you point.”

“Oh.” A soft ‘oh’, a look of consideration, then, “Hmm am I supposed to be your…” Edward leant close to Mac to whisper this conspiratorially, “gay makeover?”

Mac snorted, “No, you’re supposed to help me get my shit together because the last time I was in charge of a home it was made out of animal hide.”

“Right.” Edward nibbled his lip as they navigated the maze of the kitchen area away from the pots and pans to the beverage accessories. “So… No one’s actually shown you how to housekeep?”

“Keep a house?”

“I mean all the nonsense like how to clean, and the types of comforts you don’t realize you need but when you have it you wonder how you lived without it before.”

“Like you know – having the double shower curtain, so the water doesn’t get out.”

“The double what now?”

“You’ll understand that particular one soon enough. I mean why didn’t you even bother to hire a cleaner?”

“No need to. Mess doesn’t bother me, not like anyone else comes to visit.” Mac’s words trailed off and he shot Edward a nervous quick glance as if he realized what he had just said.

Sensing the nervousness, Edward decided to let it slide. If Mac wanted to elaborate later, he could. “Well we need to make sure you get a kettle then. If there’s no tea in sight when the rest of the guys come over you know you’ll be in trouble.” They were standing in front of a selection of them, and he pointed towards a cordless kettle which was on sale.

“You’re right there. No need to be microwaving the mug.” Mac laughed as he grabbed the kettle carefully slotting it in beside the box of pots and pans.

They had moved out of the kitchen appliances to the aisle full of various cleaners. Rows upon rows of choices, each cleaner singing out their own praises in order to tempt the customer. Edward had to debate between sale and what he knew worked. He looked over to Mac, who was staring a little too hard at some Pledge, his brow slightly furrowed. Best not try new things, best stick to what he knew would work.

His hands darted out as he grabbed two different types of the same cleaner, “Do you care about smell?”

“Uh,” Mac was broken out of his reverie, looking at the choices before him. “Whatever you like Chuck.”

“Uh huhhh,” Edward decided to get both, handing the cleaners over to Mac, who neatly slid them into the cart, maximizing the space.

They had reached a section with discounted patio furniture, and Edward paused thoughtfully.

“Chuck it’s not the season for patios.”

“I know but… it’s on sale…” he nibbled his lower lip, and then moved towards a wicker chair with a cushion and sat in it. “Come try.”

Frowning slightly but in an action of trust, Mac sat down in an identical chair.

Wriggling, Edward let his head fall back, “I think this at least beats sitting on a beanbag with the beans falling out.”

“Hey! I’ll have ye know I’ve had that bag since like 1990! I’ve drug it around faithfully for over a decade, it’s my favourite chair!”

“It may be your favourite chair, but do you REALLY want to be playing Call of Duty with me snuggled half on your thigh as we try to share it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mac stuck his tongue out. “Who says I have a second controller?”

“The one I literally saw in a heap on the floor?”

“Aw shit ye got me there.” Mac stretched out his legs, “I guess we could get one.”

“And that.”

“What?”

Edward was pointing to some sort of wicker loveseat. It was a different stain from the chair, not a matching set.

“Why?”

“So other people can sit their assess down somewhere.” Edward simply replied. He was looking around, wondering where the hell an attendant could be.

“Chucky, trying to find a Canadian Tire employee in the actual goddam store is like tryin’ to get a blow job for free from a hooker, not gonna happen.”  

Except that Edward had sprung up from the seat and was halfway down the aisle, talking animatedly with an attendant, who nodded and disappeared.

Mac had no clue what was happening, until the attendant appeared with a flat dolly to load the patio furniture.

“I’ll have it by the front for when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

Looking pleased as punch, Edward winked at Mac. “And let’s just say I’ve gotten a few freebies in my past.”

Jaw hanging open, Mac sputtered, and then laughed as he stood up. “Geezus.”  His hands were back on the handle of the shopping cart, “Where to next, Chucky?”

“Uh bedding so I can sleep in a bed without half a pantry in it.” Edward teased.

“Hey kubasa is cured, it can keep.”

“Uh not for like a week in a bed!” Edward walked just fast enough to be outside of any chance of Mac jostling him. He hadn’t realized Mac had stopped, until he was about a few aisles down. A small surge of worry filled him as he wondered if he had gone too far.

Mac’s expression was hard to read; as he approached, he followed the man’s gaze. To his surprise it was at the paint chips.

“Mac?”

“Chuck… would it be weird to paint the living room?”

“Huh?” This was not at all what Edward expected.

Flushing slightly, Mac said, “I likes how your house is with the colours, but I don’t know how to goes about it.”

Gathering himself out of his shock, Edward nodded. “Sure… well we go look at paint chips and figure out colours…” he pulled a set of grey to black “Black walls? Express your true bituminous self?” he asked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Holy fuck no, I stare at that shit all day at work, there is no friggin’ way I’m gonna be havin’ my living room be that colour!” Mac exclaimed as he aggressively moved past Edward, paused at the rainbow of colours and then plucked out a couple sheets in the yellow and orange range. “Give me the fucking sun all year round thank you very much.”

“But Mac! Look at these wonderful colours!” Edward managed to get out, stifling his giggles as Mac’s eyes registered the different chips in neon green, baby puke brown, and some sort of blinding hot pink.

“Ye must be nuts,” Mac snorted, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he was considering, “But maybe that shit brown could be a nice accent colour to…” he looked at the paint chips in his hands, concentrating, then nodded, “This soft buttercup yellow.”

“Ohh actually that’s a nice colour, I think we probably shouldn’t match it with shit brown.” Edward placed the rejected colours back, and after a moment, grabbed a sheet of various shades of white, “We could accent it with this eggshell? Unless you want to be bold with some soft light blue?”

“Blue’s getting a little out there but show me anyway.”

Taking a minute, Edward looked at all the light blues, before drawing three different cards, and holding them in turn next to the buttercup yellow. “This one – soft turquoise.”

Mac took the blue paint chip, and held it with the yellow, staring quietly for a long time. Long enough that Edward began to feel awkward standing there, waiting for his reply. Had he gone a little too off the deep end with the blue?

Mac’s gaze shifted from the paint chips to meet Edward’s eyes, and for an excruciating ten seconds simply held it. “Yeah sure, why the fuck not? Sun needs the sky, don’t it?”

The breath he hadn’t even known he was holding was let go, a broad smile breaking across Edward’s face. “Sure as hell does.”

Somehow, even though it was stupid, Edward felt like the stones he had been carrying around were being lifted, somehow being placed into that damned shopping cart between the kettle and the freshly mixed paint. Absolved of all his sins, as he joked with Mac, reminding himself that perhaps not everything had gone to hell since the New Years. That maybe there were other aspects of his life that were worthwhile, worth building. Worth using the stones he carried around to create a new base.

By the time they reach the till, Edward was pushing a second cart full of ‘essentials’, their banter loud and boisterous, their feet moving in a slight competition as to who could reach the till first. The bill is something Edward doesn’t want to know, but Mac doesn’t mind paying it. He jokes with the cashier, that his cousin is helping him get set up in life – help him get the chicks.

In a way he was looking forward to cleaning and painting and making the house a home together with Mac. Spending the time he never seemed to have before, with someone he feels (with some guilt) he may have been neglecting.

As they made their way out to the parking lot, snow crunching under the wheels of the cart, the gun grey sky dark with the weak sun, Edward took a deep breath in, allowing the tensions to release out of him. They loaded the truck together, carefully puzzling the furniture, trying to arrange all the cleaning products and shiny new kitchen items in the back seat. As Edward attempted to balance something, Mac frowned.

“Chuck, no, what the hell are you doing. Step back and let the master work.”

Before his eyes, he watched as Mac re-shifted everything, moving the packages and different shapes together in a nice tight satisfying puzzle. Somehow everything fit. Noticing Edward’s admiring look, Mac’s ears turned slightly red, “Probably spendin’ too much time on Tetris.”

“I’d say just enough time.”

As he returned the carts to the outdoor corral, Edward realized that maybe Mac had done him a favour. His concern and intolerance of the other man’s lifestyle had consumed his worries and fears about the future. It had given him a project, something with tangible goals to accomplish. A purpose in life. Turn Mac’s house into a home, a place that was no longer a place of transience.  But it wasn’t only that. It was Mac shifting his life, wiggling a piece out there, putting a new one there, providing Edward with a fundamental shift in his self-flagellation.

Moving out of the parking lot, Edward in shotgun, the heater on full blast, he chanced a glance at the other man. The strong profile, the crooked nose, with a jaw which could probably be used to break rocks in between swigs of beer. Maybe this year won’t be as shitty as he feared.

#quatschfic #pc: edmonton #pc: ft mac #pc: fort mcmurray #hitchwork #warning: man mess

[thewitchsstudy]

An Old Opinion Research Essay

Made this last school year. It’s about MLMs (Multi-level Marketing) and why I think they should be illegal

Thousands of dollars. You don’t make thousands, you pay thousands. You don’t sell thousands, you recruit thousands. You don’t get paid to work, you pay to work. Welcome to MLMs, the most unethical world of business where everything is a scam. It deserves to be banned, gone from the reach of the people who run them. For the safety of the workers. 

MLMs- Multi-level Marketing- companies pop up a lot in the modern day. Have you ever gotten a Facebook message from somebody, likely with an eye bleeding amount of emojis, claiming to know you from somewhere pitching a product? That’s an MLM worker, no doubt. While most see them as annoying at worst, these companies that these workers come from have been proven, as from testimony by former workers, the FTC, and multiple state lawsuits, to have destroyed finances, careers, friendships, and lives while breaking the law. Many have been accused of or been charged with illegal activity- operating a pyramid scheme. 

Any amount of research will bring up how horrible some companies can get. Being repulsed at the practices is one thing, but how do we prevent them from harming workers? I argue a full ban on the practice. With already tight regulations and monitoring by the FTC, MLMs are in hot water. Still, illegal pyramid schemes manage to bypass the law and operate until it’s too late (hello Advocare, like your lawsuit?). The best way to deal with MLMs is simply banning the practice.

Bans may not be the best, but they can be necessary. Prepare to feel a mix of shame, disguise, anger, and bitter hopelessness for humanity.

Corporate can be a dictator. Many people, including former workers, heavily argue the point that many MLMs are morally and legally wrong. They have no base pay and hide under a “make as much as you want” claim. In reality, workers buy products from the company to sell to consumers, and when they don’t sell, often due to the terrible quality and horrible company reputation, they are essentially being paid under minimum wage with negative wage counts! Financial reports show that, during a year in an MLM, the majority percent of employees lost money, some broke even with joining packages and product costs (which cost thousands of dollars), and less than 5% made money, and less than 1% reached or exceeded the annual national minimum wage ($15,080)

In addition, workers who quit MLMs are often shamed by supervisors and friends still in the company. They get harassed online through texts and Facebook for breaking free. Friendships are broken in split seconds. Lives are left fragments of what they once were. Families fight and argue and refuse to communicate with each other due to associating with these companies. A video by Vice News, which is highly recommended to watch, tells the stories of women who have left MLMs and the shame that was placed on them. In addition to their terrible financial situation, it documents how much shame was put on these women who are left friendless, leaving friends for the company and leaving the company with fake “friends”. MLM workers are encouraged to sell to family and friends, and one worker has stated that “every conversation turned into a sales pitch”. Any human would leave a friend who did that.

On the other hand, people argue that MLM products are legit and that they are perfectly legal and not pyramid schemes. They say that, without legal action, MLMs are fine to operate. They argue that a pyramid scheme is a solid definition that requires many boxes to be checked, and that MLMs don’t check enough. They may call them “Anti-pyramids”, which is a funnel and shows more on the top than the bottom and the money still goes to the one guy on the bottom and that’s still a horrible business model for a dozen reasons, but that’s beyond the point. These could have good backing to them. When the research is done, however, even on social media, these people are often corporate workers who run these MLMs and bank millions or other workers (who many call “Huns”) who are in denial about their workplace being a scam (they may also be arguing this case even if they understand the truth).

It is also important to understand that the other side will defend their word with flamethrower and shield, even if the flamethrower is a knockoff that doesn’t even work and the shield is a sad excuse for a thing made of atoms. Workers post pictures online of their new “expensive” things they bought with money from their “job”. Many have debunked these as fakes, including noted images of clearly empty bags that were supposedly filled with stuff (classic fake-rich tactic right there). This is easily found, since if the poster refuses to show a top view or take the items out, you don’t trust that anything is in the bag. Many in the Anti-MLM community  realize and share their findings on how the evidence and claims made by these people are next to nothing in value. It makes them incredibly petty and decays their point. Like rotting flesh.

Most of that evidence is little slaps to MLMs. The big problems come when states start suing them. Oh, yeah, MLMs from Advocare to Young Living to LulaRoe have been sued for years. States, ranging from Idaho to California, have accused these companies of operating illegal pyramid schemes. Warehouses have sued LulaRoe over not receiving payment for storage. LulaRoe has been sued over cross-state taxation (taxing buyers in states with no tax who purchase from workers in states with tax). Federal government agencies have reprimanded MLMs as well, most noticeably in a case against Young Living where a man died in a distillery due to severe safety code violations, such as lack of training and not providing respirators in the high-chemical environment. Note, these are only some well-known companies and their well-known lawsuits. 

Deception is rampant in MLMs, and consumers are being lied to almost constantly. Young Living used to claim a Seed to Seal standard and having 100% pure essential oils. Not only was it revealed that they source from multiple farms, which makes the Seed to Seal claim highly unlikely, independent lab tests show birch and jasmine oils produced by the company were, in fact, synthetic. Worse, one study done by the State of California showed higher than acceptable levels of a chemical known for producing cyanide inside the body in Young Living’s oils. This was not mentioned anywhere by Young Living- not on the bottle, not online, not anywhere, which is an offense in California. They were, like previously, sued over this serious health and safety matter since they sold their products in the state. 

It should be obvious that Young Living’s products are not the most trustworthy, regardless of your opinion on essential oils. That could be applied to all MLM products. LulaRoe leggings are notorious for ripping, even in the first wear. Herbalife’s powders and mixes, especially their soup reportedly, have been called by people such as John Oliver as tasting “like wood shavings” (this was a continued joke in his televised segment on Multi-level Marketing, another good watch for more info). When looking at prices, such as LulaRoe leggings costing $30+ bucks for a quality $10 Walmart leggings with better, non eye-bleeding designs far surpass, the word “scam” pops up in New York City lights.

John Oliver in his segment also went into detail on how, while distributors lose thousands on MLMs they work for, their founders and CEOs can afford meetings that I can only describe as an 80s metal concert if everybody there was on some serious drugs. Some things that occur range from overly enthusiastic live announcers, CEOs coming out as “Welcome to the Jungle” plays, and screaming at the grave of a man named Joe Nobody, dated 1952- about how much he could’ve done with his life if he had just joined his MLM. Are laughing out loud at the thought of all this? It’s real, and you can find the Joe Nobody clip and more in the John Oliver episode online. It’s on-the-floor-laughing levels of ridiculous. One can only imagine being at any MLM meeting, host, worker, or random guy, in person is an accurate simulation of an acid trip for all parties involved. 

How does this add up to a pyramid scheme? With the previously stated knowledge in mind,  look at the employees. Those Facebook messages from before? Those can be recruitment messages. These often target mothers, those of color, and those of specific religions depending on the MLM. For example, LulaRoe often has single or unemployed mothers as distributors. On its website, the FTC notes that promises of extravagant lifestyles, wealth, and “high-pressure tactics” during recruiting are prominent red flags for any business. Guess who milks these until the cow runs red? MLM recruiters. While I don’t trust Reddit for factual info often, there are credible accounts of this practice on such subreddits as r/AntiMLM and r/LuLaNo. 

The big problem is that MLMs may pay their employees for recruitment. The FTC says that “Your recruits, the people they recruit, and so on, become your sales network, or ‘downline’. If the MLM is not a pyramid scheme, it will pay you based on your sales to retail customers, without having to recruit new distributors”. The way it often works when a Pyramid Scheme is in place is that those higher up in the pyramid get a percent of commission from those they have recruited, those recruit’s recruits, and so on. Pyramid schemes require active participation for this often only check, which requires more money for products that will never sell and, as the saying goes, “get left in a garage.” The FTC notices this is a practice utilized by pyramid schemes. A former LulaRoe (funny how LulaRoe pops up so much) worker high up on the corporate ladder on the previously mentioned Vice News clip claims to have been receiving these commissions, with checks from the company proving it. MLMs have systems of ranks, which are often named after anything from crystals to management positions, and guess what those more than not focus on? How many people you recruited. Higher up you are, the higher percent of commission, the more money you get. 

That, fellow readers, are the bones of pyramid schemes. You don’t grow a business with a stable customer base and happy employees, you make more people fall into it and destroy their lives. Former work testimonies say that supervisors actively encourage recruiting over selling.  It’s a cycle of new and quitting members.

It should be obvious. Horrible quality, product not worth the price, constant lying to consumers, lawsuits galore, and the foundation of a pyramid scheme and its culture are what make MLMs scams, unethical and borderline illegal. We, as consumers and workers, should call for a ban on this business model to protect sales and underclass workers from a practice that harbors illegal schemes. If a company wishes to grow, it should in an ethical way that isn’t a pyramid scheme coverup! The FTC says that pyramid schemes “can look remarkably like legitimate MLM business opportunities” and so taking part in any MLM is a risky venture to the highest degree. Even legit MLMs have the same issues as pyramid schemes, since the lack of buying due to terrible reputation causes equal wage and financial issues as stated earlier. MLM and pyramid scheme operators milk money from their employees. As Bo Burham’s song “Repeat Stuff” says, they’ll “stop beating this dead horse when it stops spitting out money.” We need to stop them from beating the dead horse of MLMs so they can’t collect the money it spits out at them. And the best way to get rid of a dead horse is to bury it. 

Bury the horse, they cannot get the money. Will you grab a shovel and start burying it, or will you watch as people continue to beat it? 

#thewitchsstudy #mlms #antimlm #anti mlm #mlm scam #essay #research #research papers #opinion papers #school papers #please do not think I am against gay people when I say I am antiMLM #I mean the business practice not lgbt #hell I am lgbt #studyblr

[phroyd]

(CNN)  "Lives were taken who should still be with us today," Gov. Greg Abbott said at a news conference.Twenty-six people were injured, according to El Paso Police Chief Greg Allen.

What we know about the shooting in El Paso, Texas

"The ages and genders of all these people injured and killed are numerous in the age groups," Allen said. "The situation, needless to say, is a horrific one."

A 21-year-old white man from Allen, Texas, is in police custody, Allen said. Authorities are looking at potentially bringing capital murder charges against him.

The case also has a "nexus to a potential hate crime," he said."Right now, we have a manifesto from this individual that indicates to some degree a nexus to a potential hate crime," Allen said.FBI El Paso Special Agent in Charge Emmerson Buie said more investigative work was needed before determining whether there was a possible hate crime.

Authorities on the scene of a shooting at a Walmart near Cielo Vista Mall in El Paso.CNN reported the suspect is 21-year-old Patrick Crusius of Allen, just outside Dallas, according to three sources.Two federal law enforcement sources and one state government source confirmed the suspect's identity. The federal sources said investigators are reviewing an online writing posted days before the shooting that may speak to a motive.

The online posting was believed to be written by Crusius, the sources said, but that has not been confirmed.'This was a massacre'The first call of an active shooter went out at 10:39 a.m. local time, Allen said. The first officer arrived on scene six minutes later.El Paso Police Sgt. Robert Gomez previously told reporters police were initially given multiple possible locations for the shooting, at a Walmart and the Cielo Vista Mall next door.

"This is a large crime scene, a large area," Gomez said of the scene Saturday afternoon.Multiple agencies responded to the scene, including the FBI, the sheriff's department, the state Department of Public Safety and Border Patrol.The crime scene will "be in play for a long period," Allen said. "Unfortunately, the deceased will remain at the scene until the scene is processed properly for evidentiary purposes to be gathered for later prosecution."

El Paso Police Department Sgt. Robert Gomez briefs media on a shooting that occurred at a Walmart.Officials from two local hospitals said they had received at least 23 people.Thirteen people were taken to University Medical Center of El Paso, spokesman Ryan Mielke told CNN, and one of them has died. Two children with non-life-threatening injuries were transferred to a children's medical facility, Mielke said.Eleven victims were transported to the Del Sol Medical Center, hospital spokesman Victor Guerrero said. Nine are in critical but stable condition, he said.

At least two of the patients are in a "life-threatening predicament," according to Del Sol Medical Center Dr. Stephen Flaherty. He said the patients ranged in age from 25 to 82. Two are in stable condition, he said, and seven required emergency operations."This was a massacre," US Rep. Veronica Escobar, who represents the area, told CNN. Escobar has received conflicting reports on the numbers of casualties, she said, but added, "The numbers are shocking."Footage shows people lying on the ground outside Walmart

Walmart issued a statement regarding the shooting, saying, "We're in shock over the tragic events at Cielo Vista Mall in El Paso. ... We're praying for the victims, the community & our associates, as well as the first responders."Inside the mall, crowds hid inside stores after hearing reports of an active shooter, according to 26-year-old Brandon Chavez, an employee at Forever 21.Chavez had just started his shift when he saw customers and staff members running to the stock room to take shelter.

"There were about 20 children and adults, plus employees, hiding, all cramped like sardines," he told CNN. "Most of us were desperate, some were on their phones. There were girls crying, people trying to talk to each other and women with babies in their arms."

Shoppers exit with their hands up after a shooting in El Paso, Texas, on Saturday.Store employees had closed the glass doors but he could see police officers walking around the mall and evacuating people from other stores.After police officers knocked on the store's doors, Chavez said his group had to leave the store, forming a line with their hands up and running.

In a shaky Snapchat video aired by CNN, a woman holding the camera frantically runs with a small group of girls or women through a mall department store and into a parking lot.As the group hurries past racks of clothes and cases of merchandise, voices off camera shout, "Hands up!"Once in the parking lot, one member of the group asks, "What happened?" ... "I don't know," the woman holding the camera responds. "I don't know."Another video, shot from outside the Walmart, showed people lying on the ground, some of them next to a table set up by the store's entrance.

Authorities respond to an active shooter at a Walmart near Cielo Vista Mall in El Paso."There's a man lying down at the stand that a school set up," the man holding the camera says in Spanish. "Help!" a man screams in English. "We need CPR," someone else says. "We need CPR."'Our community will heal,' mayor says Mayor Dee Margo said Saturday evening that his city would rise above this "senseless and evil act of violence." ... "We will be defined by the unity and compassion we showed in the wake of this tragedy," he said. "United, our community will heal.

"Nowhere was that spirit more on display than at blood donation centers. Authorities had said donations were urgently needed, and said if local residents wanted to help, they should make appointments to do so.  Frances Yepez, waiting in line at one blood donation center, said the center was at max capacity and dozens of people were waiting to make appointments for Sunday or Monday.  "It's easy to make a dollar, but it's harder to make a difference," she said. "So I get out there and do whatever I can do to help.

"She said the mood there was somber, and she could hear sniffling as the crowd of people learned updates over the television. White House pledges 'total support 'President Donald Trump has been briefed on the shooting, and the White House is monitoring the situation, deputy press secretary Steven Groves said in a statement. "Terrible shootings in El Paso, Texas," the President tweeted Saturday afternoon. "Reports are very bad, many killed. Working with State and Local authorities, and Law Enforcement. Spoke to Governor to pledge total support of Federal Government. God be with you all!"

Phroyd

#el paso #gunman #white nationalist

[vickisventures]

Mt. Rush(what’s the rush?)more

I am so disappointed and irritated! We had really hyped ourselves up to go see Mount Rushmore.  I knew in advance that the Visitor Center, Avenue of Flags and a small portion of the Presidential Trail was closed due to COVID and renovations.  I was prepared for that, but Dennis had gone just last week and had hiked to the base of the memorial using the Nature Trail and the open portion of the Presidential Trail.  We knew that the parking fee was $10.  I had done my research.  So off we go yesterday to see this great work of art.  Upon arrival, we were happy to see that there weren’t a gagillion tourists. We walked up to the entrance after parking and saw that the bookstore and ice cream shop was open (as the website said.). We took some pics and headed toward the Sculpture Studio.  A lady was giving a talk at a small viewpoint area about the park and land.  We went on to the studio and another ranger was giving a talk about the sculpture. We decided to go ahead and hike before it got any hotter but had trouble finding the trail.  We decided to ask a ranger and he said it was closed due to preparation for the Independence Day celebration.  SAY WHAT?!? I didn’t see any posting about that anywhere.  The guy said he realized that and apologized.  We were (and still are) really upset with the park administration. There were a lot of upset people. We could have chosen any day/week between May and October to go and we picked a day that they decided to close all of the trails without warning.  I am trying to get a free parking pass for a return visit (or a refund) but I’m not going to hold my breath that they even care.  We plan to return when my parents and sister come in July, but we had hoped to see what the hike was like before they arrived.  We did get some nice pics and listened to 2 ranger talks before heading back to pay our $10 parking fee and heading to Keystone for lunch.  One ranger talk was rather thought provoking. The ranger had done a lot of reading and research on the topic of Indian tribes in the U.S. He talked about the mistreatment of the Indians back in the day of Custer and about how the government destroyed the buffalo population so they would remove the food supply for the Indians.  He told of the government sterilizing all Indian women 15-25 so that the Indians would cease to exist.  He was very passionate about his feelings about the U.S. vs the Indians. Apparently a lot of money sits in the treasury that the Indians in South Dakota could have but if they take even $1 of it, they will be accepting the sale of the land and they refuse to do that. So the money just sits.  The ranger postulated that they Indians just want respect and recognition; not money.  And they want their land back.  I understand his viewpoint, but I also don’t completely agree with him.  I agree that the Indians were mistreated and had their land taken away from them and were forced to live in reservations. I do not agree that the government was 100% at fault for the situation that resulted in them being forced into reservations.  I know everyone has differing opinions on this and that’s ok.  The other ranger talk was more about how the monument was created.  I didn’t realize that the monument wasn’t ever completed.  Apparently, they ran out of money and Gutzon Borglum (the mastermind) died before he could attain more funds so they just did what they could with the remaining money and quit.  So, I guess the trip wasn’t a complete bust but for people living on a budget, the lack of updated park information didn’t allow us to make an informed decision on when to go.

We had stopped briefly in Keystone on our train ride and it looked Iike a cute town, so we wanted to go back.  Mount Rushmore is very close to Keystone, so we decided to head there next.  We were a little disappointed there too.  It has several pizza places, a few other eating establishments and some touristy shops but that’s about it.  The Rushmore Borglum Story museum is closed right now due to COVID but most everything else was open.  We walked from the top of the town to the bottom.   Our lunch was so-so.  I had read that the food was expensive there for what you got.  The picture of Steve on the wooden motorcycle is at a place where they do chainsaw art in Keystone.  We do want to go back because we can get a free 18 course mini golf ticket, a free ticket to the presidential wax museum, and a free pass to a place that has an alpine slide, ski lift, zip line and ropes type course.  We plan to check all of those places out in time.

Monday. we went on our bi-weekly expedition to Rapid City to go to Walmart.  We decided to run to Kohl’s and the mall for a bit as well.  It was so nice to go into a mall and do some shopping. We haven’t really done much “shopping” since we went full-time but it’s one thing when you choose not to and another when you can’t.  About ½ of the stores at the mall were still closed but we were able to get what we needed to.  

Next week is 4th of July week.  We are still getting calls for reservations and we are still full.  We are selling sites that we don’t usually sell; so our next work week will be a busy one.  We aren’t sure how we got so lucky as to have ALL of the summer holidays fall on our work days this year!  

Steve has solidified his plans to drive for a company in North Dakota for the month of October. He will be delivering sugar beets to a processing plant.  We decided to do this instead of working at a processing plant or have Steve drive for a farmer.  He will instead be working for a trucking company which he thinks will give him a chance to ease into the trucking business before we get back to Arizona where he plans to work full-time for Knight Transportation.  He will work 5 on, 1 off, 12-hour days while in North Dakota. We have reservations at a campground there and I hold down the fort while he works that month.  After that we plan to check out our land in Colorado and spend a couple of days in Amarillo going to doctor appointments before heading to Arizona.  I just found out that my niece won’t be playing college softball next school year after all due Arizona running scared and closing down sports programs.  I know this is a sore subject for people and another area where there are varying opinions but I think it’s DUMB.  It’s time to get on with life and get back to normal.  Let the virus run its course and let’s stop worrying about masks and social distancing.  I have heard that Arizona has had a number of new cases recently. From what I’ve seen, Arizona has been fairly strict on their following the pandemic guidelines so why are they having issues when other states aren’t?  I wonder if that’s more due to the number of elderly people who live there than a loosening of restrictions.  I did make sure that my job at the RV resort in Arizona is secure no matter what happens with the pandemic in the fall.  My boss said there will be plenty for me to do not matter what.  That made me feel better.

As I mentioned earlier, my sister has decided to fly in and join us while mom and dad are here visiting. We also learned this week that Steve’s brother and sister-in-law are going to bring their RV up here to Big Pine Campground in September for a visit/vacation.  Looking forward to our company in this beautiful place!

#full time rving #mt rushmore #south dakota #workamping

[donnajons]

Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 1

More than 180?! Are you guy okay?! No but in serious note, thank you guys for liking this story, but special kudos to @mikantsume for being the first one. This an small chapter, not too much Daminette but more about Marinette.

New last name was a total accident.

 In Marinette’s defense she has never been good at speaking English while under pressure, so when her new landlady asked her what her last name was, the blue eyed girl look around searching for a last name. It was totally a coincidence that her future landlady had a newspaper with title in gigantic black letters “WAYNE INDUSTRIES...”

 “My name is Marinette Wayne.”

 The woman looked at the girl. It wouldn’t be the first time that a girl with no papers, no luggage, and a ton of small bill wanted to rent an apartment at the same time they claim that their parents were fine with it. She knew that look in marinette’s face. It was the same face that she has seen in hundreds of girls that ran away. The landlady didn’t ask any further questions. She just gave the girl her key of her new apartment.

 “The rent is due every first Friday of the month. It includes water and light bills.”

 Marinette took the key and walked to the stairs. The elevator was out of service since seven years ago.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month is enough time to develop a routine, and Marinette had a routine that she followed so religiously. 

 She woke up every morning at 4:30 a.m. to take a shower and prepared something for breakfast. Then at 5:30, she would go to work. She was lucky to be hired as a seamstress in a fancy boutique on the other side of the city. The pay wasn’t bad, and the owner of the boutique didn’t ask many questions of why she would like to work there. She must have thought that she was a high schooler in search a Summer job. She had to catch the bus of 5:45 to get to work at 6:20. She worked until 4:30 p.m. Then she came back to her apartment to make sure that the box of the miraculous was where she left it, under some loose boards of the floor under her bed. By five, she was back to her apartment, where she began studying the miraculous with help of Tikki. She studied, trained, and finally ate. Ten she prepared herself to go to sleep.

 This was her least favorite part of her routine.

 Every night, she woke up around midnight choking on her own tears. The nightmares began the day she moved to Ghotam, and they always were the same: her parents being crushed the bakery while they were set on fire. Every single time, she failed to save them because those emerald eyes were always holding her back. 

 The hero became the pray.

 If it wasn’t for Tikki, Marinette wouldn't have the strength to wake up every morning and get out of bed. She was deeply in debt with the goddess of creation.

 “Marinette, I think you should go out.” The red Kwami told her as her holder keep writing.

 One benefit of working at Gotham Boutique was that Marinette got Sundays off. She was free to do as she pleased, and in this case, it was to study the miraculous.

 “Thank you, Tikki, but I am fine.” She kept writing.

 Tikki flew towards the bluenette and took her pencil away.

 “Tikki, please give it black!” She tried to catch her, but she flew to high.

 “No until you catch a break.” She looked at her holder with sadness. “Marinette, look at you. You are slowly getting sick. You just work, study, and train. You are getting thinner, and there are black bags under your eyes. You cannot do this any longer. You will get sick if you don’t catch a break” 

 It was true. Marinette wasn’t the same person than she was a few months ago. Her cherish; her innocence was gone. She just wanted to survive instead of live. Things that she found pleasure before didn’t make her happy anymore. She didn’t design anymore because she  didn’t have time and will power. She didn’t allow herself to eat sweets because it reminds her of the bakery. Thank the Kwamy that Tikki liked the cookies of the supermarket because Marinette couldn’t bake. It just brought so many memories. 

 “Tikki, please”

 “No, Marinette. If you don’t do it for you, at least take care of yourself for the sake of the miraculous. If you get sick, then no one is going to protect the miraculous anymore.” Tikki hated when she tricked her holder with selfish motivations like this, but it was the only way.

 The girl was quiet for a moment and signed.

 “I guess a little walk will not do any harm.”

 The goddess of creation smilled, “Good. I heard there is a park not too far from here. There is also an ice-cream shop. We could go and try one.”

 Marinette picked up her purse (her bose gave it to her as a bonus for a well done job) and took some money from a hidden cookie can that  she had beside the dishwasher. She has been putting money there in case they need to flee. Tikki insisted that Marinette shouldn’t  work too much because she could simply make money with her powers, but Marinette didn’t want to risk it. 

 So, all those years with the miraculous, made Chat and Ladybug sensitive to when other Kwamies use their powers. Marinette couldn’t risk their positions for something so trivial like money. 

 After Marinette checked that the miraculous box was well hidden for the third time, she and left the apartment.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Gotham is not that bad… in the day.

 The city of course has its dangers, so many that mugger was considered an official profession, but there are places that made it tolerable. An example of this is the ice cream shop that was three streets from Marinette’s place. It had pretty good flavor and even ice cream yogurt. They weren’t as good as Andre’s, but maybe that’s why Marinette like it. The place and its ice creams were far too different from Andre that it didn’t bring any memories about Paris.

 The girl bought a strawberry ice yogurt with an immense number of cookies for Tikki, and they decided to eat it on a bench in the park that was in front of the ice cream shop. The park was considerable nice. Yes, it lacked the color green, but it had a playground and a pretty fountain, were they decide to eat their yogurt. The fountain, as well as almost the whole Gotham city, had a Gothic design.

 Marinette tried to focus on her yogurt and the fountain to not think about the miraculous box and how she left it alone in her apartment, in the city where anyone could get there and stole it from her.

 Marinette was about to stand up and run to her apartment when a tall woman appeared in front of her. 

 “Hellooo! Sweetheart! Would you like to get a pretty good, new hair style?” The woman in front of her was in her mid twenties and had blonde hair with the points dyed blue and pink. Her skin looked too pale that made her look like a course. Her clothes… well her clothes matched her hair. 

 The mysterious woman gave Marinette a smile and flyer. 

 “There is a new beauty salon two streets from here. My friends run it. If you bring this flyer, they will give you a discount on anything: dyeing, cut, hair extensions, a permanent. You name it they will do it!” Then without any warning, the energetic woman left, leaving a very confused Marinette.

 The girl looked at the flyer. Maybe, it was a good thing that the mysterious woman interrupted her. If it wasn’t for her, she would be in her apartment counting the miraculous one by one. She still wanted to go to her apartment, but at least the that horrible feeling pressing her chest was almost gone.

 “Are you thinking on going?” The red Kwamy asked her and breaking her from her trance.

 Marinette took a few deep breaths and shocked her head as she covered her mouth to avoid attention. “We don’t have the money to do it even if it had a discount. They may charge at least fifty dollars for just doing highlights.”

 “But what about the two hundred dollars in you right front pocket?”

 The girl opened her eyes in surprise to quickly search her pockets. She found out two hundred dollars in bills of twenty.

 “Tikki! You cannot make money like this!” She whispered a she put the money back at her pockets. “Char will know that you use your powers and will find us!” Marinette felt how her eyes water up and her chest numbing up.

 Tikki hugged her hand inside of the purse. 

 “Marinette, he will not. He will feel that I used my powers, but he will not know where I used it. We are safe. You are safe. Breath, just breath.”

 It was moments like this that Marinette remembered that she hated this life. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak even though akumas could not longer hunting her. She was the guardian of the miraculous, the last of her kind. If she was weak, somehow, she exposed the life of millions.

 The guardian took a deep breath, “A-are you sure. Tikki? What if he finds us? God, I’m an invisible. I-I deserve this.”

  “A hundred present.” The goddess took her hand even tighter. “You deserve a better life Marinette. You deserve to have a night of sleep where the only reason you wake up is because you drank too much water before bed, not because of terrible nightmares. You deserve to have more free time instead of working too hard because you are keeping cash in case we need to go. You deserve to do your own clothes instead of buying the discount clothes that sell in Walmart that are either way too big or short. You deserve a pretty hair style, maybe cut the bangs that almost cover your eyes, and you know why? Because you are the best person in the world. What people may think about you, what he may want you to be, doesn’t define you worth. Listen to me, You don’t deserve this life, you deserve better.”

 Like it was mentioned before, Marinette survive because Tikki was there with her, loving her, being her mentor, even a mother.

 Cleaning her tears and petting the goddess head, Marinette stood up and walked away fast.

 “Where are we going Marinette?”

 “To the salon, I’m going to paint my hair pink.”

  The beauty salon was call The Sirens.

 The place was pretty, painted with the colors of white, black, and baby blue. The woman that attended her was beautiful, gorgeous. She had short hair and pretty eyes. Her name was Selena. She gave her a smile when she showed her the flyer.

 “So, I guess you met my peculiar friend.” She said as she put a cape around her shoulders.

 “I-I did, she seemed… energetic. I like that she called me Sweetheart. Not many people call pet names without being malicious.”  

 Selena let go a smile. “Malicious? You aren’t from here, don’t you? Not too many people use that kind of language here.”

Was her accent too thick? She tried to make it less Frenchish and more American or at least a little bit of Asian.

 “No, I just moved to Gotham, looking for a new start.”

 “And why here? If you don’t mind me asking. There are other safer and prettier cities like Central City or Metropolis, even Coast City.”

 Marinette moved her shoulders. Selena thought that the girl was too shy.

Why Ghotam? Well the answer is simple. Gotham has something that those cities don’t, or well, something that is more prominent there: real vigilantes, and real criminals, and why the hell this could be a good thing? Because the media focused on big criminals like the Joker and Vigilantes like Batman, not in a run away girl like her.

“But Marinette could not tell her that.

 “I guess luck.” Marinette said in a tone that was almost a murmur.

“SO, let’s see. An alone teenager with a forgein accent in the most dangerous city in the US is looking for a new hairstyle though her hair is super pretty (maybe a cut on her bangs) without visible parents or friends” Selena had enough information to make an assumption about the girl: she was a run away just like her when she was her age.

“Pray tell, do you have a Summer job? Most kids like you have one to you know to buy things like wphones buy pretty clothes ” Or any kind of income so you don't starve to death or sleep in the streets.

Marinette looked at the woman. Maybe she wanted to be nice “I do actually, I work as a seamstress in a boutique. It a pretty good job.”

Selena smiled as she took off her ponytail. “That's good. So what do you want me to do?”

“Can you make my hair pink?”

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#daminette #damian wayne #maribat #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #batman #damien x marinette #LPMG